Page 87 of The Truth of Us

Her comment read: obsessed with the nails and the mysterious energy.

I smiled despite myself.

Margot chose a quiet restaurant for dinner, with low lighting, excellent wine, and enough privacy that no one stared. Oliver was already there when we arrived, standing as we approached.

His eyes landed on me, and I watched as they trailed over me, his smile growing as he looked.

“Well, shit.”

Margot sighed. “Oliver.”

“What? She looks incredible.”

Heat climbed into my cheeks. “You are both too much.”

He pulled my chair out, and I hesitated for half a second. Because the last man who had pulled out chairs and opened doors and made me feel carefully attended to had just as quickly turned on me.

Oliver noticed the hesitation, but he didn’t make it a thing. He simply stepped back, giving me space, and I sat on my own.

Dinner was easy. Margot did most of the talking for the first half hour, which meant Oliver and I mostly exchanged amused looks while she discussed gossip, a friend’s disastrous renovation, and the moral failure of restaurants that served tiny food.

Eventually, she excused herself to take a call from Grant, leaving Oliver and me alone with half a bottle of wine and the low hum of the restaurant around us.

He leaned back in his chair. “So.”

I lifted my glass. “So.”

“You look different.”

“That is usually what happens after a haircut.”

His mouth twitched. “No. Not that.”

I looked away first, and he waited. That was the thing about Oliver: he waited without making it feel like pressure.

Finally, I asked, “Good different?”

“Yes.”

The answer came immediately.

“So certain.” I quipped.

“I usually am,” he said with a knowing smile.

“That must be nice.”

“It is. I highly recommend it.”

I laughed.

He smiled, then grew more serious. “I’ve been thinking about Chicago.”

My fingers tightened slightly around my glass.

He noticed. “I don’t mean him.”

I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”