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Chapter 18
Holland
When we arrived at Delia’s house, Carl greeted us at the door, Olivia in his arms. Today the tiny girl of my heart wore a lab coat and a pair of plastic horn-rimmed glasses, with a tiara perched in her curly black hair.
“Come in,” Carl boomed, standing back.
“Carl, this is Oliver Cody,” I said, introducing them and watching with something that felt like pride as Carl gave Oliver a once-over and shook his hand.
Oliver presented well. He wore a pair of dark flat-front trousers and a checked button-down shirt with a rich blue tie. I was learning that this was Oliver’s dressed-down office attire. When he had a meeting, he wore a suit, and having toured his closet—which hung in another bedroom at his house in a set of rolling wardrobe racks since he refused to use the master bedroom and its walk-in closets—he had plenty to choose from. His hair was tousled and soft, and his beard had been trimmed neatly, revealing the jaw that sent my knees shaking if I spent too much time admiring it. “This is a beautiful home,” Oliver said, his voice finding a sensitive spot inside me and stroking it.
“Thanks,” Carl said, and then he presented Olivia. “This is our youngest, Olivia,” he added.
Olivia ducked her head and hid her face against Carl’s shoulder as Oliver greeted her. “I see you are a scientist princess,” he said.
A tiny fierce voice came from beneath all the curly hair. “Queen. Not pwincess.”
“Of course. Apologies, your majesty,” Oliver said, laughing.
We went inside, and the scent of something rich and delicious met my senses. My stomach growled, and I realized I was hungry. Delia came in from the back, looking regal and amazing in a flowing maxi dress with a bright floral print that set off her dark skin. Her hair formed a wild mane around her face and something about it was intimidating, as if she’d teased it out bigger than normal to appear more imposing. It was also possible she just hadn’t had it trimmed in a while.
“Hey,” she said, crossing the room to pull me into a crushing hug.
“Hey,” I said, laughing. “You’re smashing me!”
“I’ve been worried about you,” she said, pulling back and giving me a critical once-over. Before she could add anything else on that topic she turned to Oliver with a huge smile. “Hello there,” she said, something in her voice more clinical than friendly.
Oliver took it in stride. “Hi, Delia. Thank you so much for including me in your dinner. I know it’s difficult to share Holland.” He cast a glance my way and a delicious shiver shot through me.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice hadn’t warmed, and I recognized a bit of the tough girl act she used to pull when we were younger. Protective, fierce, and loyal, Delia was always looking out for me.
Gigi was in the kitchen again, avoiding the hellos until we stepped in to deposit the bottle of wine we’d brought. I had forgotten entirely, but when Oliver met me downstairs at Cody Tech, it had magically been in his hands. He must have a stockpile at the office somewhere.
“Are you Holland’s boyfriend?” Gigi asked him, and I felt my face go red.
Oliver laughed, a low rolling sound that conveyed no embarrassment. “I’d like to be, Gigi.” He turned to me. “Holland, will you be my girlfriend?”
“You’re supposed to get down on one knee for this,” Gigi instructed, stepping nearer and pointing at Oliver with a wooden spoon.
His eyebrows shot up and Oliver took a step forward, getting ready to kneel, when Delia put a stop to it. “There will be no proposals of any kind in my kitchen. Gigi, stop telling everyone what to do!” She took Oliver’s arm and walked him out toward the yard, handing him a drink. “That child, I swear…”
Gigi eyed me as they left the kitchen. “So he’s not your boyfriend.”
I shrugged. “He might be,” I told her.
“He likes you,” she told me, her little head nodding solemnly. “You should just get married.”
“Things are pretty complicated,” I said. “How old are you now, eighteen? Nineteen? You’ll understand soon.”
“Holland, I’m still six.” Gigi rolled her eyes at me and we followed the others outside.
“Wait, you’re Delia Summers?” Oliver was saying, sounding incredulous. “The Olympic runner?” I’d forgotten to mention that to him.
Delia was basking in his admiration, and I watched them talk about the Beijing Olympics in which Delia had competed. Oliver’s admiration and knowledge of her sport went a long way toward breaking down any defenses she’d prepared against him.
The evening went well, and the conversation stayed light and casual until Delia and I went back to read to the girls. When we’d finished, she pulled me into her bedroom and started the inquisition. “So?”
“Gonna need a more specific question, Deel.” I sat on her bed, and she stood in front of me, arms crossed.
