I slide my hands into my suit jacket pockets just as Ollie strolls out the front entrance door of her apartment. Princess Pinky squeals loudly at my presence and it doesn’t take any time for Ollie to realize why she’s suddenly so excited.
“Hey!” Her voice sings with such joy my chest noticeably swells.
Why shouldn’t it? No one is ever as happy to see me as they are.
“Hey,” I cheerfully state back at the same time they reach the bottom step.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, steering the hog to the right. “I thought you had plans.”
“I do. Just…wanted to come by and see the two of you beforehand.”
The expression of excitement she attempts to hide strokes my ego harder.
Didn’t realize how good it felt to actually be wanted again until her. Not sure if Carol Ann just got so comfortable around me she let herself forget to show it or if the truth was she never loved me enough to at least fake it.
“You know I hate not seeing the two of you for more than a couple of days.”
Ollie hums, pushes some hair out of her face, and quietly confesses, “The feelings mutual.”
My heart thrums a little harder than expected.
In the past three weeks, there has only been one stretch of time we went more than two days without seeing each other. It was awful. It was unexpectedly awful. At first, I thought I was over exaggerating, but then the day just spiraled out of control leaving me an inconsolable asshole. The next morning, I stopped by Ollie’s with doughnuts and coffee to mentally prepare myself for the next hurricane of shit I was anticipating, yet it never came. I went into the office feeling like I could conquer the world. I had this huge grin on my face the entire morning, but it wasn’t until Blake asked if I had slipped whiskey into my coffee, I gave any consideration to why it was there. Maybe it’s insane a woman I’ve practically just met has such a strong, positive effect on me or maybe it’s more insane that I wasted years with a woman who never did.
The two of us continue our stroll, relieved to no longer catch as many scoffs and sneers for exercising a farm animal in the middle of downtown.
“I think she’s cold,” Ollie sighs.
My attention pulls away from her to Princess Pinky who is happily strutting along. “She’s fine.”
“She’s shivering.”
“She’s wiggling.”
“She’s cold,” Ollie continues to argue. “I’m telling you she’s freezing. I should’ve put a jacket on her.”
Which she has. It’s pink. It sparkles. And it belongs nowhere near a fucking hog.
A gust of the cool night air catches us. Ollie instantly shivers, and I instinctively begin to peel off my work jacket. “She’s fine, but you’re not.” My hands drape the article of clothing over her shoulders. “Why didn’t you grab yours?”
“I wasn’t expecting the temperature to drop in the thirty minutes since I’ve been outside.” Her hand adjusts my jacket to cover a bit more of her shoulder. “You didn’t have to give me yours, Farm Boy.”
With a short shrug, I say, “It’s not a big deal.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to disagree yet promptly shuts it. For a few minutes more we continue our walk around the block in silence. The fact we can comfortably be in one another’s presence without feeling pressured to fill the gaps makes me smile.
As we make our way across the street, Ollie asks, “How’d that meeting go today? Did you get the contract? Did the bar agree to start carrying your beer?”
Her memory for what’s going on in my life doesn’t go unappreciated. “No…but thank you for asking.”
There’s a very distinctive humph out of her. “Their loss. I’m sure your beer is amazing.”
Constantly being rejected by all the bars outside of my hometown give a man a different feeling.
“Even though you haven’t brought me any to taste yet,” she teases.
I lightly chuckle, bump into her, and slip the leash out of her grasp. “It’s not like I keep a case of it at the apartment.”
“Why not? Do you keep a case of it at your house?”
“Yeah, but that’s home. The apartment…” my sentence fades away like the sun is starting to in the distance.
“You hate it, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Is it because it reminds you of Carol Ann?”
Fighting the instinct to lie so the conversation can be over, I reply, “It’s because it doesn’t feel like I belong there. In my own apartment, it’s me that feels out of place. That’s a fucked up feeling I don’t care for.”
Ollie loops her arm around mine. “Is that why you prefer we always hang out at my place?”
I let out a small sigh of relief from the feeling of her body being close to mine. “Yeah.”
While we aren’t….dating or have even discussed the idea, we constantly dance in the territory. Hell, if I’m completely honest with myself, I wish we were dancing in cement. I love the moments we’re together. Whether we’re talking about the weird weather or fighting over whose turn it is to pay, it doesn’t matter. Just being with her is wonderful. But these few moments when we’re touching like this, which are steadily increasing thanks to my lucky penny wishes and Mama’s echoed scolding in the back of my brain, these are the best moments of my fucking life. Without question. How one person’s touch can cease worry as well as create joy is incredible. But that’s Ollie. Everything about her is incredible.
After our walk ends, I swing by my apartment, change out of my button down into a t-shirt, and haul ass to Pete’s, the local bar in my hometown.
The minute I walk through the door, I’m instantly greeted by a few of the regulars who recognize my face. Several lift their bottles to show me their support and to showcase their loyalty to my brand as well as standing by one of their own.
I flop down on the stool beside Oliver who is also chugging back one of my beers.
“You’re late.”
“Five whole minutes.”
“Late is late. You know that.”
Out of all of us, Oliver is the least laid back of the bunch. Mama’s not sure how it happened considering the rest of us are pretty much go with the flow people, but she says everything about Oliver has always been different. He was the only one of us who was born two weeks early. He was the only one who was walking at a year exactly. The only one who stayed consistent with his growth each doctor’s visit. And he’s the only one who hates getting dirty. Makes perfect sense how he ended up with a cushy office job fixing broken computers.
I toss a finger in the air at Scrappy, the bartender, who acknowledges me with a nod.
“Is that why you didn’t land the deal today? Were you late?”
Giving him a sharp look, I sarcastically reply, “No mama, I wasn’t late. They just weren’t interested.” Scrappy sits the beer in front of me at the same time I snip, “And how the hell did you know that?”
“Blake complained on his Facebook page. Again.” Oliver adjusts his tie. “Does he realize he doesn’t have to post everything that happens to him?”
Pop always jokes Blake is overly social to make up for the fact Oliver is not. While they’re not twins, they are close enough in age and face to make people question it. They’re also when Mama and Pop discovered their boys were capable of not getting along. Because of their constant bickering, I almost wasn’t born.
“Other than being pissy about my tardiness, how are you?” I ask between sips. “Still seeing that chick you met online, Lisa?” Unsure if that’s the correct name since he only mentioned her once during our meet up two weeks ago, I continue to ramble off, “Liza? Lindsey…?”
Oliver grunts his displeasure. “Nope.”
“Nope, that wasn’t her name or you’re not seeing her anymore?”
“Both.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
I nod my surrender while he orders us a couple of burgers and cheese fries to split. Before things can get too stale, I encourage him to talk about something I know he’s comfortable with. Work. Oliver’s blue eyes bulge at the invitation to freely complain about his most recent grievances. He drones on and on through two beers and half our meal.
Around the time he’s finishing up his disappointment with his bonus, my cell vibrates in my pocket grabbing my attention.
“Maybe you should quit.” My suggestion is met with a scowl. “I’m just sayin’ if you feel underappreciated or can make more money elsewhere then quit. Move on.”
“What is with the Shaw family? Why is everyone’s first response to quit when they’re unhappy with something?”
“Because none of us can see the point in spending that much time being miserable.”
I swipe my phone open to view the message at the same time, Oliver grunts, “Then how do you explain dating Carol Ann for a goddamn life time?”
The accusation pulls my eyes to his.
“You weren’t happy yet you didn’t quit. You kept going back every time even though you hated her more and more every day. How can you tell me to leave my job, to move on, when it took you years to even consider finding someone else?”
Thoughtlessly, I retort, “Because now I understand just how much time I really wasted.”
Oliver’s face shifts to one of shock.
Sometimes when I’m sitting in my office, I imagine what it would be like if Ollie and I met under better circumstances. If we would’ve met sooner. If we would’ve met before Daryl or Carol Ann had the chance to do some of the damage they’ve done. Sometimes I shake my head at all the effort I put into something with someone who just used me more than I wanted to admit.
I look down at my phone to read the text.
Ollie: French toast tomorrow? It’s the only breakfast food I’ve mastered cooking from scratch, lol.
Her comment causes me to smile as it always does.
“What?” My brother immediately questions. “What’s got you grinnin’ like a lunatic all of a sudden?”
“My someone else…”
It may not be official yet. But one day. One day soon I hope.
“You boys need anything else?” Scrappy appears in front of us. “Another round, maybe? This one’s on me.”
Oliver nods, but I decline, “I’m good. Gotta drive back into the city.”
Scrappy leans onto the bar, a wave of smoke and whiskey wafting our direction. “Why ain’t ya stayin’ at your place out here? Isn’t work on the same property?”
Rather than pour grains into the rumor mill of this small town, I simply state, “Have a morning meeting.”
Which isn’t a lie. I do. The minor detail about it not being for work doesn’t need to be included.
“Glad you’ve been keepin’ yourself buried to brows in work instead of pining over Carol Ann who was just in here the other day with her new boyfriend.”
I swallow my disgust. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “And that man’s a real piece of work. Just like her. Both were flashin’ too many diamonds for my likin’. His on his wrist. Hers on her neck. It’s like they had just come from a his and hers diamond exchange.”
Oliver shakes his head. “That’s not a thing Scrappy.”
“Is too,” his gravelly voice swiftly argues. “Anyway, didn’t mind ‘em bein’ in the bar, but they were all over each other. Hands in places that made crazy Mrs. Muller’s mouth mumble bible phrases about living in sin or sleeping with temptation-”
“Being led into temptation,” my brother quietly inputs.
“It was quite a show she was puttin’ on,” Scrappy continues. “Almost makes ya wonder just how long they’ve been together…Damn sure looked like longer than just a few weeks…”
Oliver cuts me a quick glance. “I’ll take a fresh one for sure, Scrappy. Maybe a piece of Sharon’s cheesecake, if you’ve got any.”
“You know I always have my wife’s cheesecake,” he chuckles and stands back up.
“Wanna make it two?” Oliver asks me. “Tonight’s on me.”
His attempt at being sympathetic isn’t missed.
“Sure.” I shrug. “I’ll take a piece.”
“Coming right up,” Scrappy announces before strolling towards the back.
In a lowered voice, my brother does his best to comfort me, “Sorry she was cheating on you, Runt. No one deserves to go through that.”
Maybe not. But if she hadn’t there’s a high chance, Ollie and I wouldn’t have ran into each other. We wouldn’t have a friendship or the possibility for more. More importantly, if she hadn’t done what she did to me, there’s a chance I might still be as miserable as I was, just waiting around for her to come back instead of finally trying something new. Carol Ann may have walked out of my life like it was nothing, but Ollie stumbled in and stayed like it was something. Like I am something worth sticking around for. Maybe that’s why I’m not as broken up over it as everyone is expecting. Maybe I’ve finally moved onto happiness like a real Shaw always does.