I’ll have to ask her what that’s all about later.
“Were you able to get everything you needed?” I ask Piper as we’re heading back toward the airport.
She nods. “At least the most important things: my purse and phone, and a lot of my clothing and jewelry.”
“What about your art?” Oliver asks.
A crease forms between her brows, her lips pressing together. “We found a few of the smaller pieces, a pocket watch, some hand-size animal sculptures I made a while ago, but the larger ones and the pieces I had been working on are gone.”
Oliver frowns, leaning back in the black leather seat and tapping his finger on the armrest in the door.
By the time we’re back on the plane, getting ready for takeoff, it’s late afternoon. We’re all relatively quiet and subdued—it’s been a long day for everyone.
Oliver takes the same chair as before, toward the back. Piper, Finley, and I sit together on a long couch on one side of the plane.
Oliver has always set himself apart. Our seating arrangements aren’t surprising. But after takeoff, instead of sitting alone the whole time, ignoring everyone while he works, Oliver moves closer, sitting on the couch across from us.
I stare at him, brows lifted.
He ignores my questioning look.
Once we’re airborne, Piper gestures to him. “What happened to your hand?”
His knuckles are bloody. “Ran into something,” he says.
I grin. He sure did. Even Finley chuckles before leaning into me and resting her head on my shoulder.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” Piper’s gaze is trained on him.
He doesn’t answer for a long minute.
“There might be one in the bathroom,” I tell her when it’s clear Oliver doesn’t intend to respond.
She gets up, returns with the small red box a few seconds later, and sits next to Oliver.
She pulls out an antiseptic wipe and cleans his hand. They talk, but their voices are too low and the hum of the engine is too loud for me to overhear any of it.
Her movements are perfunctory and quick. As soon as she’s done, she puts the kit away and returns to her seat beside Finley.
I lean my head back, enjoying Finley’s weight pressed against my side. I start to fall asleep but wake up when Finley speaks.
“She’s not for you.”
I blink my eyes open. Finley is staring at Oliver, her jaw set.
His gaze is on Piper, who is lying down on the other side of Finley. She’s curled up, sleeping, tucked against the arm of the couch.
“I know,” he says, the words barely audible.
I shut my eyes again.
Then Oliver speaks. “I’ll share the property, but since I’ll be handling the renovations and general upkeep, I want a controlling interest. Fifty-one percent is more than reasonable.”
Finley tenses against my side. “It’s my home. I want the fifty-one percent.”
Oliver is quiet, inscrutable. “It appears we’re at an impasse, then.”
Finley shrugs. “So it would seem.”