Page 30 of Shea's Hero

Will Oliver understand? Hopefully. He’s a kind man, and I never blamed him for the things he said back then. They sucked, but I didn’t blame him. I can’t even fault him for getting upset last night. Had the positions been reversed, I would be bitter, too.

Will understanding lead to giving me another chance? That one’s more iffy. And that’s the part I’m most scared about, because even though I had reasons for how I acted back then, that still doesn’t make it okay. Understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness, and it definitely doesn’t mean he’ll be willing to try things again.

Since I worked from home today, I took a break to call Jade to see what she thought. And ever the worried friend, her first concern was for my health.

“I want you to be happy,” she said, “but I have to ask. What if he’s angry? What if he leaves and doesn’t want to see you again? It’s not that I think it’ll happen, but if it does… are you going to be okay? After the last time… will it set you back?”

It was a valid question, but I really think I can handle it. Even if this goes badly, at least I’ll have tried, and I won’t be haunted by what-ifs anymore.

All day, my nerves have been going crazy. I managed to keep myself somewhat distracted earlier in the day—focusing on my new project at work and a virtual pilates class afterwards—but now that Oliver is about to arrive, I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.

I spent well over an hour getting ready, carefully blow-drying my hair so it’s all shiny, meticulously covering the bruise on my cheek, and trying to pick out the perfect thing to wear. After approximately ten outfit changes, I settled on somethingcute but simple—a dark-blue shirt dress that just happens to be Oliver’s favorite color on me.

It can’t hurt, right?

Now I’m pacing around the living room while I wait for him to get here, my heart trying to beat out of my chest. It feels like a heavy band has wrapped around my chest, incrementally tightening by notches as six PM gets closer.

The room looks beyond neat, down to the HGTV-worthy arrangement of pillows on the couch and the vacuum lines in the carpet. I have several candles burning—lavender and eucalyptus—in an attempt to create a soothing mood. And I have snacks and drinks prepped in the kitchen, just in case Oliver decides to stay.

On my fifth pass through the living room, my gaze moves to the bookshelves, not checking for imaginary dust this time, but at the actual items on them.

Ack.

I didn’t even think about it last night.

But right there, on full display, are the things Oliver gave me. The little bear that I sometimes take to bed when I’m not feeling well. The fake diamond from the Smithsonian. And that cherry blossom…

Most people hide the gifts their ex gave them, or even throw them away. But I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want to sever that last connection.

But what must Oliver have thought when he saw them? And he had to—he was right over here by my Stephen King books, inches from the diamond. Did he think it was sad? Weird? Did he?—

My phone chimes loudly, nearly giving me a heart attack. A few seconds later, a text comes in. Right after that, the doorbell rings.

Before I answer, I check the video feed on my phone, just to be safe. And there he is, so handsome even on the small screen, smiling up at the camera as he gives a little wave.

My poor, rattled nerves revolt, forcing my stomach into my throat.

Calm down.

As I walk to the door, I keep repeating it to myself.

Calm down. Calm down.

I’m thirty-one years old. Not a child. I can handle whatever happens.

At the door, I take several steadying breaths before I open it.

I can do this. If I took on those men at the Hop-less Horseman with only a couple of chairs, this should be easy.

But as soon as I see Oliver, it’s a battle not to fling myself in his arms immediately.

On my phone was one thing, but in person, Oliver is beyond handsome. He’s wearing worn jeans that hug his muscular legs and a white short-sleeved Henley that stretches over his very impressive biceps. They’re big without being crazy-bulky, tanned from all the outdoor activities he loves to do in the spring, and there’s this vein running down each arm…

I never thought veins could be sexy. Ever. I remember a college friend going on about her boyfriend’s arm veins and I thought it sounded weird. A vein? Attractive?

Then I met Oliver and I understood what she meant.

And the way helooksat me—his gaze flicking up and down my body so quickly I almost miss it—with his eyes darkening in appreciation.

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