Page 78 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Oliver sweeps his gaze across my cheeks, my eyes, my lips. Probably also the ice pack I’m still holding to the side of my head. I’m sure I’ve never been sexier. He’s so close I can almost feel the breeze from his eyelashes when he blinks. “I don’t think I should do that,” he says quietly.

“Why not?” I sit back in annoyance.

He shakes his head. “I could come up with any number of plausible explanations, but it sounds like the only one who can give you the truth is your father. And you don’t need a thousand possibilities swirling around in your mind, stressing you out. Seems to me you’ve got plenty to worry about as it is.”

I blink slowly, the tension dissipating from my body as I consider his words. He’s right, of course—I would definitely become a great big ball of anxious energy with all the possibilities in mind until I learned the truth. I both love and hate how well he was able to intuit that.

And I absolutely do have enough on my mind outside of this issue. Work. Grief. Loneliness. The existential dread leaching out of my vocational misalignment. The overwhelming urge, growing by the second, to reach across the table and put my hands all over Oliver.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“But, hey,” he grins. “Let me know once you talk to your dad. I want to see if any of my guesses were right.”

“No way.” I scowl and stand up from my chair. “You lost the right to show off when you refused to play the game.”

“Ivy.” His fingers close over my wrist as I walk away. I freeze, letting the warmth of his attention soak through me.

“Yeah?”

His face is serious now. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” I manage shakily.

“Can I check your head?”

I think I probably do need my head checked, but not for the reason he’s suggesting. I nod anyway.

Oliver stands in front of me, then puts one hand on either side of my face. “I just want to make sure you don’t have a bump,” he explains, but the logic of his statement does nothing to slow the pounding of my heart. He runs his thumbs gently over my temples, so tenderly that I can barely feel it. I’m not sure I’m breathing.

The moment stretches into an eternity, just Oliver, holding my head in his hands and looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in his orbit. I feel like the room is spinning, but it has nothing to do with the mild concussion I’m probably suffering from.

“I think you’re going to make a full recovery,” he says finally, trailing his thumbs down my cheeks, stopping right beside my mouth.

I swallow hard. “Well, that’s a relief.” Without really meaning to, I take a step toward him, stopped only by the warmth of his chest against mine.

Oliver runs one thumb over my lower lip, and it’s the single most sensual moment of my life. We’re so close now, I can feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest.

“I really like your shirt,” I breathe against his cheek.

The corner of his mouth curls up. “I thought you might.”

“I do. So much.” And then I can’t take it anymore. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pull myself against him until I can’t tell where he stops and I begin. I press my lips to his, pouring all of my want and longing into the kiss; needing him to know how badly I want this. How badly I want him.

His fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head to just the right angle, so incredibly gently. He deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue against mine, and I practically die from the pleasure. I’m ravenous for him; I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

I’ve just started running my hands over his immaculately toned pectoral muscles when the bell on the front door jingles. We spring apart, the tension that’s been building between us since we met flinging us to opposite ends of the room with brutal force.

“Storm’s brewing,” mumbles the elderly man who interrupted us as he toddles off to the military history section. I have no idea if he saw us or not; he gives no indication either way.

In the context of the larger situation, his words strike me as irredeemably hilarious. I start giggling uncontrollably, smothering my mouth with my hands and running behind the espresso machine to regain my composure. Oliver raises an amused eyebrow, then takes up a position at the register.

I watch him as I catch my breath, attempting to orient my brain to the reality of what just occurred. He’s pulled his notebook out of his back pocket and is hunched over the counter, scrawling across the page. I devour his look of deep concentration, my brain rolling over all the permutations of thoughts that might be spilling out of his mind and onto the page right now. And when he looks up at me and smiles shyly, I can barely control the beating of my heart.

twenty-one

If it seemed like it was going to rain earlier, there’s no doubt about it by the time we close up Shoreline at eight o’clock. The wind has picked up quite a bit, and the air is thick with the promise of petrichor. I’m sure all the crusty local fishermen are warning anyone who’ll listen that we’re in for a powerful lashing because their bum knees are acting up.

“Do you want a ride home?” Oliver looks worried.