I stared at Oliver. “You’re going to pay me a salary? Out of your trust?
“It’s an investment. And you’re worth it.” He reached for me, pulling me onto his lap so that I straddled him. “I think you should quit your job on Monday and move up to Detroit.”
I laughed. “You’re insane!”
“Probably.”
“I don’t even have a place to live in Detroit.”
“So stay with me until you find a place.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Or as long as you want to.”
“Oliver,” I whispered, my heart beating madly. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want it to end tomorrow when you walk out of here.”
“I don’t either.”
We stared at each other for a moment, then he grabbed my head and crushed his lips to mine. “I know what we should call our company.”
“What?” I asked breathlessly.
“Brown Eyed Girl.”
“Like the song?”
“Like you.”
The room was spinning, and I wasn’t sure which way was up.
Within minutes, his underwear and my T-shirt were on the floor and he was sliding inside me again. It felt different this time. Less playful. More intense. We weren’t fucking just for fun or because we were bored or because it felt good—we were doing it because we felt something for each other.
And when we said goodbye late Sunday night, we kissed deep and long and said we’d see each other soon.
The next morning, I gave my notice at work.
Two days later, I told my roommate I was moving out by the end of the month.
Three days later, I told my parents I wouldn’t be moving home to work at Cloverleigh.
I thought it was a little strange that I hadn’t heard from Oliver, but I never would have guessed why.
He was already gone.
17
Oliver
THEN
Alison was seriously getting on my nerves.
“My shoes are going to be ruined.”
“It’s snowing, Alison. What do you want me to do? I can’t get you any closer to the door than valet.”
She huffed, but remained silent as I pulled forward. We were attending the Cloverleigh Christmas party at the request of my parents. Hughie and Lisa were here too, showing off their brand new baby. I really hadn’t wanted to come, but my mother had guilt-tripped me. My mood was anything but festive.
“You knew what the weather was like when you got dressed,” I said irritably, putting my SUV in park. “This is northern Michigan. We get snow in December.”
“I know, Oliver. I’m from Kenilworth, not Kenya.”
Leaving the keys in the ignition, I nodded tersely at the valet and went around to the passenger side. A second attendant had opened Alison’s door, and I helped her out. “They put salt down, so it shouldn’t be too icy.”
“Great,” she said sarcastically, eyeing the walk leading to the front door of the inn. “That’s even worse for my shoes.”
Jesus fucking Christ, I thought, carefully leading her toward the door. It’s a ten-foot walk. Do you want me to carry you?
“I don’t even know why we’re here. Who are these people again?” she asked for the hundredth time.
I clenched my jaw. “John and Daphne Sawyer. They own Cloverleigh Farms.”
“And how do you know them?”
“Daphne and my mother grew up together. They’ve been best friends for fifty years.” I held the door open for her. “Our families have always been close.”
“Do they have kids?”
“Five daughters. Sylvia, April, Meg, Frannie, and Chloe.”
I hadn’t spoken to Chloe since she left my Chicago hotel room four years ago, and saying her name out loud made me feel a little strange. Would it be awkward seeing her tonight? Was she still mad? I’d tried reaching out after I’d come home from Europe, but judging from the expletive-heavy response to my hey, how are you text message, she was still pretty pissed. I’d never seen so many F-bombs in one sentence.
“Are any of the daughters married?” Alison glanced at the engagement ring on her finger as I pulled open the heavy front door.
“Only Sylvia, the oldest.” I could tell by the look on her face she felt some kind of victory in her pre-marital status, as if the diamond on her finger made her a better person.
Once inside, we checked our coats and greeted the Sawyers, who stood chatting with my parents by the fireplace. I introduced them to Alison, and felt bad when Aunt Daphne tried to hug her and my fiancée remained stiff. Alison wasn’t really a hugger. It didn’t bother me, since I wasn’t particularly inclined to be affectionate with her. Alison was perfect on paper, nearly a carbon copy of Hughie’s wife, in fact, but I wasn’t in love with her. The idea of her made my family happy—it reassured them that I was finally settling down—but mostly she drove me nuts.
April Sawyer came over to say hello, and I kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, April. This is Alison.”
“His fiancée,” Alison informed her, holding out a pale, manicured hand.
“Of course.” April smiled warmly at her and glanced at the ring. “So nice to meet you, and congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you. We’re very happy.” Alison gave me a look like I was a dog who hadn’t performed a trick when prompted.
“I need a drink,” I said. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“I’m fine,” April said. “But order anything you like at the bar.”
“I’ll take a glass of wine.” Alison looked around at the guests, mostly family, close friends, and employees of Cloverleigh. I could totally imagine her sizing everyone up, judging them by what they wore. Things like labels mattered to her.
“We have great wine here,” said April. “Oliver, take her into the bar and check out the new renovations.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” I took Alison’s arm, mostly because she expected me to, and led her into the restaurant. The bar was over to one side, and I immediately spotted Chloe standing at it with friends. She held a drink in her hand, and she was laughing at something someone had said, her face all lit up.
She was even more beautiful than I remembered, and I remembered her a lot.
It wasn’t even on purpose. Thinking about Chloe made me feel shitty—I knew I shouldn’t have done what I did, and I had no good excuse. I’d tried, over the last few years, to pinpoint exactly what it was that made me abandon her that way, and I hadn’t come up with one good reason except … I was an immature jackass and not ready to take anything seriously. But she’d always known that about me, hadn’t she? And really, we hadn’t made any promises to each other. We’d just tossed around some ideas. She couldn’t hold it against me forever.
Avoiding her for now, I steered Alison toward the opposite end of the bar, barely noticing the renovations April had mentioned.
“What’s wrong?” Alison asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing.” I cleared my throat and faced the bartender. “What kind of red wine do you have?”