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I raised my eyebrows. “Your birthday? Is it coming up? You never told me when it was.”
“First week of October.”
I sucked in a breath. “I’m glad you said something. I would look like an ass if I didn’t get you a gift.”
It was just another reason why I didn’t want to move in. There was so much we didn’t know about each other. Shit, I didn’t even know when his birthday was and that was serious.
“You are my gift. My most favorite gift ever.”
“I feel the same way,” I said, catching his gaze.
We sat at the dining table, the clink of silverware punctuating the comfortable silence. I savored the delicate flavors of the crab salad, watching Oliver as he meticulously rolled ham slices around Swiss cheese. He was a man who found joy in the simplest pleasures, a trait I cherished, especially given the wealth that could have easily made him pretentious.
"I'll need to plan something special for your birthday," I thought aloud, a smile playing on my lips. "You went all out for mine."
Oliver glanced up, his eyes full of warmth. "Don't worry about it too much. Just having you there will be enough."
I finished my salad and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, a soft, affectionate gesture. As I got up to put the bowl away, I noticed the sky through the window. The sun was beginning to set, painting the clouds in hues of orange and pink.
"I want to sit out on the patio," I said, drawn to the beauty outside.
"Do you want a glass of wine? I have white," Oliver offered, already moving to get up.
"That sounds good," I replied, my heart warming at his thoughtfulness.
"Go on," he insisted, waving me off with a smile. "I'll get it for you."
As I stepped toward the patio door, I paused and turned back to him, my voice soft and earnest. "I love you."
Oliver looked at me, his expression tender. "I love you too," he said, his words a promise that filled the space between us with a profound sense of belonging.
"Not more than me," Oliver called out as I opened the slider. The warm pavers greeted my bare feet as I made my way to the conversation area, a cozy space adorned with brown wicker furniture and light blue cushions. Settling into the chaise lounge, I stretched out, the evening air wrapping around me as I waited for Oliver to bring my wine.
Fifteen minutes passed, and a sudden, frantic yell from inside startled me. My heart pounded as I leaped up and rushed back into the house, only to skid to a halt in the kitchen. There, facing off with Oliver, was a man who looked eerily similar to him. I stumbled against a bar stool, drawing both their gazes.
"This doesn’t concern you," Oliver growled, his voice hard and unyielding.
I frowned, planting my feet defiantly. The other man’s eyes lingered on me, making my skin crawl with a feeling of unwanted exposure.
"Who’s this?" the man slurred, his speech thick with alcohol.
"No one," Oliver snapped.
The words sliced through me, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Overwhelmed, I turned and fled to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me. Moments later, the front door slammed. I curled up on the bed, hearing Oliver's footsteps approach. He entered quietly and sat down next to me, but when he touched my shoulder, I recoiled.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice soft with regret.
"You said I was no one," I sniffled, my heart aching.
"It’s none of his business who you are to me," Oliver explained, his tone urgent. "I don’t want to expose you to his toxicity."
"Who was that?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
"Jonah. He wanted money."
"How did he get upstairs?" I asked.
"I let him up. He said he had something important to tell me about our parents.”
