Page 75 of Merry with Me
“Ah, man, grumpy Ollie is back.”
“If I’m a grump for wanting all of your time, then so be it.”
“When you say things like that, my heart goes crazy.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. With one hand holding me close, he lifts the other and places it over my heart. “Feels a lot like mine.”
There’s something in his gaze that tells me we’re not just talking about the rhythm of my heartbeat. “Yeah, yours,” I agree, because I am. I’m his. Foolishly, I’ve let myself fall hard and fast for a man who is perfect for me in every way, except for one. His heart is locked behind a steel cage, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to help him set it free.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Oliver
I’ve been staring at the message Blakely sent me for the last ten minutes. Her hair is down and in loose curls, and she’s wearing this red dress with long sleeves, and she’s absolutely breathtaking.
Me:My beautiful girl.
I hit Send and curse myself. I shouldn’t be calling her mine, but the bigger issue is that she feels like mine. The issue that catapults above that is the fact I want her to be. The more time we spend together, the more that feeling grows. It scares me, but what’s even scarier is thinking about the day when she’s no longer in my life. I quickly save the image to my photos. This is yet another image of her to add to my growing collection.
Blakely:Thank you.
Me:What are you doing tonight? You said plans, but you didn’t say what. Another Kincaid celebration?
Blakely:Dave and Theresa Thompson’s holiday party.
My heart stalls in my chest. No. She can’t go there. She can’t. Josh’s parents will be there, and even though they’ve yet to attend since the party four years ago, I know that Josh and Hannah have open invitations. My mother claims it’s the rightthing to do, to show them I’ve moved on. They never show, and neither do I. But what if they do? I don’t want Josh anywhere near Blakely.
Me:No.
Blakely:What do you mean, no? I was invited.
Me:We declined.
Blakely:No, you declined. When your mom called me at work this week, I accepted.
My mother is going to be hearing from me. She knows how I feel about this damn party. About the entire fucking holiday. How could she go behind my back and call Blakely and invite her, knowing I won’t be there?
Me:No. You’re not going.
Blakely:I’m going.
Fuck. I dial her number, and she sends me to voicemail.
Me:Answer your phone, baby.
I try her again. This time she answers. “I’m going.”
“No. You’re not going. Not there.” My voice shakes with anger.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not.” There is a finality in my tone that I’m hoping she heeds.
“I’m already in the car on my way.”
“Turn the fuck around,” I say, harsher than I intended. “Please turn around. Come to me, baby. Just come to me.” I’m pleading because the thought of her being there, at that party, the same place where my life fell apart four years ago, makes me sick. I’m just starting to feel like me again, thanks to her, and… no she can’t be there. Not during this fucking party. “I want to see you,” I try again, softening my tone.