Just in time, I hear a car pull up outside. I glance at myself in the mirror one last time before leaving."You got this, Anna. You look drop-dead gorgeous," I whisper to myself.
I open the door to find Oliver leaning casually against his car, eyes fixed on me, a smirk tugging at his lips. The sight of him makes my nerves spike even more. I close the door behind me, offering him a warm smile.
"Wow, you look gorgeous," he says, pushing off his car and walking toward me.
"Not so bad yourself," I reply, as his arms snake around me, pulling me into his orbit. He smells incredible—cedarwood and vanilla.
"So, this your place, huh?" he says, glancing up at the house. "I've been looking for a property near this lake. This one looks amazing."
"It really is. I can't believe I get to live here," I grin.
"Well, we should get going," he says, finally tearing his eyes away from the house and back to me.
We arrive at one of the city's most expensive restaurants—La Ferme. I immediately feel underdressed. My dress is simple, especially compared to the elegant women stepping out of cars with their dates. Oliver, on the other hand, fits right in. He chats easily with the valet and the front-of-house staff. Judging by their warm smiles when they see him, I'm guessing he's a regular here.
I jump slightly when he grabs my arm and pulls me closer.
"You like?" he asks with a grin.
"Looks great," I say, offering a sheepish smile. God, I feel so out of my element.
We follow the waitress through the restaurant, past every table, and up a winding staircase to the rooftop. There are only three tables up here, two already occupied. The warm summer air brushes against my skin as Oliver, the perfect gentleman, pulls out my chair and hands me a menu.
Everything looks delicious. And expensive. I glance over at Oliver. He's tracing his lips with his index finger like choosing dinner is the hardest decision he's ever had to make. His eyes meet mine briefly, and he shoots me a warm smile.
"So, what are you having?"
"I'm not sure. I'm thinking... chicken?"
"Hmm. I'd suggest the lobster pasta. It's absolute heaven—and paired with the house white wine? Perfection."
Sounds like he knows his stuff. Of course he does. This is clearly his world.
"Lobster and wine it is, then," I say, following his lead.
Something feels off. I don't feel that spark, that pull—or even butterflies. Dinner goes well enough; we talk about my old job (his company, actually), and how I'm looking for work. He seems genuinely interested in my life, which is sweet.
He drives me home. "I had... fun. Thank you, Oliver," I say softly as we walk to my door.
"I did too." He leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek. "Goodnight," he says, pulling back.
"Goodnight." I can feel my cheek burning where his lips just touched. I watch as he climbs into his car and drives away.
I unlock the door and step inside. The lights are off—Simon must have turned in for the night. I shut the door quietly and head to my room. I remove my makeup, wash my face, and peel off my dress, reflecting on the evening.
Oliver was kind. A gentleman. But something didn't click. He was hot, and clearly interested, but we didn't seem to have much in common.
I lift the blanket and groan. My PJs are in the wash. Shit.
Still in just my sports bra and black knickers, I tiptoe out like a burglar. The laundry room is by the kitchen. I'll just grab a T-shirt—quick and quiet. Moonlight streams through the window, giving me just enough light to spot the dryer and pull out a shirt. I'll grab the rest of my clothes tomorrow. No energy for it now.
As I turn on my heel, the laundry room light flicks on.
I gasp and spin around. "Simon! You scared me!"Shit. I'm half-naked. I quickly wrap the T-shirt around myself.
"I'm sorry—I thought you were in bed." He turns away politely.
Blood drains from my face. This is so embarrassing.
"Was just grabbing a T-shirt. I'm off to bed now." Mortified, I scurry past him."Night," he says quietly.
I've been pacing my room for an hour now, waiting for Simon to either leave or go to his room so I can make breakfast. It's 9:30. Doesn't he have anywhere to be?
Anna, you're an adult. You've got this, I tell myself.
I take a deep breath, open my door like it's the most courageous thing I've ever done, and walk to the kitchen.
"Good morning," Simon says coolly. He turns to me, a faint smile dancing on his lips.
"Morning," I reply, avoiding his eyes.
"Coffee?" he offers gently.
"Yes, please." He pours me a cup and slides it across the counter, turning away to continue making his breakfast.
"Simon?" I say softly.
"Yes?" His tone matches mine—soft, careful.
"Last night… when I was—"
"I caught a glimpse," he interrupts, turning his attention to me. My chest rises and falls faster under his gaze.
"And by the looks of it, you're also wearing my T-shirt."
"Wh-what?" I stammer, glancing down.
Oh no. It is his. I'd been so flustered about him seeing me half-naked, I hadn't even noticed I grabbed his shirt. At least I had the good sense to put on shorts.
"Oh—I'm sorry. It was dark. I thought I grabbed my clothes from the dryer."
"They were, but I needed to load mine, so I put your clean stuff in your room."
"Oh. You didn't have to, but thank you. And I'll wash and return your shirt. I'm really sorry."
"You're welcome. And it's fine. Really," he says with a slight grin. "You can keep it. Besides, you look better in it than I do."
My cheeks flush red. "No, you don't have to give it to me—I'm more than happy to give it back."
He leans over the counter, eyes darker now. "I want you to keep it."
I stare into his eyes.