The Perfect Life (12 page)

Laughter danced in his honey-colored eyes as they lifted to meet mine from behind his glasses, and when I noticed the endearing pink flush surface across his cheeks, warmth blossomed inside my chest and my entire body relaxed. I’d been a little worried, because when I first picked him up at his apartment, he’d seemed incredibly uncomfortable and nervous in my presence. The two other times we’d been around each other, he’d definitely come off as a little quirky, possibly even a bit eccentric, but not straight-up stiff and a whole-lot anxious like the first couple of hours we’d spent together that morning. There was no way we were going to be able to work together with that kind of tension surrounding us all the time, but after I’d told him a few funny things that happened during my trip to Michigan and asked him about his flight and getting settled into his new place, he’d finally started to unwind a bit, which was what led us to the story of the Peach Man.

“Well next time, you can tell him that Rizzo doesn’t smell like peaches. She doesn’t even like to eat them,” I joked as I tossed my keys into my purse and opened the car door, stepping out into the sunny, late-September morning. I thought I heard him mumble something about oranges and ice cream as I shut the door behind me, but when his head popped up on the other side of the sedan, he simply grinned and motioned for me to lead the way toward the front door.

“Maybe it would help if I wrote out a list of the pros and cons of each house so that we can compare them side-by-side. This flipping back and forth between the listings on the screen is confusing me,” I suggested to Oliver as I pushed the iPad aside and grabbed my planner and a pen from my purse.

Even in the age of technology that we lived in, where a tablet, phone or even a watch could do any and everything you could possibly need it to short of launching a shuttle into space, I enjoyed actually writing things down on paper. Lists, letters, reminders—all of it I handwrote instead of punching it into an electronic device, because, for whatever reason, it helped cement the information into my brain. I half expected him to tease me a little for my archaic practices, but when I peered across the restaurant table at him, he was too busy devouring the chocolate brownie surprise to care if I was making the list with carbon and papyrus. His
second
chocolate brownie surprise, I might add.

“Oliver!” I exclaimed, stifling a giggle when he looked up at me with a few chocolate crumbs straggling around his lip and in his facial hair. “Do they not have brownies in Illinois? My God, man. Come up for a breath every so often. We’re supposed to make a final decision on the house by the end of the week, and I’m starting to think you’re just going to vote for the one with the biggest kitchen. A lobster roll, cup of chowder, basket of fries, and two desserts? Where do you put all of it?”

“My mom used to call me a bottomless pit. She said I’d out-eat all three of my sisters combined and never gain a pound,” he divulged as he swiped at the remnants of the sweets with his napkin before tossing a playful grin in my direction. “And for the record, Miss Smarty Pants, they do have brownies in Illinois, but they don’t have lobster rolls or chowder . . . at least not like this.”

With a stifled giggle, I grabbed the napkin from my own lap and leaned across the table, brushing away the specks of food that he’d missed in his beard. “Well, I believe it. The bottomless pit part, that is.” I dropped the cloth on the table once he was crumb-free. “But now it’s time to work. I need your help analyzing all this info.”

The same rosy color I’d seen on his cheeks earlier in my car returned as he tried to hide behind the curtain of his dark, wavy hair. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a man blush before Oliver, and I liked it. Well, I liked when
he
did it, as it softened his sharp, masculine facial features and made him seem a little more warm, comfortable, and snug.

Kind of like a stuffed animal.

“I’m ready now,” he announced after a drink of water, his lips still turned up in a coy smile, “but for future reference, if you bring a hungry man into a restaurant filled with all of these delicious smells, you shouldn’t expect to get anything done until he’s stuffed himself full. You’re a married woman. You gotta know better than that.”

Initially, his mention of my husband triggered a twinge of guilt that I didn’t quite expect or understand. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Colin knew exactly where I was and who I was with, not that we had the kind of relationship where he would ever get jealous anyway. And Oliver and I had spent the day discussing floor plans, storage space, and square footage as we’d toured the two properties for Mending Hearts, only engaging in friendly conversation while we were in the car, which never came close to being inappropriate. Oliver wouldn’t even tell me what the guy at the bar actually said about me other than the smelling like peaches thing, claiming the rest was too obscene and offensive to repeat in my company.

It clearly didn’t make any sense that I should feel guilty for anything, so I chalked up the foreign emotion to my inexperience of spending one-on-one time with a man other than Colin or Seth. Before Oliver, I rarely found myself in a situation where I was alone with a guy who wasn’t one of them for an extended period of time, and that was completely on purpose. Men in social settings, I could handle just fine; there were even some whose company and conversation I enjoyed quite a bit. But that was where my comfort level began to waver.

I’d known from the night at the gala that Oliver was different than most men, however. A combination of his closeness with Allison, which in and of itself spoke volumes, his devotion and dedication to helping abused children, and his sweet and tender disposition immediately placed him in the safe zone in my mind, which was why I had no issues when I found out he’d be taking Allison’s place working side-by-side with me. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if that hadn’t been the case, but thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about it. Now, I just needed to realize this was my new normal.
He
was my new normal.

“Earth to Monroe. Come in, Monroe. Repeat, come in, Monroe. Please return to Boston, where your esteemed colleague is waiting on you.” Oliver’s pretend-robot voice sliced through my wandering thoughts and reeled me back to reality.

Shaking my head, an embarrassed smile crept across my face as I focused in on Oliver, who was waving his arms around in the air like he was trying to flag down someone on the other side of the street instead of the other side of the booth. “Sorry,” I apologized lamely. “I was just making a mental note to not attempt any more working lunches with you.”

“A note or a chapter?” he taunted with a mischievous smirk. “You were lost in thought for a good twenty minutes. I already chose the house and called the realtor with our offer.”

Trying not to laugh, I rolled my eyes. “I checked out for
maybe
twenty seconds. So hush your mouth, Saxon.”

“I think you’re the first female who’s ever called me by my last name, unless it had Mister or Doctor in front of it.” His smirk grew into a mega-watt smile, showing his perfectly-straight, pearly whites. “I think I like it.”

“Oh yeah?” I mused as I lifted my iced tea to my mouth for a sip, mainly to hide the face-splitting grin threatening to take over my mug. “What do the girls usually call you?”

He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and licked his lips nervously. “I’m just Oliver to everyone except for my family, who call me Ollie when they want to annoy me. But I guess that’s what families are for, right?”

Jealousy licked cold under my skin at his words, as I secretly wished I’d grown up with a normal family who called me cute nicknames like Ollie. I was pretty sure “Disappointment,” “Home Wrecker,” and “Jealous Slut” weren’t quite the same thing. My mom always did have a way with words.

Pushing aside the hurtful memories, I forced myself to match his smile and picked up the pen from the table. “Right,” I lied before abruptly changing the subject. “Now, about this list . . .”

We then spent the next hour and a half comparing and contrasting the properties until we both agreed on which one would be perfect for the new MH home.

But in the back of my mind, I wondered what kind of nickname Oliver might come up with for me, if he had to choose one.

“The thing about

chaos, is that while

it disturbs us,

it too, forces

our hearts to roar

in a way we

secretly find

magnificent.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Oliver

I DIDN’T WANT
the day to end. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s the truth. My first day of ‘work’ with Monroe had gone five thousand times better than I’d expected, even despite the few times I’d gotten tongue-tied while talking to her or found myself eye-guzzling every inch of her flawless face and shapely body. Thankfully, she never caught me in perverted-creeper-mode—or at least, not that I was aware of—and by the time she dropped me off late in the afternoon, my confidence in not only myself, but also the rapport that had developed between us, had grown immensely. If I could only get past the way my heart soared in my chest every time she flashed me one of her million-dollar smiles, or the way my cock twitched with lust-driven hope each time we accidentally touched, then I’d have nothing to worry about for the next six months. If only . . .

“Same time tomorrow?” she asked as her car rolled to a stop in front of my apartment building. “We’ve got the appointment with the realtor at 9:30 to make the offer, and then after that, I thought I’d take you over to the Department of Children and Families so I can introduce you to everyone I’ve been working with there. They’ve all been so supportive of the MH house coming to the area, and they’ll be happy to learn we’ve finally chosen a location.”

Nodding my agreement, I blindly felt around for the door handle as I kept my eyes trained on her. I wanted to soak up every last second of her presence as I could before I went inside to my empty apartment for what was bound to be a lonely night with a sandwich from the deli downstairs and whatever was on TV. “Yeah, that sounds good. Do I need to wear a blazer for the trip to the DCF, or is something similar to what I have on today appropriate?”

Her lips curled up in an amused grin while she perused the length of my body. The weight of her stare caused me to shift nervously in the leather seat, and as I waited for her reply, the temperature inside the car skyrocketed from comfortable to surface-of-the-sun hot. If she didn’t say something quick-like, I was going to be forced to open the door to allow some cool air in before I suffered from a heat stroke.

When her eyes returned to meet mine, she responded, “No jacket necessary, their office is pretty casual. Plus, you look great just the way you are.” Then, as if her words hadn’t already shocked the hell out of me, she reached across the middle console and lightly fingered the bottom of the thin argyle-print tie that suddenly tightened like a vise around my neck. “I like this look on you.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Instantly, every drop of blood in my body flowed directly to the organ between my legs, triggering my shaft to swell and throb as it pressed against my zipper. There was no way she didn’t notice the bulge in my lap as her gaze dropped back down to where she was still touching my tie, but gratefully, she didn’t say anything or suddenly retract her hand.