I wake up with the early morning sun blaring brightly through the window directly onto my face. I try to be annoyed about it, but don’t feel that lagging exhaustion that accompanies me out of bed most days. The only reason I want to stay in bed this morning is because it’s so amazingly comfortable. If I let myself do that though, I’ll never get up. I need to get up. I yawn and stretch, then roll over and pluck my phone off of the nightstand.

It’s 7:30 AM. I must’ve been really tired because I never sleep past 10 at home. I roll my legs off the side of the bed and once I’m upright I notice the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. That’s enough to get me up.

I amble to the bathroom and wash my face. Looking in the mirror, the bone-deep tiredness that had set up residence in the bags beneath my eyes seems to have gone. That’s a relief. A little bit of pampering before the benefit tonight and I should be good as new.

Out in the main room, Oliver’s sitting at the dining room table, already fully dressed. He’s casual in jeans and a pullover, reading the paper and nursing a cup of coffee. The room is bright, the doors leading out to the balcony are fully open. The curtains flutter in the breeze and birds chirping is the soundtrack to the morning.

Oliver looks up at me and smiles. “Morning,” he says.

“Morning.” I reach up and fiddle with one of the strands of hair that’s fallen out of my bun, feeling a little self-conscious about the way Oliver’s looking at me. He’s seen me fresh out of bed before, I don’t know why this time is any different. “Do I smell coffee?” I ask stupidly, just wanting to start any kind of conversation to end this vaguely awkward moment.

“There’s a pot on the counter over there.” Oliver nods toward the kitchenette.

I walk over and pour myself a cup, then take half a bagel from the pile next to the coffee maker, put it on a plate and spread an ungodly amount of veggie cream cheese on it. It’s a little chilly in here—I probably should’ve put something more substantial on than a tank and some shorts—but I want to go and soak up the sun while it’s out. I can already see the clouds rolling in.

I set the coffee and the bagel down, then head onto the balcony. There are a few early-morning walkers making laps around the yard and a smattering of guests eating breakfast as they look out onto the city. I take a few deep breaths, filling my lungs with fresh air before I go back in side and take a seat across from Oliver.

A long sip of coffee warms me up, and wrapping my fingers around the mug chases some of the chill away.

“Did you sleep well?” Oliver asks.

“Oh yeah. The soft pillowy-ness of that mattress was a problem though. I had to make myself get out of it.”

Oliver grins. “Anything in particular you want to do today?”

I don’t really need to start getting ready until early afternoon, which leaves the whole morning wide open. “Yesterday you said that there’s a market on Saturdays? I’d like to check that out.”

Oliver’s grin widens to a full-on smile. “Shopping? Of course that’s what you’d want to do.”

I stretch out my leg and tap his calf with my big toe. Smartass. “You know me.”

“I do.” I take a bite of my bagel, because that unreadable look in his eyes is back. I don’t like knowing what it is, and even more, I’m kind of scared to ask. The way my life works he’s liable to reply with something completely soul-crushing, like being amazed at how much I’ve grown from the scrawny nuisance who used to tag along with him, my brother and Caleb when I was little.

My poor heart just couldn’t take that.

Oliver practically bolts out of his chair, disappearing into his room. He emerges a few seconds later with a hoodie, which he hands to me.

“I thought you might be cold,” he says, sounding almost strained.

I can’t help but smile at him for noticing, but when I slide it over my head and pull it down, I understand exactly why he noticed. My nipples are fully at attention, straining against my shirt, and I had no idea.

God, could this be more embarrassing? The flash of heat in my cheeks helps with the temperature issue I’m having.

“Thanks,” I manage, despite desperately wanting to die.

“I have some things I have to take care of for the benefit this morning, but I’ll have a car take you down there and bring you back whenever you’re ready.”

My stomach drops with disappointment. I know he’s here for business, and that I’m just a person who tagged along, but I was hoping that we’d get to spend at least some time together this weekend. I do my best to school my expression so Oliver doesn’t realize that, since clearly he wasn’t on the same page.

I think I fail because he quickly adds, “I could meet you there around lunch if you want?”

What I don’t want is to be anyone’s burden, especially his. “I think I’ll do alright on my own.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of being your conscience so you won’t do too much damage.”

“I don’t think I’ll need a conscience today. The nerves will keep me from enjoying myself too much.”

Oliver raises a brow. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” I reply quickly. “No way. It’s only the most important night of my life with my entire future hanging in the balance. Not nervous at all.”

Oliver playfully rolls his eyes. “Anything I can do to help?”

I think on it for a minute, then remember what Corinne mentioned the other day when we were on the phone. “Yeah, actually. There is.”

He folds his paper and puts it down on the table, squaring his shoulders letting me know I have his full attention. That’s a little intimidating.

“Go for it.”

I take a deep breath. “You get a lot of people wanting to work for you, right?”

He nods. “Yep.”

“What’s the best way to present yourself to someone like you—someone really successful—when someone like me wants a mentor? I don’t want to walk up to Poppy Argyle and leave her with the impression that I’m some young idiot who is just after her name recognition. I want to give myself the best chance I have at getting a yes.”

Oliver thinks on that for a few seconds. “Honestly? I know this is cliche, but just be yourself.”

“C’mon, Oliver!”

“No,” he continues with a smile. “I mean it! Hear me out. A lot of people approach me asking for mentorship, but most of the time it’s not because they want to get into the industry or because they have a love for hospitality and want to learn from someone who’s successful at it. A lot of them just want a life like mine and think that learning from me is the key to getting it. When someone is really passionate about something, you can feel it. The way that you talk about designing, sewing, and the clothes that you make? You just radiate happiness and dedication and if someone like that—someone like you—wanted to learn from me, I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

What he’s saying makes a lot of sense and makes some of the nerves melt a way a little. Maybe the best way of approaching this isn’t with a rehearsed speech full of admiration, but an honest talk about what I’m passionate about and what I admire about her success in the industry I want to be a part of.

I smile at Oliver. “Thanks.”

“Did it help at all?”

“Yeah,” I reply with a nod. “You’ve made me feel confident about tonight in a way I haven’t quite been able to work myself up to yet.”

Oliver’s whole face brightens. “Good. I had some champagne sent up for later just in case.”

“You gonna share it with me?”

“Always. I wouldn’t miss out on being there when you make your dreams come true.”

The soft, intent look in his eyes sends a rush of heat skittering up my spine. He does this sometimes, looks at me in a way that’s all warm and adoring, a way that makes me think…maybe.

But nothing ever changes, and it’s probably better if I get up before I let my thoughts run away from me.

“I should probably get going so I’m not rushing later. Thanks for the advice.” I pat Oliver’s shoulder as I walk to my room.

“Felicity?” Oliver asks.

I turn toward him from the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to do something together tomorrow? After tonight I figure we could probably use a day relaxing, having some fun.”

Even if I wanted to, I could never say no to him.

“Yeah,” I reply with a grin. “I’d really like that.”

The driver Oliver calls for me—an affable man named John—takes me to the Portland Saturday market and gives me a number to reach him when I’m ready to go back to the hotel. He sends me off with a warm smile and a couple of recommendations for his favorite stalls.

I set an alarm on my phone, because this is definitely the kind of place that I could get lost in all day long. I wander through the stalls, sampling some locally made treats, admire some of the hand made crafts, and buy a few gifts for my friends. Handcrafted earrings for Marisa and Mia, a small bucket of bath bombs for Corinne—who probably needs them as much as I did last night—a new wallet for Ben, a pair of barbecue tongs for Caleb, and a wooden puzzle for Oliver to fiddle with when he’s on the phone.

I grab a couple of snacks from the vendors as I wander, getting a feel for Portland. Everyone is friendly, letting me touch their fabrics, talking to me about the process of making their goods. I stay a little longer than I should, and meet John at a busy intersection a good half hour after I meant to leave.

When I return to the hotel, I rush right into the spa for the massage appointment I’d made before I left New York. A woman named Ingrid with hands of magic works out all the kinks and knots I couldn’t get rid of in the bath yesterday. When she’s finished with me, I feel like a boneless blob of relaxation. She passes me off to Astrid, who gives me a mani and pedi.

When I walk out a few hours later, I feel ready to conquer the world.

On my way back to the room to take a shower and start getting ready, I pass by the ballroom. It’s a flurry of activity setting up for the evening, and overseeing it all is Oliver.

Without really thinking about it, I’m drawn into the room, closer to him. I can’t help myself. It only takes a few seconds for him to notice that I’m there, and he smiles when he sees me.

“Hey,” he says, looking down at my bags from the market. “Looks like you did minimal damage.”

“And almost all this stuff is for other people. Including this, for you.” I hand him the brown bag the puzzle came with.

Oliver reaches in and pulls it out, an almost befuddled look on his handsome face. “No offense, but what is this?”

I can’t help but laugh. I take the puzzle, a spherical thing held together by shaped pieces of wood, and pull out a piece. “I thought you could put this on your desk at work. It would give you something to do with your hands when you’re on calls, because I know you hate talking on the phone. It’s a change of pace from doodling, and…maybe it’s silly, but I thought—”

“It’s not silly.” Now that he knows what it is and why he has it, he looks at it with a sentimental longing, like it’s more than just a puzzle. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“I thought you might.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else when someone calls his name.

It’s time for me to get out of his hair anyway; I have a whole routine to get to.

“I’ll head upstairs,” I tell him. “Let you get back to work.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Wow. All proper like?”

Oliver smiles. “I figured I’d stay out of your hair while you’re getting ready.”

I laugh. “Okay, seven sounds good.”

“See you then, Felicity.”