He chokes on his orange juice.
Archer claps him on the back. “You’re not supposed to breathe it.”
Once we’re done eating, Oliver and I grab our bags and the box of tractor pieces to load up the car.
“Drive safe. Tell Mindy to call me.” Finley squeezes my shoulders.
Oliver and Jake shake hands, and then Archer gives Oliver a manly back pat that’s almost a hug, but not quite. Finley hugs Oliver, who stands there like a human statue, his arms stiff at his sides. The scene shouldn’t be so cute. It makes me smile.
Oliver insists on driving home since I drove us here.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
His regard skims over me. “I’m not sure I could concentrate.”
I flush with heat.
Once we’re on the road, I understand the concentration comment more. I can’t stop staring at him. The familiar trees and hills outside the window are not diverting enough to pull my attention away from the man behind the wheel. He’s in one of his standard impeccably fitted three-piece suits, a navy blue one. He still hasn’t shaved, and the stubble along his jawline is distracting. I’ve never seen it in broad daylight. He looks like a businessman-slash-pirate.
Shiver me timbers, indeed.
“You didn’t shave,” I say.
“You seemed to like it this morning.” His voice is steady and low. He rubs his jaw, and the side of his neck flushes red.
I press my lips together to contain the grin threatening to spread across my face. To distract myself from his presence, I text Mindy that we’re on our way home, but she doesn’t respond. Hm. Weird. Well, she’s got to be at work now, so she’s probably too busy to reply. I suspect Mindy has had a certain married, allegedly separated musician keeping her busy this weekend, because she never answered my texts.
I relax back in the seat and give in to the urge to watch Oliver drive, his hands on the wheel confident and sure, his focus absolute—like it always is. My mind flips through scenes from the prior evening, before my embarrassing meltdown. It amazes me that Oliver has risen so far to become who he is.
I want to know what happened after his parents died, how he went from orphan to successful businessman, but the warm interior of the car, combined with the soothing hum of the tires, pushes me into a sleepy state. I doze in the sunshine that forces its way through the tinted windows of the SUV.
The next thing I know, I’m blinking at the front of Mindy’s building. I rub my eyes. “Oh. We’re here. Sorry, I fell asleep. Worst copilot ever.”
“You needed the rest.” His voice is low and intimate.
I smile at him. “Thank you for—”
“Who is that?” His eyes focus behind me.
I follow his gaze to the front stoop. There’s a man peering into the door glass. He wears a baseball cap pulled low, and sunglasses cover half his face. He’s holding a paper bag and two cups of coffee.
“I think that’s Blake Bonham. He works with Mindy.” I frown. It’s almost noon on a Monday, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. Is Mindy not working today? “He’s probably waiting for her. Maybe they had a meeting or something.”
I am the worst liar. I would love to tell Oliver about what’s going on, but I can’t break Mindy’s trust.
Fortunately, he changes the subject. “Have dinner with me.”
“Yes.” My response is immediate.
One corner of his mouth tilts up in the smallest of curves. “Tonight.”
I nod. “I have work to do, so I’ll be downstairs in a couple hours.”
My stomach ripples with anxiety. I have the work space. I have the tools and the pieces from Whitby, along with all the other recycled parts Oliver got for me at my demand. I have an idea. No more excuses—I need to make something. Multiple somethings. I have a little over two months, and who knows how many hours it will take to assemble the final products.
“After you’re done working, come upstairs. Six okay?”
“Okay.” I lean over and kiss him. I intended for it to be a quick goodbye kiss, but the second our lips touch, it’s impossible to pull away. I get lost for a long minute, enjoying the feel of him.