Page 19 of Time To Live Again

I nod. “Unfortunately, yes.” We gaze at each other for a few seconds. Every exhale from us produces shimmering clouds that blend together and dance toward the sky. “Can I ask how old you are?”

She looks away like she’s embarrassed or something. “Thirty.”

“Really? The big three-oh!” I exclaim with more excitement in my voice than hers. “We definitely have to party then. Let’s pop this baby open. We can celebrate your big day for the next hour”—I check my watch—“no, fifty minutes. Then we can bring in the new year. How does that sound?”

“Pretty perfect, actually,” she replies, with a shaky voice. “And how old are you?”

“Thirty. Thirty-one in September.” I pick up the flutes from the bench. “Because I had high hopes that you’d show up, I brought these.”

“What, you don’t want to drink straight from the bottle?”

I raise an eyebrow, not sure if she’s being serious. “I’m game if you are. After our chat in the café, I think we’ve moved up a level. BFFs maybe?”

Olive purses her lips. “I don’t know. Do best friends share bottles? It might be too fast, and then we’ll be talking about dating, marriage and kids.” She grins, unwraps the foil from the cork with gloved hands, and shoves it in her pocket.

I’m loving this playful side. Do I bring it out of her? I’ll have to get used to her change of moods. She’s like a yo-yo, going up and down, up and down. “Yeah, we don’t want that, do we? But to be honest, I can’t stand when people share glasses, bottles, whatever.” I shiver. “You probably think I’m weird.”

“Nope. Not at all. It is pretty gross when you think about it…and I’ve seen some pretty disgusting things.” She stops, then quirks an eyebrow. “But what about kissing?”

“No problem there. That’s different. I want to kiss that person.”

She tilts her head, the bottle hanging from her hand. “So you wouldn’t share this bottle”—she raises it between us—“with me, even if you wanted to kiss me?”

“Uh…um.” My face heats up because kissing her has been on my mind since she arrived. Has she noticed? If I say I want to kiss her, will that turn her off? “This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had. Where are you going with this?”

“No idea. Forget I brought it up,” she mutters, her shoulders curling forward. I hope I didn’t upset her. She releases a long breath, then removes the muselet protecting the cork. “I’ve had the bottle sitting on ice. It should be cold enough by now.”

Great diversion.“Good thinking.”

Grunting because the cork won’t budge, she gives up and passes me the bottle. I hand her one flute and then the other when I have the bottle in my hands.

“You didn’t shake this before you got here, did you? I don’t want it to explode and cover us. It’s a little cold for that,” I joke.

“Now that we’re BFFs, you can trust me.” Her humor is back. She’s too damn adorable for her own good.

“Weirdly, I do trust you.” I twist the cork and it loosens. “Here we go.” I extend my arms and aim the bottle away from us. A loud pop follows, and the cork shoots out into the darkness. Condensation billows outward, but the golden liquid stays in the bottle.

Olive holds up the flutes, and I pour in the bubbly, careful not to overflow. I place the bottle on the corner of the bench, then lift my glass. “Happy birthday, Olive.”

Her soft gaze meets mine. “Thank you. It’s been a hell of a lot better than I expected, but somehow, exactly what I wished for.” Hearing that fills my chest with pride.

We clink the glasses and drink some. “I hope you like it. It’s a favorite here.”

Olive licks her lips, and I have to bite my tongue. She doesn’t have a fucking clue how sexy she is from that one movement alone.

“It’s crisp, and I love the fizz against my tongue.”Now I’m thinking about her tongue. It’s going to be a long night.“I’m a big champagne fan. Not that I drink it often. Not much to—” She stops and looks down at the grass.

I can guess what she was going to say.Not much to celebrate. Well, I’m going to make sure she does exactly that tonight, if it’s the last thing I do. I take another sip, then sit on the bench and pat the empty spot next to me. She sits down, but not too close. I nestle the bottle between us.

Olive looks up at the tree. “I love madrone trees. Especially their pretty rust-colored bark and that they have leaves year-round.”

“Me too. And now you know why it’s called Madrona Inn.”

“Is there a significance?”

“Someone planted this tree a long time ago. It’s a symbol of resilience, survival, and strength. This hotel is over a hundred years old. It really is resilient.” I snort. “And now I sound like a tour guide, reciting facts again.” I take a quick sip from my glass to shut myself up.

“Tour guides can be boring. You’re far from that. However, Iama tourist for the week. You’re just doing your job.” She plays with a button on her coat.

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