Page 32 of Lotus

I wonder if it’s a mystery that will ever be solved.

Oliver looks my way again, eyes like a summer sunset burning me, roving over my face and absorbing the greenish-purple bruising along my cheek and jaw. I spare a quick glance to his knuckles, dappled in a similar, painful coloring, and I’m overcome with the need to touch him.Feelhim. Thank him with the gentle stroke of my buzzing, trembling fingers.

Swallowing my pride, I reach for his left hand fisted in his lap and prepare for an inevitable pullback.

Only, it never comes.

There is a slight flinch, the tiniest twitch, but he doesn’t reject me. He doesn’t jerk back or break away from the caress of my fingertips. He doesn’t flee.

Oliver allows me to cradle his hand in mine while I dust my thumb over the divots of his marred knuckles, dragging him out of his comfort zone and encouraging him to trust another human. I inhale with a deep, shaky swallow, swept up in the powerful notion that this hand was what prevented a horrifying nightmare from unfolding.

And then I’m stunned, frozen to the navy comforter, when Oliver releases my hand and lifts his own to the side of my face.

I remain still, breathless and speechless, my eyes following his hand as it connects with my cheek, his index finger extending and drawing an invisible line along my bruise. His touch makes me shiver, mostly because I didn’t expect it, but also for reasons I can’t quite explain. Goosebumps tickle both arms, sheathing me in a flurry of new sensations and an unexpected feeling of…contentment.

Fulfillment. Belonging.

Home.

When his eyes find their way back to mine, I realize we are both breathing heavily, our faces inches apart. That same charged current I felt as we stared at each other through my bay window surges within me, only, now I feel it tenfold. I raise my own hand and place it atop his, cupping his fingers in my palm as our gazes remain locked in a cogent clutch.

I ask him softly, timidly, our hands still connected, “Will you be my friend, Oliver Lynch?”

And then I slip him a smile, lightening the moment.

There is a noticeable hitch in his demeanor, a brief, silent battle between his inherent fears and his desire to conquer them. A war between his years of isolation, the only thing he truly knows, and…me.

My heartbeat picks up as I await his response, my fingers crawling into the cracks of his own, pressing his hand further against my cheek.

Oliver releases a surrendering breath, and his lips draw up into a smile that matches mine. A weight lifts. “I would like that.”

I guess I don’t have cooties anymore.

N I N E

I’VE DISCOVERED A STRANGE, NEW PASSION FOR COOKINGover the past few months, much to Gabe’s delight. Sometimes I wonder if he tolerates my company simply because of the dinners I have prepared when he gets home from work, along with my desire for tidiness. One thing I’ve noticed is that we don’t have much in common, despite the fact that we get along quite well.

Well, except for Sydney.

Our mutual affection for the girl next door is one trait we certainly share.

“Shit, it smells fantastic in here. What are you cooking?”

Gabe traipses up the small staircase and into the kitchen, his eager eyes scanning the countertops for dinner clues. The clank of his car keys against the island reverberates through the kitchen as he untucks his dark polo from his trousers. I spare him a glance before returning my attention to the stove. “Lasagna,” I tell him. “I’m making a béchamel sauce.”

Peering over my shoulder at the white roux, he nods, impressed. “Don’t know what the hell you just said, but I’m here for it.” Gabe busies himself behind me, sorting through the mail I brought inside. “So, my dad wants to come by and visit after the holiday. He’s been staying away to give you time to adjust, but he’s really excited to finally see you.”

Travis Wellington—my stepfather. One of the only remaining family members I have left.

“I suppose.” To be truthful, meeting new people is taxing. While I’ve made substantial strides over the last three months, crowds and new faces still plant a tickle of anxiety in my gut. I’ve ventured out to the grocery store and a handful of restaurants, but otherwise, I limit my socializing to my brother and Sydney.

Sydney’s parents, Aaron and Justine, came by one afternoon in May to visit me, and it was profoundly uncomfortable. I didn’t remember them in the slightest, so the firm hugs and exuberant conversation exhausted me. Luckily, it was a quick visit. Sydney could sense my distress and cut their stay short before I did something disrespectful and locked myself in the bedroom.

I do find it odd, however, that the neighbor’s parents have stopped over before my own stepfather. He must be a busy man.

“Yeah?” Gabe claps his hands together. “Sweet. I’ll let him know. I’m throwing that Fourth of July shindig at the house tomorrow, but maybe the following weekend we can set something up.”

Ah, yes. The social gathering he seems overly excited about.

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