Page 53 of Baby, It's You
Chapter 35
Olive
The ride home from Onilley Lake is peaceful and relaxing. Hunter and I fall into an easy conversation, joking and comparing interests. I find out he hates mayo and loves the moviePride and Prejudice, which I can’t get over. He explains how he used to watch it with his mother when he was little and ended up loving it; it became his comfort movie. I chuckle to myself thinking about Hunter in all his masculine glory, sitting alone in his room, watching Mr. Darcy confess his love to Elizabeth.
By the time he drops me at my house, I feel like I have learned so much about him today. It’s not until I get inside that I realize, I never asked him what his part of the deal we made was. I wonder what would scare him—he seems so confident and sure of his actions. He may be more reserved than his friends, but I like that about him. He doesn’t try to put on a persona or peacock around in front of other people. He just is who he is.
I send him a quick text.
Okay, you cheated. What were you supposed to do today that scared you? I never found out.
I hop in the shower while I wait for his response, wincing at how burnt my skin is. Hunter brought me some sunscreen butby the time we got back on land, it was too late—the damage was done to my cherry red back. It’s my own fault for not being prepared, knowing my fair skin can't handle the sun for more than an hour without burning to a crisp.
I replay every moment of the day in my head, smiling every time I think about the group’s playful banter and how welcoming everyone was. I don’t usually hang out with anyone but Ivy. I’m always with her or working so it was nice to meet some new girls today.
Leena and Alice were like yin and yang—Leena bright and cheery, while Alice rarely showed emotion. Ysabel even asked for my phone number before I left, which made me excited. She works for a local interior designer and told me she spends most of her time going from stores to galleries looking for clients and would love some company. I quickly agreed; any excuse to go shopping without having to spend my money sounds great to me.
By the time I finally exit the shower and wrap a towel around my body, I realize it’s been over thirty minutes, and I have two texts sitting on my phone from Hunter.
I’m trying to convince myself that it doesn’t scare the crap out of me that I might never know what it feels like to kiss your lips.
I gasp. Then I read the other message, sent just a few minutes ago.
I scared you. Forget I said any of that, please. I will see you on Monday to film.
I walk over to my bed and sit on the edge of it in my towel. I keep reading over his first message again. I can’t even lie to myself and say I’m not tempted to know what his lips taste like. What I feel for him is lust, though, nothing else, and it’s not worth it to sleep with him and ruin the friendship we haveformed. At least, that’s the story I’m sticking with; if I tell myself that enough, maybe I will believe it.
I text him back thanking him for today and saying that I will see him Monday, completely ignoring his other text. I don’t need anything else to worry about right now and I need to prioritize visiting Jane. Knowing I most likely have only a few months left with her causes my throat to constrict. I promise myself that I’m going to see her tomorrow morning before work and then get ready for bed.
Chapter 36
Olive
One week later
The past few days have been a whirlwind. Hunter and I filmed another episode for the series, and he already posted it. I was worried when we met up on Monday that things would be awkward after the text he sent me, but he acted completely normal. He didn’t bring it up once and that was a huge relief for me.
This time Hunter picked something off a wall for our video, and it was easy to find the woman because she put her first and last name under her writing.
It said:Today’s my 21stbirthday! - Hannah Glesby, 2003. Once we tracked down Hannah, who lived only a few miles from the bar in a residential neighborhood, she was happy to tell her tale. Hannah is now a stay-at-home mother of four, married to a plumber named Ron. She laughed as she told us about how her friends handed her shots all night at Whiskey Jane's and she ended up throwing up out the window of her best friend’s car the whole ride home. Hannah said it was still one of the best nights of her life and she’d danced on top of the bar while screamingShania Twain. By the time Hunter finished filming her story, we were both smiling and laughing along with her.
Since Mr. Purngast’s video was uploaded last week, there has been a ton of attention on the series. Comments began pouring in, saying funny things like “I’ve never wanted to see a men’s bathroom so badly,” or “Currently planning my trip to Clairesville so I can eat a sandwich on the sidewalk like Freddie Finnely.”
The internet went insane learning about the past of this beloved author. Everyone was calling him an inspiration for sharing his history of addiction and overcoming so many struggles to come out on top.
Thanks to that interview and Mr. Purngast’s generous donation, we have now raised over $750,000 for the bar. That doesn’t even include the money the videos are generating from being monetized. Hunter said the balance is around $11,000 right now so I am growing increasingly hopeful that we will hit our goal.
I set down the bar glass that I’m currently drying and walk towards the front door, peeking outside for Tripp’s car in the parking lot, knowing he will be here any moment. He usually comes in early on karaoke nights because he doesn't want to stick around for thechaosat night—his words. He has been nicer to me the past two days and I’ve been shocked by his change in behavior, but I will take what I can get.
I’m relieved to see that his car isn’t here yet and I walk over to pick some music on the jukebox. I pick “White Room” by Cream and turn around at the same time the bar door jingles open.
“Hey, Olive Oil,” Rick says as he walks towards the counter and pulls out the chair he always sits in.
“Hey, Rick. Coffee?”
He nods and takes his daily newspaper from under his arm. “Of course.”
I go behind the bar and pour him a fresh, hot cup of coffee in a mug, then slide it towards him. He acknowledges it and thanks me, barely glancing up. His usual smile is nowhere to be seen and that worries me.
