Page 101 of At His Beck & Call

“Just tonight, sweetie.”

“Is Oliver here?”

“Yeah. He’s in the kitchen, and I’m gonna go have some food with him, okay? But if you need me, you come and get me. You know where the kitchen is, right? Just down the hall.”

He nods, but he’s already falling asleep, and as his eyes close, I rise from the bed.

I stare at his sweet face, his little lips already parted in sleep, a healthy glow back in his face as I think about what we’ll have to face next. I take a deep breath, looking around the beautiful room.

It would be so easy to believe that this could be our life, that Oliver has invited me here for any reason other than guilt over what happened in the alleyway.

But I can’t afford to think like that. I owe it to Henry to be sensible and practical. There’s only so much I can allow myself to feel, and gratitude will have to be the peak of it.

I have no illusions about Oliver being anything other than temporary in my life, and if my heart has gotten confused, then it will have to get used to disappointment.

I pad out into the hallway, thick socks on my feet that are much too big, and as I walk into the kitchen, Oliver looks up, his eyes running over me, lips quirking. I must look like a clown in the clothes he's lent me, and they’re hanging off my body as I come to stand in front of him.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks.

“Yes. Thank you.”

I watch him open a bottle of red, so confused about what all of this is between us. He pours two glasses and hands one to me, nodding toward the table where three places have been set.

“Henry’s asleep, I’m sorry.”

“Is he alright? Does he need anything?”

“No, he has everything he needs. He has Truman with him.”

“On thebed?” Oliver asks, sounding outraged.

I can’t help laughing at his scandalized expression. “Uh, yes, is that not okay?”

“That dog definitely knows how to get what he wants,” he says, and it’s so snippy it only makes me laugh more.

“You’re so strict with him.”

“He knows he’s not allowed on the beds,” Oliver says, shaking his head, but doesn’t make any move to go and get him, so we sit down at the table.

“Thank you so much for loaning us the books. Henry is thrilled, and he’s picked a few out.”

Oliver smiles at me. “I’m glad that made him happy. Poor little guy deserves some happiness right now.”

We sip our wine in silence for a moment.

“We can leave once the snow stops,” I say, voicing my fear that he's going to expect us to head home tonight.

“That’s nonsense. You’re sleeping here. As long as you’re comfortable. It makes no sense for you to go home tonight.”

He takes my plate to the oven and fills it with food. It definitely doesn’t look like the grab-and-go meals I have bought in the past. It’s fresh veggies and chicken with a sauce that smells delicious.

“Where do you get these from?” I ask.

“I order it in,” he says. “It’s from a Michelin-star chef.”

I stare at my food. “Oh my god, are you serious?”

“Yes,” he says, blinking at me. “I thought everybody did that…”