The Mixtape

“People sometimes change, and it’s not always for the better.” That was something I’d learned with Sammie. “I know love can make people do crazy things, but—”

“I don’t love her anymore,” he confessed.

Those were the easiest words that’d fallen from Oliver’s mouth since I’d met him. He said it without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then why are you with her? Why would you stay with someone like that?”

His thumb brushed against his nose. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“If she wasn’t here, I’d be alone.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

He paused for a moment and fumbled with his hands before sliding them into his pockets. “My mind doesn’t do well when it’s alone.”

I felt that. True, I couldn’t understand the thought completely, but I felt how much he meant it. Oliver Smith feared being alone, because that was the time when his mind spiraled the most. My mind used to do that when Reese was a baby, and I’d be awake late at night while she was sleeping. I’d fall apart and lose myself, but truthfully, it was in those moments when I learned to find myself.

“I’d rather sit in my loneliness than be lonely with someone who doesn’t care for me at all. Are you truly that afraid to sit with your own thoughts?”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he told me his deepest truth. “You don’t know how dark my thoughts can get.”

The Monday after Beetgate, I showed up to Oliver’s house and walked in on him and Cam in a shouting match. Well, Cam was shouting. Oliver was standing calmly in the living room with his arms crossed.

“I swear to you, Oliver, if you don’t get rid of that wannabe chef today, so help me I will make your life a living hell!” she hollered, apparently not noticing that I’d walked in. I stood frozen in place, unsure of what my next steps should’ve been.

Did I turn around and tiptoe out like I hadn’t been seen until the fighting came to a halt?

Before I could even think about leaving, Oliver glanced up and spotted me. I stood as still as possible, as if I were going to become invisible.

“Good morning, Emery,” Oliver said, forcing Cam to whip around and look my way. The hatred that flashed in her eyes was almost intense enough to cut me. Still, I didn’t move. I felt as if any form of movement would’ve given Cam a reason to snap at me.

Instead, she looked back to Oliver, who hadn’t moved, either. She stepped closer to him, took her finger, and poked him hard against the chest. “Do it, or else.”

Oliver didn’t do anything. He brushed his palm against his stubbled chin and looked back toward me. His eyes seemed apologetic, and for a moment I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if I’d just walked into a conversation that was going to lead to my termination.

Oliver cleared his throat and kept his caramel eyes locked with mine. “Emery. Can you . . .” He blinked his eyes closed and took a short breath before looking back at me. “Make me an omelet?”

The pressure in my chest slightly faded as those words escaped his lips.

“Yes. Of course,” I mumbled, nothing more than a whisper.

“Unbelievable,” Cam spit out, shaking her head. “When you get a pair of balls, call me, Oliver. I’m taking a girls’ trip.”

With that, she grabbed her purse from the couch, then marched off in my direction and shoved past me, with her shoulder hitting mine. I stumbled a bit but didn’t fall.

Oliver’s eyes were still on mine. We both opened our mouths to speak but paused when we noticed the other about to talk.

I nervously laughed. “You go ahead.”

“I’m sorry . . . for her.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to apologize for her. I do apologize to you, though, if I caused any trouble. I really don’t want to come between you two. I’m just the chef, after all.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked confused by my words, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded once and spoke again. “I’ll be in my studio. You can bring my breakfast in there.”

“Will do. Any special toppings requests?”

His lips slightly turned up into an almost smile. “Whatever you make is good enough for me.”

My heart did that skipping thing that it had done every now and again around Oliver. He was such a strange individual. He had a way of not saying much but saying so much at the very same time.

“Okay.” I shifted in my shoes as Oliver began to walk away, and without thought I called out to him, finally asking him the question that had been running across my mind each and every day since I’d begun working for him.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my question, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Are you okay?”