love came calling, twice // olly murs

14.

She was wearing the black dress she had spent weeks searching for and was swept up in Tom's arms. He was laughing, his eyes shining as they looked down at her and they twirled in a perfect circle. He grasped her hand tightly and she reveled in the way his thumb stroked across her knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat when his eyes met hers. He was so stunning, so handsome and so charming. She had never danced like this, so perfectly, so wonderfully. She felt like she was in a movie, where the heroine finally was rescued by her prince. It was like a fantasy.

Still, it didn't explain why she was once again wearing Olly Murs's hat. As Tom twirled in around the dance-floor, she glanced over his shoulder and the caught the eyes of the man whose hat was settled over her up-do.

His eyes bore into her own, before breaking away and following the graceful sway of her body against Tom's. He watched her feet first, the way they stepped one two three, one two three and then moved up her legs to her hips, the way the swiveled from side to side. Then up her elbows, to her slim forearms and wrists to where her hands were clinging to Tom's neck. Finally, they met her gaze again.

She felt herself twitch in Tom's embrace, feeling uncomfortable under Olly's strong stare. What was his deal? Why was he giving her the up and down glance? Why wouldn't he look away? She swallowed, wishing he would stop, but at the same time, wishing he would never look away.

And look away he didn't. For the entire duration of the song, his eyes remained on her dancing figure and she was captivated by his gaze; his blue eyes darkened by some unknown emotion.

Why wouldn't he just look away? He was ruining her dance, ruining her night! Being in Tom's arms felt tainted, wrong, when Olly was looking at her the way he was. She shuddered and smiled apologetically at Tom who noticed her discomfort.

She couldn't take it anymore. She needed to get him to stop staring, needed to know what his deal was. She broke away from Tom, murmuring that she'd be right back. Adjusting the trilby on her head, she picked up the skirt of her dress and stomped over to where he was.

Placing her hands on the table, she glared up at him. "Why," she demanded, "Are you staring at me?"

She expected some sarcastic remark in response; this was how he had been reacting to everything she had said all night. Instead, however, he smiled a gentle smile and pulled the lavender coloured rose that had suddenly settled itself in his lapel out and extended it to her.

"Well, Miller," he said, as she flushed and accepted the flower, "You have my hat."

With this remark, she recoiled and reached up to touch her hair. Indeed, she did, but why didn't he just ask for it back? Turning away from him, she lifted the rose to her nose and took a small sniff before looking back to the dance-floor.

Tom, however, was gone, in his place a dozen photographs of he and Shannon. Amelia frowned.

"Well, then," she said, shuffling over and kicking the photos. "That was a waste of time." She looked through the photos with her toe until one caught her eye. Bending down, she picked it up to examine it closer.

It was a short of blue eyes, gorgeous blue eyes and she squinted, knowing she had seen them somewhere.

Turning to glance back in Olly's direction, she noticed he was gone. Still, his hat remained on her head and the rose in her hands and she had never felt so confused in her life.

That was, until she woke up.

Turning over in her bed, Amelia blinked slowly, bringing a hand up to rub her tired eyes. What the hell was that dream about? Why was she reliving the wedding where she and Tom met? Why did she keep dreaming that she was wearing Olly's hat?

Feeling spooked, she reached up and made sure that it wasn't on her head. When she verified that she hadn't lost her mind, she dismissed the thoughts and let out a heavy sigh and swung her legs over the bed.

So much had happened since the talk she and Olly had had in the kitchen that late night, yet so little. She was still grieving, learning to live with the information everyday and while it wasn't painless, it was getting easier. Somehow, the knowledge that Tom was a slimy bastard in every sense of the word made me less difficult for her to feel bad about his death, as awful as that sounded. But she felt that she deserved a little bit of slack in this situation, too.

Tying her robe around her waist, she decided that today was the today. She had spent the last week moping, the last three months mourning. Now it was time to heal, time to move on.

It wasn't going to be easy and it was going to be difficult, but she had to do it. Step by step, piece by piece, inch by inch, she was determined to be whole again. The fact that she felt this way at all made her slightly proud as she landed on the second floor.

She glanced around. It was only eight-thirty and the house seemed deserted. She entered the kitchen and found a note from Adam saying that he, Jeff and Jason had all left for work and that Olly was asleep on the couch if she needed anything. She peered into the living room, and sure enough, the brunette man was on his back, snoring quietly.

She drew her bottom lip in between her teeth and watched him for a moment before walking over to the fridge. Olly, she thought, had been amazing these past few days, she could not deny it. She felt a pull, a strong urge to change the way things were between them; she had felt it since she woke up in his bedroom almost two weeks earlier.

He hadn't deserved the words she had flung at him and he hadn't needed to treat her the way he did. For everything he had done, she was thankful and in that moment as she remembered the bandages on her fingertips and shin, the way he had spoken with her so easily in the garden, she pulled out a carton of eggs from the fridge and walked over to the stove.

With the first crack of the egg, she knew what she need to do. Upon seeing two yokes fall into the pan, a sign of luck; she was certain.

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