Page 22 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

A HUG

Standing in the shower, Oliver cupped his hands together and caught the water from the faucet.

When his palms were full, he pulled them apart and watched the puddle splosh onto the floor.

It had been quite some time since his last proper date.

He wasn't even sure this was a date; it felt more like a midday rendezvous at a woman’s house.

Dates, when he used to go on them, were like auditions. Usually, this was an audition for sex. He didn’t think sex was on the cards. On a first date, you wanted the woman to like you. He already knew Mia liked him. Most people liked him. Still, he wanted to make a good impression.

It was time to review what he knew about her.

Clever, obviously. Her knitting business was impressive, and he found her success alluring.

Beautiful, she had amazing eyes. Serious, but she laughed easily.

Tash liked her, which was important. The woman rode a motorbike…

badly. But she knew her limits. Her safety was paramount, so he would assist her with this regardless of their relationship.

In the shower, he lathered his hair. Washed and dried his body. Shaved and then dressed in the shirt that she liked. In front of the mirror, he fussed over his hair. His curls wouldn’t sit right.

‘Relax,’ he told himself. ‘She likes you. It’s just lunch. Lunch with a beautiful woman at her place. The old convent. How bizarre.’

In town, he stopped at the florist. It wasn’t an easy decision. Roses were too serious and daisies too light-hearted. Other red varieties felt too intense, while the white ones looked too formal. He settled on a bouquet of natives in autumnal tones with dark green foliage. Attractive, but casual.

At 11.45, he parked the Citroen outside Mia’s house. In his haste, he had misjudged the time it took to buy wine and flowers. He tilted his head back and stared at the roof of the car. ‘Get a grip. She won’t care if I’m early.’

After collecting his offerings, he climbed out of the car. The house was as he remembered – a post-and-rail fence, a stone facade, a cottage garden, and a bullnose veranda across the front deck. The only change was that it looked half the size. Time had a way of shrinking expectations.

After scaling the steps, he knocked on the front door.

Mia answered, wearing a short, loose-fitting orange dress with capped sleeves. A pair of fluffy socks kept her feet warm.

‘Oliver. My god, you’re early,’ she said.

‘I can wait if…’

‘It’s fine.’

He handed her the flowers.

‘Thoughtful. Thank you.’

‘You look amazing.’

She frowned, uncomfortable with the compliment. Snood scooted past her and pawed Oliver’s leg. He gave the dog some much-appreciated attention.

As he entered the house, he asked, ‘Shoes on or off?’

‘I don’t mind. Either is fine.’

He kept his shoes on. The look on her face; she was nervous. He grinned at her socks.

She followed his gaze. ‘I’ll find my shoes.’

They headed down the hallway.

‘The kitchen is that way.’ She pointed to her right. ‘I’ll meet you in there. Open the wine if you like.’

The table was set. A cheese platter with olives.

A salad on the kitchen counter. He opened the wine.

Filled two glasses and took a large sip.

After cutting himself a slice of cheese, he was about to eat it when Snood sat on his foot.

Oliver glanced down at the dog. The animal appeared to be pitifully hungry.

‘You’ve nailed that look,’ Oliver said to the dog. He fed Snood a piece of cheese.

When Mia entered, Oliver was feeding Snood his third slice of cheese.

‘Your dog is starving.’ Oliver looked into Snood’s soulful eyes. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘He’ll eat anything, and I mean anything,’ Mia said.

‘Once, he ate a block of butter and half a carrot cake – not at the same time. Different days, but still.’ Her cardigan was over the back of the chair.

After slipping it on, she wrapped it around herself.

‘When he first came home, he was scared of doorways and gates. Sometimes, he’s still scared of gates, especially if they squeak, but he’s doing great with doorways.

If you leave your car door open, he’ll jump right in.

’ She paused. ‘I might have told you that… before.’

They considered the dog, who was licking remnants of cheese off the slate floor .

‘He has kind eyes,’ Oliver said.

‘He’s kinder than any human I know.’ She picked up a glass of wine and took a large sip. ‘Are you hungry? There’s so much food. I over-catered. I forgot to ask if you have any food allergies. Do you?’

‘No.’

‘Good. That’s good. We can eat here or in the garden. I don’t mind. You choose.’

She was so nervous that her hands were shaking.

He chose the garden. An outdoor setting might be more conducive to relaxing. It took two trips to relocate the food, the wine, and the place settings. Travelling back and forth, they almost bumped into each other. Instead of relaxing her, this had the opposite effect.

Lunch was a baked dish of beans, vegetables and sausages, which Mia called cassoulet. She said it was French. She served it with salad and a baguette.

‘I heard you liked sausages,’ she said.

He didn’t care how she knew; he was in culinary heaven.

‘There’s dessert,’ she warned. ‘I like to cook.’ It sounded like a confession. ‘What about you, do you cook?’

‘I like to burn.’

‘How do you survive?’

‘Vegetables, salad, meat.’ He put his cutlery down. ‘This is the best meal I’ve eaten all year.’

With a deep crease in her forehead, Mia nodded. ‘Does Tash like to cook?’

‘She has no interest.’

‘Probably for the best. Did she tell you about the orange pork surprise? It put two people in the hospital.’ Mia pointed to the olives. ‘Try these. They’re from my friend; she makes the marinade herself. ’

Oliver plucked an olive from the dish. ‘Is this your friend, Holly?’

‘Yes, she saved my life.’

‘Really? How?’

‘That’s a story for another time.’ Mia stood up. She started stacking the plates and cutlery. ‘I’ll…I’ll be back with the dessert. It’s a chocolate thing.’ She waved a hand, almost dropping the plates.

After heading inside, she returned a few minutes later with a chocolate cake. She sliced it and served it with cream.

When Oliver finished, she offered him another piece, but he declined. ‘Well, it’s right there,’ she said, pointing to the cake. ‘If you want more, just help yourself. The cream is, it’s right there, too.’ Her hand went to her neck.

A long silence followed. Under the table, Oliver fed Snood a crust of bread.

Eventually, he asked, ‘How is Pete the Pig going?’

‘Fine. Would you like some more wine?’ She handed him the bottle.

He took it and placed it back on the table.

‘Anything else that you’re passionate about? Besides knitted pigs.’

‘Snood. I’m very passionate about him.’

Oliver smiled. He rubbed a thumb over his palm. The phrase ‘like pulling teeth’ came to mind. Their conversation was not flowing as well as the wine.

‘What do you like to do on the weekend?’ he asked.

‘The weekend?’

‘Yes. When you’re not at work?’

‘I work on Saturday.’

‘Okay. And on Sunday?’

‘The usual things.’

He waited .

‘Gardening, sometimes. Yoga. I walk Snood. Reading.’

She had a master’s degree in short answers. Again, she offered him more wine, which he refused. After she fussed with the serviettes, she stacked the plates and rearranged the cutlery. Then she excused herself and went to the bathroom.

When Mia returned to the kitchen, Oliver was standing at the sink, washing the dishes.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ she scolded.

‘I didn’t see a dishwasher.’ He placed a clean plate on the drying rack. ‘Mia, what do you want?’

Surprised by the directness of the question, she faltered. ‘I’m not sure.’

With the dishes done, he drained the sink and shook the excess water off his hands.

She passed him a tea towel. After he dried his hands, he folded the towel and hung it over the stove rail.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

He leaned back against the bench, crossed his arms over his chest, and considered her. ‘That depends on you.’

‘Why is it up to me?’

‘It’s not. But I asked you first.’

Her heart hammered inside her chest, but she held his gaze. She wasn’t going to look away. ‘Honestly, I don’t think this is going to work. It might be best if you left.’

He didn’t move. There was no indication he was going anywhere.

Emotion welled inside her. What was she doing asking a man she barely knew around for lunch? A man like him. Almost famous with a reputation. The entire meal had been torture. Did he see how out of her depth she was ?

Standing with his back to the sink, he watched her. She lifted her chin. ‘Do you need me to show you the way?’

‘No. Thank you for lunch.’ He turned and left.

At the sound of the front door closing, she covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m an idiot. A fucking idiot. Why? Why do I do the things I do? Why can’t I be normal and just fucking relax?’

She couldn’t stop the tears, but it was a brief snivel, and she recovered quickly. The bottle of wine was almost empty; she upended the dregs into her glass. The window seat beckoned, and she sat down. The cleaning up could wait.

Resting her elbow on the windowsill, she cradled her head in her hand. ‘Why does it bring out the worst in me? And why doesn’t it get any easier?’

In the corner of the room, a fly buzzed – she had left the back door open.

If she didn’t get up and close it, more flies would follow.

She didn’t move. Instead, she thought about the lunch.

The long silences. The stop-start conversation.

His kind efforts to engage her and her disastrous attempts at deflection.

He had worn the shirt she liked and remembered Holly’s name. The flowers were lovely.

‘At least he knows I’m not interested,’ she told Snood. ‘It wasn’t a total loss. Although now he thinks I’m a nutcase.’