Page 16 of A Heart On A Sleeve

ten

Sam

A Surprise Dinner Guest

I should have let Olive kiss Max. Not because I want her to end up with him, but because it isn’t cool to take her choices away from her.

I’ve never been a fan of telling any woman what to do or when to do it.

I value the women in my life as equals, and how I behaved yesterday was borderline caveman.

But that’s what she does to me, and it’s not the first time I’ve invoked my wishes or opinions on her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

One look at that milky skin covered in white cotton panties and I was hooked.

It’s not logical the way I’m drawn to her.

She’s irritatingly beautiful, to the point that she makes underwear suited for a grandma sexy, but even more than that, she’s smart as a whip and downright funny when she uses her Southern charm as a vessel for sarcasm.

A saccharine package that sucked me in, then repeatedly knocks me over the head with a mixture of lust, amusement, and downright annoyance.

“What-ah-ya lookin’ at today, Samuel?” Mrs. Beasley asks, her thick Boston-accent voice releasing me from my ever-present thoughts of Olive.

“I’ll take two loaves of sourdough and some pumpkin cinnamon rolls, please.” After placing my usual order, I look around waiting for her to bag it up.

With the tourists still lingering from the festival, there are more people milling about the market than usual. This is my Sunday standard—well, this and Mom’s dinner.

Taking the bag gingerly from Mrs. Beasley, I offer her a nod before checking my shopping list. I need to find a pie to bring to dinner and restock on the grass-fed beef I’ve come to love.

I wonder what kind of pie Olive prefers.

Is she a cherry lover? Or perhaps she prefers a peach cobbler with her Southern background.

As if my barrage of thoughts, which never stray far from her, conjured the one and only, I spot her examining some apples a few tables down.

I approach slowly, tapping her on the shoulder lightly and leaning in to whisper in her ear, “Hey, princess. See something you like?”

Olive spins abruptly, nearly knocking into me, her strawberry-scented hair wafting as it whips past my face. Her eyes are wide, like she’s more than startled from simply bumping into me.

“Uh, hi.” She shifts on her feet nervously, looking around like she’s searching for someone. “It, um . . . seems like you’re stocking up,” she says, settling on examining my purchases. Dragging my eyes from the tips of her black Chuck Taylors up to her freckle-dotted face, I drink her in.

“This is nothing, princess. Cooking for one, unless you want to come for dinner sometime.” It’s more of a statement than a question; I’m counting on her turning me down.

“Oh, I-I wasn’t looking for an invitation. I just wondered where you put two loaves of bread. Must have a secret workout routine you’re hiding. Maybe at one of those fancy places with green drinks.” Is she? No . . . She couldn’t have just paid me a compliment and mocked me all in one breath.

“Are you flirting with me, princess?” I ask, coming right out with it.

“I, oh . . . I’m not sure. But maybe not if you don’t stop calling me princess.” Her cheeks turn a slight shade of pink with her sheepish reply.

“Look, I know we didn’t get off on the best foot, but I am serious about what I said last night. I want to take you out.” My words come out a little more growly than intended. But I feel like I might die if I don’t get her to agree to one date, to give me one shot.

“I don’t know, Sam. I know you believe that’s what you want, but you don’t really know me.

” Her shoelaces seem to have suddenly become very interesting, as if she can’t bear to look at me when she turns me down.

My stomach drops then jumps like a pole vaulter, launching into my throat.

I know in my bones she isn’t saying no because she doesn’t want to. It’s something deeper, a past hurt.

Compelled to do anything in this moment to soothe whatever insecurity she’s failing to mask, I reach out, placing my index finger gently under her chin, lifting.

When her eyes meet mine, it’s electric. She can hide or run or whatever it is she’s doing, but I’m locked in.

Hell, I was a goner when I called her mine not even twenty-four hours ago. Not that I’d admit that to her.

I run my knuckle over her soft cheek. “Olive, listen to me. I mean, really pay attention.” I search her eyes to make sure she’s following my command before continuing.

“You’re right. I don’t know you well at all.

But from what I can tell, you’re a good friend, kind to others, you work hard according to Beau, and you’re gorgeous as all hell.

You may be a little fancier than I am”—a small breath escapes her lips, and that mask she usually holds firmly in place slips just a smidge—“but I’m nicer than I probably seem, and I do know what I want.

It’s pretty simple, princess. A chance. Just give me one chance to take you out.

” The pulse in her neck picks up, her eyes turning from light green to a deep emerald.

I know she wants this, but will she admit it?

“Olive, we gotta go. Get a move on,” Ariella Marino shouts from across the street outside Union Tavern, breaking the moment I think we were about to have.

Olive’s lips morph into that perfect smile, and it’s almost like I once again can see her wall building itself back up, brick by brick. “I should go.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder toward Ariella, turning to leave without a response.

“Wait.” I grab her hand, grasping for just a second more as I run my thumb over the inside of her wrist. “Let me have your phone,” I demand.

“Why?” she asks, confusion written like poetry across her face, but she hands it to me anyway. I type in my number and call myself. “Now you have my number. Think about what I said.”

She smiles softly, briefly flashing her pearly whites before taking her phone back, and starting to walk away, again. I can’t help calling out, “Olive, I’m serious. Call me.” With that, I turn toward my mother’s favorite blackberry pie and away from my girl.

“Ma, I’m here,” I call out, pie in hand, walking into my childhood home as I do every Sunday.

“We’re out back. Set the pie on the counter and come on out,” Mom shouts.

The state of the driveway indicates I’m the last of my siblings to arrive. Thankfully, I’m the favorite, the eldest son, fixer of things that break, and ruler of Mabel O’Reilly’s heart. It’s okay to admit it, we all know the truth.

Pushing into the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the main hallway of my parents’ historic home, I’m greeted by my sisters, Nora and Bridget. They’re hovering over a bottle of wine, whispering as if they hold the key to state secrets.

“Ladies, how’s it going?” I ask, tentatively. For all I know, they could be gossiping about me.

“Oh Sammy, so glad you’re here,” Nora squeaks, her voice laced with something I can’t quite pinpoint. The way her voice lifts with my childhood nickname, means it must be bad.

Looking at Bridget with my eyebrow slightly raised, I ask, “What’s her deal? Why are you two hiding in here whispering?”

“Oh, you’ll see. Mom has a surprise for you, Sammy.” Bridget pats me on the shoulder, sliding off her stool and undoubtedly heading to the backyard. I have no idea what she is talking about. Mabel O’Reilly is a straight shooter—she meddles out loud, not in secret.

“Don’t try to sort it out in that pretty little head of yours. Even I didn’t see this one coming,” Nora chirps, following after Bridget. I hate having sisters. Okay, I don’t really. I actually adore them, but their ability to say things without actually saying anything is unparalleled.

I shuffle to the fridge, desperate to shake off whatever the hell that was. Pulling on the door, I bend to find room, sliding the pie into the only available spot, wedged between a jug of apple cider and an orange Tupperware straight out of the seventies.

“Well, I’ll say, that’s a view a girl could get used to.” Olive’s honey voice reverberates off the walls of the fridge like a sound bath washing over me. I pull my head out too quickly, banging it on the edge that separates the freezer.

“Olive? Ouch. What’re you doing here?” I rub at the knot that’s quickly forming, completely at a loss. I asked her to have dinner with me, but I didn’t imagine it being a family affair.

“No, you’re right. What am I doing here?

Um, your mom asked me to come by and look at a book she found in the attic.

I tried to say no, but she insisted and then, what do you know, when I got here, there weren’t any books .

. .” She eyes me suspiciously, as if I may have had something to do with this.

“When your mom couldn’t find the book, I went to leave, but Max showed up, followed by your sisters, and then Mrs. Mabel just wouldn’t let me go.

I told her I couldn’t stay, but she insisted.

And well, I didn’t want to be rude, so I just thought, why not?

” She paces back and forth, a nervous look and hesitant smile gracing her lips.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Walking toward her, I tentatively grasp her arms, attempting uselessly not to get lost in her sweet scent.

“Are you sure? It’s weird, I’m making it weird.

I just, I-I want her to like me.” Her cheeks are flushed with an adorable pink glow.

She’s embarrassed that she crashed a family dinner, when all I can focus on is the fact that she wants my mom to like her.

She cares enough to not disappoint my parents, and we aren’t even dating, yet.

She’s perfect, I knew it the minute I saw her.

“I promise it’s okay. I was just a little surprised we skipped texting and went straight to meeting the parents. Let’s get out there though.” I gesture for the door.