I stand at Oliver’s door holding a bag with a peace offering in the form of a caramel bun inside and a nervous, uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here staring at the gold plate his apartment number is etched into, but it’s been a while. The concierge knows me and he let me right up, but he probably called Oliver to let him know I was on my way. If I don’t knock soon he’s going to think I’m stuck in the elevator or that the weird guy in 6B cornered me to talk about his thimble collection again.

We’ve been home from the beach for a few days, during which I’ve had time to think about how the whole “take me as your date” proposition must’ve come across to him. The way I just sprung it on him. The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face before he’d had a chance to school his expression.

I’ve also been thinking about how he said he didn’t want to resort to using tricks to buy the house, how he didn’t want to taint it. Whatever I’d get out of meeting Poppy Argyle at this benefit feels tainted now, because I invited myself without even considering that he might have a date lined up already. Or that he’d wanted to go alone.

So, I’ve come to give Oliver an out and an apology, coated in his favorite caramel pastry.

I’m just not sure how I’m going to phrase it. I thought a lot about this on my way over, but now my mind’s just…blank.

Do I say, “Hey, I don’t want my dream to come true because you were peer pressured into letting me tag along to your party, please enjoy this pastry and disregard my invite”?

I figure maybe it’ll be best if I just wing it.

I’m about to knock when Oliver opens the door.

He’s wearing my favorite dark grey henley, the one that really makes his eyes pop. Ugh, he just had to go and wear the shirt that accentuates his gorgeousness today. That’s going to make everything more difficult.

“Hey,” he says with a smile. “Raoul called to say you were on your way five minutes ago. I was wondering if I was gonna have to save you from 6B again.”

“What if I were here to see someone else?”

“Lucky them,” he teases.

Flatterer.

“Do you have a few minutes? I realize it was rude not to call first, but I—”

“Felicity,” he breathes. “I always have time for you.”

He’s really not trying to make this easy for me.

“I brought you something.” I hold out the bag and his eyes instantly brighten.

“Caramel bun?” He’s excited like a kid at Christmas. He opens the bag, brings it up to his nose and breathes in.

I nod. “Yup.”

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“You stood outside my door for five minutes after you got here, you have this weird nervous energy going on that you’re trying to hide, and you brought me some comfort food. I always love seeing you but you didn’t come here just to bring me pastry. What’s going on?”

This would be infinitely easier if he didn’t know me so well. “Can we sit?”

He really is worried. It’s written all over his face. “Yeah, sure.”

We step inside, and I make my way to Oliver’s living room. I’ve always been at home here; even though it’s a typical bachelor pad in that it’s filled with high-tech gadgets and TVs that almost take up entire walls and it could definitely use a woman’s touch, it’s…comfy. He has a large sectional with lots of pillows. The whole place is incredibly inviting, just like its owner.

I plant myself in my favorite spot on Oliver’s couch and pull a giant pillow into my lap because this will probably go more smoothly if I have something to hang onto.

Oliver sits on the coffee table across from me and reaches into the bag. He pulls out the bun and takes a huge bite, sending flakes all over his lap.

He hums at how good it is like he always does, and that little bit of familiarity comforts me.

“You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” I say.

He brushes them off his pants and onto the floor just to irritate me, I’m sure. “I’ll clean it up later. I’m stress eating; I’m not worried about being neat.”

I playfully roll my eyes. He’s so dramatic. “No need to stress eat.”

“No? You aren’t about to tell me you’re sick or leaving or something else that’s going to turn my world upside-down are you?” He knocks my knee with his, letting me know he’s teasing.

“No, nothing that big. I just came to apologize to you. And to let you off the hook.”

He tears himself away from the bun for a second to give me an adorably confused look. “What?”

“For the party,” I explain. “We had just had that talk about making your own luck. When Marisa said that Poppy Argyle was gonna be there my mind went into scheming overdrive. She’s my favorite designer; I’d love to work with her. I got this idea in my head that I’d go to your benefit, she’d see my dress, want to know more about the designer, and everything would just…work out in my favor. I got carried away and I cornered you. You looked really uncomfortable and then you got peer pressured—”

“I told you. I didn’t get peer pressured.”

I ignore him and keep going. “I didn’t even ask you if you were thinking about taking someone else or stop to consider whether you’d want me hanging around with you all night. So I wanted to give you an out.”

He puts the bun back in the bag and tosses it aside. “Felicity,” he says in that way only he can, all purposeful and sweet. “I always want you around and I don’t want an out. I’d love it if you’d…how did you put it? Be not my date date, but my companion for the evening.”

The reminder of my former verbal diarrhea aside, this time he’s smiling in that way that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle up and I know that he absolutely means what he says.

Peer pressure worries? Gone.

“Yeah?” I ask, because maybe I just need to hear it one more time.

He nods. “You know no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do.”

I do know that. “Okay.”

“I was planning on going alone anyway, so it’ll be nice to have someone to keep me company.”

“Thanks, Oliver.” I give him my best smile.

He returns it. “Anytime.”

We sit in heavy silence just looking at each other for a few seconds before I feel the need to break it. “Any word on the dream house yet?”

He shakes his head. “I’m working on it.”

“Keep trying. Maybe we’ll have something to celebrate next weekend.”

“I’m sure we will. Good things for you,” he says, nodding in my direction. “Hopefully some good things for me.”

“Hopefully.”

I feel so at home here in Oliver’s place, so at home with him that it’s tempting to stay, to ask him if he wants to watch a movie and get some takeout. He’d do pretty much anything I asked him to, he’s just that kind of guy. He’s been an amazing friend to me and to my brother throughout the years, and it’s easy to sink into that feeling of comfort and warmth I always feel when I’m around him. Just like it’s been so easy to love him for as long as I’ve known him, and easy for that love to go from purely platonic to anything but.

He doesn’t feel that way about me though, and it won’t do me any good to linger on something I cannot and will not have.

That’s what makes me extricate myself from his couch. “I should probably get going.”

Oliver stands along with me, standing close enough I can smell his cologne.

Dangerous territory.

“You don’t have to, you know. You’re always welcome here.”

Tempting, but… “I’ve got this big life-changing thing to plan for,” I tease. “I need to do some sewing and pick out some dresses that’ll put my best design foot forward.”

“Oh, well if it’s life-changing, by all means don’t let me keep you.” He’s grinning, looking genuinely happy. The sugar’s probably working overtime in his system.

Oliver walks me to the door. “I have to head out to Portland a few days early for some business,” he says. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

I nod. “It’s a date. Not a—”

“Date date,” he finishes. “Got it.”

I want to reach out and give him a hug, but I think better of it. “Thanks, Oliver. For everything.”

He follows me all the way out to the elevator. “Anytime.”