Page 80 of When We Were Us

"Thanksgiving, of course. Turkey and all the fixings, even a pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream."

"That sounds so good," Oliver groaned, his mouth practically watering.

A thought struck me. "What would you have eaten if Hilda was here?"

He shrugged. "I haven't the slightest idea. She said she wasn't working today, and they would send a sub."

"You don't need a sub," I said firmly. "You have me."

A ghost of a smile played on Oliver's lips. "You want to take your possessive asshole back?"

I met his gaze, my voice soft but sure. "I said I did. I'm starting to understand why you did what you did, but..." I hesitated, old pain rising to the surface. "The thing with your daughter still hurts. Why didn't you just tell me?"

Oliver's face clouded, years of grief etching deeper lines around his eyes. "It was painful," he whispered. "By the time I got used to the idea of becoming a father, Faith was gone. Lara was devastated."

I swallowed hard, processing Oliver's words. My voice was barely above a whisper when I asked, "Was it all because she lost the baby, or because she lost you too?"

Oliver's jaw clenched, his eyes distant as if looking into the past. He let out a heavy sigh before meeting my gaze. "She never had me, Ryleigh. Not really." His voice was thick with a mixture of old pain and lingering doubt. "I didn't even know if the baby was mine. We always used protection."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What did she say when you asked her about it?"

A bitter chuckle escaped Oliver's lips. "She just said 'shit happens.' Can you believe that?" He shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair. "I had planned on having a paternity test when Faith was born, but then..."

His voice trailed off, the unspoken tragedy hanging in the air between us. The weight of his revelation settled on my shoulders, shifting my perspective on our shared history.

Impulsively, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, wishing the walker wasn't creating a barrier between us. I longed to feel his solid warmth against me, to offer comfort and seek it in return. Oliver's arms encircled me as best they could, his chin resting on top of my head.

We stood like that for a long moment, the silence punctuated only by the sound of our breathing. When I finally pulled back slightly, I looked up to find Oliver's eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "For listening. For understanding."

I nodded, my own eyes prickling. "We've both been carrying so much, haven't we?" I said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Maybe it's time we started sharing the load."

Oliver leaned into my touch, a glimmer of hope sparking in his eyes. "I'd like that," he murmured. "More than you know."

As we stood there, teetering on the edge of a new understanding, I realized that the path forward wouldn't be easy. But for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to take that next step together.

We spent the holiday together, talking and joking around. A palpable sense of relief settled over us, as if a long-held breath had finally been released. I busied myself in the kitchen, heating our gourmet meal: a small turkey with stuffing, giblet gravy, rice, biscuits, and a yam casserole along with a Waldorf salad, homemade cranberry sauce, and green beans almondine.

I set the dining table with our wedding china and crystal, a bittersweet reminder of happier times. As Oliver settled into his chair, I poured him a glass of rich red wine. His fingers brushed my arm as I moved away, sending a familiar spark through my body. I felt a flame rekindling inside me, one I thought had long been extinguished.

Trying to ignore the growing heat between my legs, I focused on carving the turkey. As I licked some juice from my fingers, I caught Oliver's heated gaze. The intensity in his eyes told me he was feeling the same rekindled desire.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, the endearment sending shivers down my spine. It had been so long since he'd called me that.

"Yes, Oliver?" I replied, my voice huskier than I intended.

He leaned forward slightly. "Are you hungry?"

The double meaning in his words was unmistakable. I decided to play along. "Are you?"

A smirk played on Oliver's lips. "Don't answer a question with a question, Mrs. Fox."

I set down the carving utensils, turning to face him fully. "What would you prefer to do rather than eat?"

Oliver's voice dropped to a low, seductive rumble. "I want to eat something else."

My body responded instantly, core clenching with need. "If not turkey, then what?" I asked, though we both knew the answer.

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