Page 46 of Fallen Flame

He never knocked on my door or rushed me. He was simply there, usually leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, looking like he’d been standing there for hours even though I knew he hadn’t.

From that point on, he stayed with me.

If I went to the Dairy Bar, Oliver went to the Dairy Bar. If I walked from one side of the clubhouse to the other, he somehow managed to appear close enough to keep me in sight without making it obvious he was following me.

It should’ve annoyed me. Instead, I was getting dangerously used to it.

I walked into the clubhouse kitchen and headed for the cabinet where I’d seen the bowls the day before. The common area was already filling with the low murmur of voices, chairs scraping against the floor, and the steady drip of coffee being poured by people who looked like they couldn’t function without it.

I opened the cabinet and rose onto my toes to reach the stack on the second shelf. My fingers barely brushed the edge of a bowl. “Come on,” I muttered. “Work with me.”

I stretched a little higher, managed to hook my fingers around it, and pulled. The bowl slid free faster than I expected and I stumbled backward, my heel catching on something behind me. My arms flew out as I tried to catch myself, and the bowl slipped from my hand.

Before I could go ass over teakettle in the middle of the kitchen, a hard arm wrapped around my waist. Another hand caught my arm.

My body jerked to a stop against a solid chest. The bowl hit the counter behind me with a hollow clatter but somehow didn’t break.

For one second, neither Oliver nor I moved.

His arm stayed locked around my waist, holding me against him while his other hand gripped my upper arm. My palm had landed flat against his chest, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand.

Or maybe it wasn’t steady. Mine sure as hell wasn’t.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was low and close enough that I felt it as much as I heard it.

I lifted my gaze.

Oliver was staring down at me, his blue eyes locked on mine. There was a crease between his brows and tension in his jaw like catching me had somehow scared him more than nearly falling had scared me.

Not that I was scared anymore. I was too busy noticing how warm he was. And how good he smelled. And how perfectly his hand fit against my waist.

“I think so,” I whispered.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. It was quick. So quick I might’ve imagined it if his hold on me hadn’t tightened for half a second.

My fingers curled slightly against his shirt and Oliver’s eyes came back to mine. The whole kitchen seemed to fade away around us.

Just Oliver.

And me.

And the very inconvenient realization that having him near me all day was nothing compared to having him this close.

“Church!” Wrecker’s voice boomed through the clubhouse.

Oliver’s arm dropped from my waist as if someone had cut a rope holding us together. I took a quick step back and nearly hit the counter.

“Right,” I breathed.

Oliver stayed close enough to catch me again, but his hands remained at his sides. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I glanced at the bowl sitting on the counter. “My dignity took a hit, but I think I’ll survive.”

His mouth twitched. That tiny almost-smile was becoming one of my favorite things.

“Thank you,” I said.

He nodded once.