Dear Heart

14. Wendy

14

Wendy

She wanted to be angry with Ollie. He'd gone into her phone, invaded her privacy, called one of her friends and threatened him. Threatened – God, she hated that word. But what else could she call it? Talked forcefully to? Made a firm request of?

"You're pissed," Ollie said as Braswell's tall brick façade came into view up ahead on the sidewalk.

A little. Not as much as she should have been. Mostly, she was excited to hear this voice she'd thought long gone, that of the old Ollie she'd known growing up, with opinions and vibrancy.

She bumped her shoulder into him as they walked. "Did you freak Tate out?" she asked instead of answering his question.

"Depends. Is he the kinda guy who freaks out easy?" He bumped her back.

She grinned. "Yes, he is. And yes, I'm pissed." But she couldn't dim her smile, so grateful for the simple pleasure of walking beside him, the sense of familiarity that was all about being friends and nothing about this whole newfound lovers angle of their relationship.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you really?" She glanced over at him, saw that little curve to his sweet mouth. "You are so not sorry."

"A little bit sorry," he said, shooting her a mock grimace.

They both laughed softly.

"I like seeing you like this," she admitted. "I just wish I hadn't had to jump under a table to do it."

His smile turned rueful. "I'm doing better. At least, I think I am. It feels like it." His gaze rested on hers, hopeful.

"You are doing better." She looped her arm through his, and he reached for her hand instead, lacing their fingers together. "Thanks for coming to have lunch with me."

"You're welcome." They reached the foot of the staircase and they halted; Ollie drew her around in front of him, so he could look down into her face. "And we're not done with the Chase conversation."

"Ugh."

He lifted a finger in warning that was ruined when he cracked up. "I'm serious."

"Uh-huh."

"Wendy." His grin slipped and he stepped in close to her, cupped her cheek in one hand, the fingers of the other still tangled with hers. "I'm serious," he repeated, softly. And kissed her.

It was quick, and soft – they were in public – but it sent a thrill through her all the same. She sighed when he pulled back, already knowing she'd spill the whole stupid story to him if he kept kissing her like that. "It's really dumb," she warned.

"So am I. Let's have dinner at my place." There was no deterring him apparently.

"Or at mine."

His eyes widened. He swallowed, and she thought he'd protest, but he nodded, a little jerky. "Yeah. Okay. Sure. I can bring takeout."

"I'll cook. I have some chicken I need to fix before it hits the date." Plus, she didn't want him to deal with the stress of getting to Brooklyn and getting food.

Shit, was she coddling him? Underestimating him?

"Sounds good." He kissed her again and squeezed her hand before letting her step away. He watched her all the way up the stairs, smiling and giving a little wave as she slipped in the door, waving back. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought he looked less and less certain the farther away she drew.