His face is serious when he turns to face me again, walking me back a step until my back hits the closed door. Suddenly, as if he’s warring with himself, he rears back with a breath.
“Let’s go. Lead the way.”
I’m a little stunned. A part of me wishes he’d just kissed me and gotten it over with. Another part is glad he hasn’t, but that part is so tiny I can barely hear it. Turning, I open the door, lock it behind us, and walk through the cottage slowly so that he can look around as we pass through.
“You like it?” I ask.
“I think love is a better word,” he says, eyes on me. My stomach dips a little, and I smile.
We drive a very familiar route, and he ignores the questioning glances I shoot his way, but the ghost of the smile on his face lets me know he feels them. Although I want to ask, I am quiet, waiting for him to speak first. He doesn’t though; he stays silent until we get to a house on the hills. The car stops in front of a gate, and he clicks a button that opens it gracefully. He drives in slowly and parks the car in the circular driveway.
“I have to drop something off for Sander,” he says. “We’ll only be a minute.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure whether to get out of the car. I haven’t seen his sister in years. The last time I saw her, she was carrying baby Sander in a sling over her stomach, and from what Oliver has told me, he’s almost four now.
He pushes the button to switch off the ignition and shoots me a smile. “One minute.”
I smile and get out of the car, walking toward the trunk when he does.
“You have to be the neatest person I know,” I comment, looking at his nearly empty trunk. What he does have in there—a white doctor’s coat and a pair of sneakers—are neatly stacked to one side. He smiles, putting the bag in his hands on the ground, as he pulls the black knit sweater he’s wearing over his head. It tugs the gray V-neck t-shirt he’s wearing beneath it up his stomach, and my eyes stay glued there until he chuckles and pulls it back down. My eyes snap up to his, and his hand taps my chin up as he ducks his face to mine.
“You, my little Elle, are trouble,” he says, his green eyes twinkling. He drops his hand, picks up the bag, and starts walking toward the house. I follow closely behind him and watch the door as we wait for somebody to answer.
A little flash of curly brown hair runs to the door, and Sander’s little face appears on the other side of the glass. His big green eyes widen into saucers when he sees Oliver.
“It’s Uncle Bean!” he shouts. “Mommy, Uncle Bean is here!”
“I heard you. I’m coming,” she shouts, walking down the hall and smiling widely when she sees me. Oliver crouches down, and as soon as she unlocks and opens the door, Sander throws himself on top of him, wrapping his arms around his neck and squealing as Oliver makes raspberries on his neck. The sight of him with this adorable little boy is almost too much for me to handle.
“Long time no see, Elle,” Sophie says, reaching out for a hug.
“It seems like every time I see you, you have exciting news to share,” I say, smiling as my hands rub over her very pregnant belly.
She makes a face, smiling and shaking her head. “This news was not planned.” She gestures for us to go inside, and we follow her to the kitchen.
“Sander, this is Estelle. I think you met her once, but you were a baby, so you probably don’t remember her,” Oliver says, flipping him so that he’s looking at me upside down.
“Hi, Estelle. You have pretty hair,” he says, making me laugh.
“Hi, Sander, you have pretty eyes.”
Oliver grins at me, and I feel like he’s reaching into my ovaries and squeezing to make sure I’m paying attention.
“Your house is beautiful,” I comment, looking around.
“Thank you. Dan will be happy to hear that,” Sophie says, smiling. “How’s the art business?”
“It’s going pretty well.” I smile and think about the painting Dallas sold, and the amount of kaleidoscope hearts I’ve been selling lately.
“I’m in love with the hearts you make,” she says.
“On that note,” Oliver says, as he deposits Sander on the countertop and reaches into the bag for the box I gave him this morning. He hands it to his sister and reaches back into the bag again, lifting out a superhero toy for Sander.
“Whoa! Cool! Thanks, Uncle Bean,” Sander says, trying to rip the toy out of the package.
“This is so beautiful,” Sophie says, holding the heart in her hands. “Thank you.”
I smile, blushing a little and look at my feet. Oliver’s chuckle makes my face heat further. I love what I make. I’m proud of my art, but it makes me feel weird when someone like Sophie, who I guess I kind of seek approval from, examines it.
“Stop being so fucking cute,” Oliver growls into my ear. I smile and nudge him away with my shoulder.
“Have you been making a lot of these?” Sophie asks.
“Yes, actually, but I’m going to stop for a while.”
“Really?” she asks, looking surprised. I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me as well. I haven’t really told anybody yet.
“I feel like if I make too many, they lose their uniqueness. Not that they’re so special, but you know what I mean.” I blush again. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I was under a microscope.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Sophie says, nodding. “That’s how I feel about my stories. I love writing and illustrating them, but sometimes I feel like if I put too many out there at once, it’ll be ‘just another Sophie Hart story.’ I get it.”
“Yeah, so I’ll probably take a little break. I mean, I’ll still be painting and making them—it’s not like I can switch myself off—but I probably won’t sell them for a while.”
“All right, guys, we need to get going. I just wanted to bring this by before I get busy,” Oliver says, kissing Sander on the forehead and helping him hop off the counter. He rounds the counter and gives his sister a hug, laughing at whatever she whispers in his ear.
I say goodbye to Sander and Sophie. “Do you know what you’re having?” I ask after I give her a quick hug.
“We want it to be a surprise. At this point, it doesn’t matter, it’s coming anyway,” she says with a laugh that makes me smile.
“That’s kind of cool.”
“It’s completely nuts is what it is,” Oliver says, shaking his head.
“Don’t start, Oliver.”
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs.
Sophie rolls her eyes and looks at me, pointing at him. “That is why it’s taken him so long to get you, you know that, right?”
“Sophie,” Oliver groans.
“I’m just saying,” she responds, mimicking him.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind as we walk to the car, tucking his face into my neck. “You think that’s funny?”
“The fact that everybody says you have the ultimate anal retentive personality? Yes.”
He nips my earlobe and opens the door for me. “Speaking of anal . . .”
“Ohmygod,” I say, groaning and laughing as I sink into the seat.
“I’m just saying,” he says, grinning as he starts the car.