I WIPE MY hands on a kitchen towel and pick up my phone to read the incoming text message from Oliver.
Come outside.
I frown and glance over my shoulder at the open back door where my brother stands. I can’t tell what he’s doing, but I’m pretty sure his surfboard is involved. I walk to the front of the house, and look through the peephole, smiling at the sight of Oliver on the other side with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing a gray-checkered button-down and a matching beanie pulled down so low, that his sandy hair brushes against the collar of his shirt. I open the door and lean against it, holding the knob as he gives me a slow onceover. As always, his eyes leave a trail of heat behind as they travel the length of my body.
“You look cute,” I say, and laugh when he raises an eyebrow.
“Cute?”
“Cute is a compliment.”
“For a four-year-old, maybe,” he says, stepping in to share the space of the threshold with me.
I smile. “Nope. The word holds weight for life. You can be cute even if you’re eighty.”
The side of his mouth turns up slowly as he leans into me, stretching his arms above me so that he’s clutching the top of the doorframe and his chest is flush against mine. I catch a glimpse of tanned stomach peeking out from under his shirt and reach out to touch it. He tucks his face into my neck, kissing me there and hissing when I grip tighter.
“I’ll show you cute,” he says, his voice low and husky. I smile, and throw my head back. “Where’s your brother?” he asks, as his lips move from my throat to my shoulder.
“Out back,” I whisper, closing my eyes as I push myself up against him.
“Let’s go somewhere.”
I bite down on my lip to stifle a moan, as his tongue runs over my clavicle. “Where?”
“Anywhere. The beach, pier, sushi . . . wherever you want.” He kisses his way along my jaw and up my cheek.
“You hate sushi,” I say, opening my eyes to meet his. He drops his hands from the door and straightens, brushing my face with the back of his hand.
“I can get tempura.”
“Okay. Let me tell Vic I’m leaving.”
Oliver steps away and signals for me to lead the way.
“What’s he doing anyway?” he asks as we reach the back door.
“I’m not sure. I think cleaning his surfboards.”
“Waxing,” Victor corrects, startling me. “Why are you so jumpy lately?”
“I’m not jumpy,” I say, swallowing to contain my rapid heartbeat.
“You are.” He raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair. “What’s up, man?” he says to Oliver.
“Not much. Day off.”
“I’m surprised you’re not sleeping,” Victor says, going back to his surfboard.
“Nah. I wanted to take advantage of the day. Estelle and I are going to go get sushi. Want to come?”
Victor’s hands come to a stop on the board, and he looks up, his eyes narrowing as they look from me to Oliver and back again. “No, thanks,” he says, looking at the board once more and then back at us. I’m pretty sure he can hear the hammering in my chest from where he’s sitting. I brace myself for the inevitable question when he opens his mouth. “You’re never going to get back on the dating bandwagon if you keep hanging out with Oliver. You realize that, right?”
“How many times are you going to wax over the same spot?” I ask, turning my back to him and walking back into the house to hide my irritation.
“This is a different board,” he calls out.
“No, it’s not. I’ve never seen anybody wax the same board as many times as you do,” I call back.
I hear Oliver say his goodbyes before he walks back inside, and I feel him behind me shortly after. “Some people just don’t know how to wax boards,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the back of my neck.
“Do you?” I ask, flashing a smile over my shoulder.
He leans in and kisses me—a quick, hard peck on my lips. “How ‘bout I show you?” he says in my ear.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, as we step out and walk toward his car.
“Let’s pick up the sushi and have a beach picnic.”
“I like that plan.”
“I love that plan,” he says, depositing a kiss on my cheek before he drops his arms and opens the door for me.
He orders food for us, stopping and glancing my way for approval every time he names a roll he thinks I might like. Once he hangs up the phone, we’re silent for a long moment until he speaks up again.
“I think we should tell him,” he says, threading his fingers through mine. My heart threatens to leap out of my chest at his suggestion.
“What would we tell him?” I ask quietly, facing forward.
“That we’re together.”
“We’re together?” I ask quietly, smiling at the thought.
Oliver chuckles and drops my hand, bringing it up to cup my chin. “Aren’t we?”
My smile grows wider. “I don’t know, Doctor. Are we?”
His hand makes its way to the nape of my neck. He pulls my face closer to his until the tips of our noses touch. “I think it’s safe to say we are.”
“What do you think he’ll say if we tell him?” I ask in a breath against his lips.
“He’ll be pissed.” He pauses to search my eyes. “At me, not you.”
“Aren’t you worried it’ll ruin your friendship?” I whisper.
The breath he releases blows over my lips. It smells like peppermint, the residue of the mints he constantly pops in his mouth. “Why do you think it’s taken me so long to come around, Elle?” he says in a low voice, dropping a kiss on one side of my mouth and then the other.
I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his soft lips on me. “I think we should just wait a little longer,” I say finally.
Oliver backs away and looks at me, waiting for an explanation. After a couple of beats, I finally open my mouth to voice my opinion, but shut it again when his phone vibrates. He answers, telling the restaurant he’ll be right in for the food.
“Hold that thought,” he says, tapping the tip of my nose before getting out.