Rekindled Rendezvous

Chapter Three

"What do you want?" I snapped at Oliver. "Here to continue flirting with me?"

He burst out laughing. Once he sobered up, he stared at me curiously. "That's my usual method to get the ladies to like me."

I snorted and wiped away a stray tear. "Does it look like it's working?" He slowly shook his head. "Then you should try being genuine."

"Is that what you look for in guys?" At the moment, Oliver wasn't flirting. He was genuinely curious and waited for my answer.

I couldn't help but question myself. What did I look for in a guy? A part of me answered saying someone tall and generous, someone who would bring happiness into my life and protect me forever.

But my mind had a different answer and that was what I told Oliver. "I'm not looking for a real relationship right now." I truthfully told him. "We don't have to fall in love, we can just pretend we like each other in front of our parents."

I didn't mean to sound rude. Oliver seemed alright, but I didn't feel like I was in a stable position to maintain a relationship. I could see the disappointment etched on Oliver's face, but I pretended I didn't see how discouraged he looked.

We both fell into an uncomfortable silence. I pretend to study a batch of flowers as he continues to study me. Growing more uneasy by the second, I started playing with my hair.

"What if we made a deal?" Oliver asked. Quickly, I turned my head to look at him. "If I act civilized, will you not cause problems?"

I thought it over for a second. "I guess," I hesitantly said. He stuck his hand out and I stared at him quizzingly.

"Shake on it," he explained. We shook our hands and I tried to ignore how warm his hand was. Or how his hand fitted perfectly in mine.

Quickly, I let go of his hand. "We should get to know each other," I told him.

He nodded and wiped his hand on his jeans. Were my hands that sweaty? Was it obvious I was attracted to him? Self-consciously, I rubbed my hands together, cringing as I noticed the moisture sticking them together.

"Well, there isn't much to tell you. I was named after my great uncle, who died an hour before I was born. Tragic, I know. My birthday is October 15th and I'm 23 years old. My grandma was half Canadian while my father was half Egyptian. My parents and I, however, were born in Italy."

I was surprised at the uniqueness of Oliver's heritage. However, now that he mentioned it, some of his features gave away his nationality. 

For example, his natural tanned skin explained his Egyptian heritage. Most people from Italy had pale skin, including my whole family. "Oh," was all I said.

"How about you?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind and my mouth is filled with a coppery tang. 

I laughed bitterly. "I'm sure my father has told you enough," Oliver's eyebrows shot up and he stared at me disbelievingly. 

Cautiously, I took a step back. 

"Why do you think of me so lowly?" he fumed, staring fiercely at me. Instantly, I felt bad for acting rude to Oliver. 

But instead, I snapped back at him. "You were the one who agreed to this marriage! This is your fault, not mine!"

I regretted the words before they even came out of my mouth. Oliver's face was so red with rage that he looked between a cross of a bull and tomato. His dark eyes were blazing and his nostrils flared as he glared down at me. Suddenly, he whirled around and stomped down the garden. 

I wanted to call him back.

Everything suddenly seemed so overwhelming. Only a few days ago, Francisco was the one leaving me. A sudden flashback occurred in my mind and Oliver's retreating form turned into Francisco. 

I quickly shake my head, trying to get rid of the thought. "I can't do this," I whispered to myself, crumbling to the ground.

By the time I had finally got up from my curled up position, Oliver was long gone.

---

I arrived home for dinner early and decided to make my parents their favourite Italian cuisine. I was about to get out the flour out before a dark skinned hand stopped me. I turned around to see Rose, our head chef. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, her Jamaican accent ringing through my ears. "I want to make dinner for my parents," I told her, hoping she wouldn't argue with me. 

Unfortunately, the hesitation in her eyes shone clear so I silently begged her with my eyes. Finally, she removed her hand from my arm and nodded at me. The moment she left the kitchen, I began pulling out the other ingredients used to make Focaccia bread.

Once I had everything I needed, I started off by mixing flour, salt, yeast, garlic powder, sugar, dried oregano, dried thyme, basil and black pepper together. Once all the dry ingredients were evenly distributed inside the bowl, I poured in a cup of water and a tablespoon of vegetable oil.

When a dough-like consistency was created, I placed the dough in a bowl and coated it with oil. Now, I had to wait 20 minutes until the dough was ready to be baked.

During this 20 minute break, I preheated the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit and shredded Parmesan and mozzarella cheese. Then, I pressed the dough into a rectangular pan and sprinkled on the cheese.

I watched as the dough turned a golden brown and the cheese became an oozing melted mess. When the dish was finished cooking, I opened the oven door and got out the bread.

Satisfied, I inhaled the scent that wafted through my nose. I grinned and started slicing the food into portions. 

I didn't know what came over me to make dinner, but it gave me time to think. Was Oliver still mad at me?

I decided to apologize to him the next time I'd see him. That would probably be soon if my parents decided to continue with the engagement.

What was Francisco up to now? Was he enjoying his single life with a bunch of exotic, beautiful tropical girls? The thought made my stomach drop. 

I shouldn't care about Francisco. He obviously didn't like me, so why should I care about him? Francisco was a ruthless man, who will pay dearly the next time I see him.

Too bad that would be never. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps entering the kitchen and I turned my head to see Father, who stared at me confusedly. 

"Where's Oliver?" he asked.

Uh oh.

Author's Note:

I think I'm going to have to start updating once a week, which sucks. Even though it's only been the first week, we've gotten loads of homework. Worst of all, there's more to come. 

I hope you guys understand.

Don't forget to comment and vote!

Thanks for Reading!

-Nisha