Waffles don’t require baking. “I’d love some.”
Adelyn Maxwell
A dozen servers are whirling through the large crowd of Lovibond guests. Each waitperson is carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, beer, or hard cider on his or her fingertips. Clients and friends of the companies are laughing, eating, drinking, and enjoying the grand opening.
The venue. Food. Decor. Music. Everything has come together splendidly.
I’ve been busy ensuring the night runs smoothly so I’ve not had time to speak to Oliver. But our eyes have met on several occasions. Each time I’ve failed at suppressing a smile.
But I’m not smiling now.
Oliver’s with a woman. A beautiful brunette with lots of curves in all the right places. And they look very well acquainted with one another.
I don’t love it.
Oliver and I aren’t a thing. We’re neighbors who share a lot of things in common and enjoy each other’s company. But lately I’ve been thinking I may want to share more with him than just things in common. I may want to enjoy more than just his company. I may want to share myself with him and watch while he enjoys it. While we enjoy each other.
I was hoping we could explore that later tonight. But it’s going to be hard to make that happen when he’s wrapped up in another woman. Who is she?
The brunette takes his hand and attempts to pull him to the dance floor. He’s resistant at first but gives in. I don’t care to watch him hold her so closely so I busy myself with straightening already perfectly placed roses in a floral arrangement.
“Adelyn.” I turn at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. “Everything is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better event to celebrate the beginning of our cider company.” Lawrence is literally one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met. Kind. Grateful. Unlike most of my clients who act so damn entitled. It’s a nice change.
“I’m thrilled you’re pleased with the way everything turned out.” I went the extra mile for Lawrence; I wanted this event to be perfect for her. And Oliver since BCC is a reflection of Lovibond.
“I can’t wait to see what you come up with for Ollie’s birthday. He’s going to be so surprised.”
Oliver’s thirtieth birthday is going to be a night he’ll never forget. “I promise you this: good times will be had.”
“I have complete faith in you.”
I occupy myself with a bit of this and that. And fight the urge to search for Oliver. I’m afraid of what I might find. Or not find in case he’s slipped away with Miss Bootylicious in the tight red dress.
I leave the kitchen and come face to face with Oliver, minus the curvaceous brunette. Was he waiting outside the door for me? It sorta feels that way. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Do you have a free minute?”
I’ve been dying to talk to him all night but I didn’t want to make the first move since these are his people. “Absolutely.”
“I have someone I’d like to introduce you to.” My heart plummets to my toes when I realize his intention for finding me.
Smile. Smile. Smile. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to meet your friend.”
“What friend?” He seems genuinely confused by what I mean.
“The woman you were dancing with. Red dress.”
“No friend. That was a client. And not who I want you to meet.” He takes my hand and loops it over his arm, leading me across the warehouse. “You’ve topped anything the old event coordinator ever planned for Lovibond.”
It’s always good to hear praise, but coming from Oliver’s lips, it feels like a welcome caress. “I’m glad you like the things I chose.”
“Our clients are impressed. That makes me very happy.” Mission accomplished.
“We aim to please since that tends to be good for business.”
“I would agree.”
We approach a man and woman, both appearing to be in their sixties. “These are my parents. Quentin and Libby Thorn. This is my neighbor, Adelyn Maxwell.”
Mrs. Thorn surprises me with a hug. “Very nice to meet you, Adelyn. We’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you.” From whom? Lawrence or Oliver?
“It’s very lovely meeting you. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you as well.” This fact I’ve enjoyed learning about Oliver Thorn throughout the last few weeks: he loves his parents and Lawrence very much. I hear it in the way he talks about them.
Quentin and Libby Thorn. A childless couple from Savannah who took a broken little boy and girl and used love and compassion to make them whole for the first time in their lives. That’s a true love story.
“How long are you in town?”
“We have to leave for home in the morning.”
That’s too bad. “I’m going to issue you a rain check for breakfast next time you’re in town.”
Mrs. Thorn lights up when Oliver puts his arm around my shoulder. It feels like he’s saying I’m his even if I know I’m not. But I still like it. “This woman bakes some of the most amazing bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
“Then we definitely have to take you up on your breakfast offer next time we visit.”
“I would love that.”
Oliver squeezes my shoulder. “Is it against policy for the event coordinator to accept a dance invitation while on a job?”
“Maybe. But I am the boss. I don’t think anyone will call me out on it.”
“What about it, sweet Lib?” Oliver’s dad takes his mom’s hand in his and kisses the tops of her fingers. “My beautiful girl wanna take a whirl with me on the dance floor?”
Oh my God. Absolutely. Adorable.
I see exactly where Oliver gets his charm. Mr. Thorn is a sweetheart. A real gentleman.
Mrs. Thorn’s brows lift. “Beautiful girl, huh? Sounds like someone is buttering me up so he can get lucky later tonight.” Oliver’s mom leans over and winks at me. “And I bet he does.”
Freaking. Priceless.
Mr. Thorn tugs on his wife’s hand. “Come on, my beautiful girl. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Oliver’s mother uses her free hand to touch my arm. “In case we don’t get to talk later, it was lovely meeting you, Adelyn.”
“You, too. And I’m serious about that rain check.”
“Look forward to it, darlin’.” I can’t not smile as I watch the Thorns take the dance floor by storm.
Oliver reaches for my hand and tugs. “Come on, my beautiful girl.” He’s repeating his father’s words to be funny but they still turn me into a puddle on the floor.
I’m still grinning when we find a spot on the floor. “Entertaining, right?”
More than entertaining. “Your dad is so sweet and romantic.”
“He’s good to Mom but no better than she is to him.”
“Still madly in love. The world sees too little of that today.”
“I’m glad they’re still in love but sometimes they act like teenagers going at it. It’s embarrassing.”
“Awe. I think it’s wonderful.”
“It’s not wonderful when your friends are spending the night and they can hear your parents’ headboard slamming against the wall.”
I burst into laughter, and he pulls me against his chest. “Okay. Done talking about that.”
“Dear Trouble” by Correatown is playing. The song is slow. Not necessarily what I’d consider lovey-dovey romantic but perfect for being pulled close and moving together. “This is a nice song.”
“Good for dancing.”
Oliver’s hand is low and tight on my back as he leads me in a slow sway. “I’d like to ask you something.”
People don’t usually say things like that unless the question to follow is a hard one. “Ask away.”
“Have you dated since Martin?” Oliver and I have been hanging out for several weeks. He knows my deepest, darkest secret about the man who abused me, so I’m curious why he’s only now asking me this question.
“I’ve been on some dates but not many.?
? All four were disasters. “But I have not had a relationship since him.”
“Not interested?”
I’d love nothing more than to find someone to love and spend my life with. But I’m sort of fucked up after nearly being killed by a man who was supposed to love me. “Relationships require trust. I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.”
“How long since you’ve been on a date?”
There would be some math involved if I tried to figure it out. “A long, long, long time. What about you?”
“I was in a relationship three years ago with a woman I loved very much. I was only days away from asking her to be my wife when I came home early and found her in bed with another man.” Ho-ly shit. What the hell was wrong with that woman? Oliver is kind, generous, funny, and sexier than any man I have ever known. What a stupid bitch.
Her loss. My gain.
“I can’t imagine what that felt like. It must have been brutal.”
“Huge kick to the gut. And balls.”
“I bet.”
“I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well.” He smiles as he recites my words. He seems to like doing that. Repeating my words. In some senses it’s lovely because it shows me he’s listening.