Page 51 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

I snort. “Well, I appreciate it. Especially since we’re the ones who invited you out.”

“Well, Laurel did,” he reminds me. “But I didn’t see her offering to pay.” His shoulder brushes mine as he leans down to speak quietly into my ear. “Did you ever find out what’s going on with her?”

I hesitate. It feels like a betrayal of Laurel’s confidence to provide many details, so I settle for a vague reply. “I did. It’s something with her dissertation. But I think she’s got it figured out.” Because if I know my cousin, she is absolutely going to find a way to get this Spillinger woman on her side somehow.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Oliver guides me to the opposite side of the large dance floor, which is flanked by 20 or so bar-height tables where revelers ranging in age from 16 to 55 are standing around, drinking and talking. There’s one couple dancing, but I don’t fault everyone else for holding out—the DJ is playing a poorly executed Queen cover that never should have seen the light of day.

“Want a drink?” Laurel asks us when we join her at a cocktail table.

I nod. “Sure. I thought that was sort of the point of the evening.”

She sighs in mock exasperation. “No, Ivy. The point of the evening is to find a nice man to take my mind off John Everett Millais.”

Oliver quirks a brow. “Did she just say⁠—”

I lean into him and whisper, “It’s probably better if you pretend you didn’t hear that.”

He nods solemnly, but his eyes are full of mirth. It makes my stomach lurch, how amused he looks, how warm he was when we just touched. I’m either extremely lonely or very horny, because there’s no way I’m falling for Oliver.

“So I brought a book, just in case we get bored,” he says into my ear.

Okay, maybe there is a way after all. Is it possible to be turned on by hearing that someone brought a book to a club?

“Excuse me, lit nerds.” Laurel snaps her fingers near my face. “What do you want from the bar?”

“Whiskey, if they have it,” I say. “Preferably Jameson.”

She nods. “Oliver?”

“I can get my own drink.”

“I’m aware that you can, but this is my treat.” She smiles sweetly.

Oliver pulls a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and shoves it at her. “You can at least let me leave the tip. And Jameson is good for me, too. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Laurel leaves his money lying on the table and practically skips away.

“God, she’s annoying,” I say as soon as she’s out of earshot.

Oliver snickers and puts the cash back into his wallet. “I’m glad you’re the one who said it.”

“So, what book is it?” I gesture to the paperback that he’s pulled back out of his jeans to lay on the table beside us.

He shrugs. “Just something I picked up at work from an author reading a while back. It’s called Fault Lines.”

I inhale shakily. “By William S. Pearson, right?”

He grins. “Oh, you know it?”

“I was at that reading, actually. With my grandmother.”

Now he looks a little shaken, too, but he recovers quickly. “Wow, we were in the same place and didn’t even know it.”

Nodding slowly, I say, “My grandmother got that book signed. I found it in her collection when she died and took it home. I…” I trail off, stumbling over the memories. Over the notion that Oliver and I have probably met before without realizing it. Or at least been in the same place at the same time. Over the fact that my grandmother found this book important, so I made sure to save it from the trash, and now Oliver’s here, noticing my green dress, with the same book in his hands.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“No, I want to. It’s just hard.”