The Hopeful, The Hardheaded and the Homework

Chapter Twenty-Four : Rained In : Olive

What happens when you mix coffee with a boring day and many very late nights? A chapter happy author!

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Olive did not want to have this discussion ever. She wasn't twelve anymore, and knew very much what she was getting into with Enoch. She also knew what kind of person he was...and was not. Her father might be determined to dislike everything about him from his hair to his attitude to his distinct lack of emotion, but Olive knew otherwise. If he was just going to make her sit down and listen to all the reasons he wasn't someone she should be dating, then she might have to take a leaf out of Enoch's book and walk out of the conversation.

"Do we have to talk about this again, Dad? I already know you don't like him." She sighed and bounced a little on the cushion as she dropped into the couch.

"Believe me, I tried to get your mother to talk to you, I don't want to have this conversation either. But if I'm the one who doesn't like him..."

"Enoch's not that bad, I promise."

Her father shook his head and glared at the arm of the couch to Olive's left before fixing his daughter with a raised eyebrow and a frown he saved only for the people he didn't like around his daughter. Which might have been a grand total of one but all the same...

"I just don't get a good feeling about him, Olive. I'm your father, I can disapprove as much as I like. I know what boys like that are like."

Olive went pink and she screwed up her nose in annoyance. "Not Enoch. He's not at all like that. Just because he's not cheerful and talkative doesn't make him a troublemaker...Dad you met him properly once. You can't make me stop seeing him, I'm not a little kid!"

"I'm not. I'd like you to..."

"Dad-" Olive was interrupted as he held up a hand to her.

"-but I'm not. Olive. I don't like that boy and I can't think what you see in him but I just want you to make sure if he ever tries anythi-"

Olive squeaked in embarrassment and dropped her head into her hands. It wasn't happening. This conversation was entirely fictitious. It was almost a nightmare. It annoyed her more than ever that not only did her father not like or trust Enoch, he didn't trust her. Of course, she knew he was just being a protective father and didn't want to see her hurt but she wasn't stupid or blind.

"If you can't trust him you could try trusting me?" She stormed to her feet, wanting to be anywhere in the world but here. "Enoch's not at all like you think." And with that, her cheeks burning a ferocious shade of pink to clash with her hair, she swept from the room.

Perhaps she should have called Enoch first, or at least texted to let him know but Olive wasn't even entirely sure of where she was going to go by the time she'd bundled up in boots and gloves and left the house. What she wouldn't give for just a little snow in a few more days even if it didn't last. It rarely did in the city. But a white Christmas was always a nice thought.

Twenty five minutes later Olive stopped outside the gate barely clinging to its hinges that clearly nobody could be bothered to fix, and butterflies began to flutter around in her stomach suddenly. She definitely should have called him. He might not even be home, although apart from the funeral parlour Olive wasn't sure where else Enoch would be, but just inviting herself around to his home? Wouldn't he mind? Well if he did, she'd just make sure not to arrive unannounced next time.
Olive drew in a breath and stepped through the gate which squeaked as it swung closed again behind her.

She knocked a few times on the door and rocked on her feet. She didn't have to wait long before Isla O'Connor opened the door and looked suddenly surprised to see Olive there.
The girl smiled, locking her hands together in front of her on the doorstep. "Is Enoch here?"