Page 107 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

We all chuckle, then Oliver says, “You look pretty good, all things considered. Are you in a lot of pain?”

“They’ve got me on all kinds of drugs. I feel nothing right now, aside from a deep fear that my rosebushes might need to be pruned.”

Oliver’s gaze doesn’t leave her face. “Already taken care of.”

I look to him in surprise. When did he have time to garden for her? He and I have been working almost nonstop.

Maisie closes her eyes, a contented smile falling over her face. “What would I do without you?”

“Fortunately,” he reassures her, touching her hand affectionately, “I’m not going to put you in a position to find out.”

If I thought I loved him before, dear reader, let me tell you: in this moment, I find I love him even more.

We visit for a while, then a doctor comes in to discuss physical therapy options. Oliver and I rise to our feet to head out.

Before we go, Maisie orders us to close the shop on Wednesday. “It’s always a slow day for sales anyway,” she assures us. “I want you two to take a break. With pay.” She points a demanding finger at Oliver.

“Noted,” he says, mirth glinting in his eyes.

“What do you want to do with all of our free time?” Oliver asks when we wake up in my bed on Wednesday morning.

“Hmmm,” I muse, throwing my arms around his neck. “I have a few ideas.”

“I like the way you think,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush a kiss over my shoulder.

“Actually,” I say, tracing his collarbone with my pointer finger, “I had a call from Simon the other night. He’s hoping I can bring some of his books over. There’s a box in the attic that he’s after, but he said it might be heavy.”

“Is that so?” Oliver laces his fingers through mine and kisses the back of my hand.

“Mmhmm. I racked my brain trying to think of who has precisely the skillset for carrying large boxes of books around, and you came to mind.”

He smirks. “You just want to watch me lift heavy things.”

“Maybe,” I shrug coyly.

“You definitely do,” Oliver teases, dragging my hips against his. “It turns you on.”

“So what if it does?” I retort. “That’s to your benefit, as well.”

“I suppose it is,” he reconsiders. “Fine, I accept your offer. I’ll help you bring the books to Simon.” He slides his hand between my thighs. “For a price, of course.”

“Wow, I didn’t have ‘book slut’ on my vocational bingo card.”

“Oh, please,” he laughs. “You are the quintessential book slut.”

“Only for you,” I murmur against his ear.

We find the carton of books shoved against the far wall of the attic, just two boxes away from the photo albums. “I don’t think I ever showed you this.” I grab the 1953 album and hold it up.

“No, you didn’t.” Oliver leans against an old dresser. “Are there pictures of your grandparents in there?”

“Yep.” I flip to the page with Eleanor. “This is my grandmother.”

“Wow. You have her smile.”

I look up at him as he gazes back down at me adoringly. If I weren’t afraid to flood the attic again, I think I might melt into a puddle, right here on the floor. “You think so?” Because Eleanor was startlingly gorgeous, so I take this as the highest form of praise.

Oliver nods. “Absolutely.”