Page 50 of We Met Like This
“But you saw me and immediately knew it was a mistake?” I asked, remembering his first words to me, about how, despite how good the apps were, they couldn’t replicate an actual meeting.
He shook his head. “No. God, no. I saw you and my brain left me. You’re gorgeous.”
Why did he keep saying things that made me want to kiss him again? “Well, I’m glad your brain is back.”
“Only halfway.”
“Yes,” I said, leaning forward, my elbows resting on the table.
“What?”
“I want a reset. A do-over.”
He leaned forward too, the small table between us feeling even smaller now. “Let’s see… Younger Oliver,” he said, answering my question from earlier. “I grew up in Northern California, but came down here for college.”
“Where you majored in gum removal,” I teased.
“Did my techniques work? For the gum?”
“Yes, actually, a little bit of ice and a butter knife did the trick.”
“You went off script, I see.”
“I’m creative like that.” I looked down at our hands that were inches apart on the table. “What did you really major in?”
“Engineering.”
“I figured.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Where did you go to school?”
“Not UCLA. That’s where I wanted to go. I wasn’t the best student in high school, so my sister encouraged me to apply to Santa Barbara instead. In high school, I had my head in the clouds a lot, planning out how I was going to become a world-famous screenwriter.”
“What happened with that dream?”
“I guess I listened to all the people telling me I needed a backup plan, just in case,” I said. “Because the truth of thematter is that it’s a hard market to break into. But it worked out. I was always better at seeing the flaws and strengths in other people’s stories than in my own. Agenting is a better…” I trailed off as it hit me that this dream might be dead too. “The publishing world is small. I just hope my boss doesn’t trash my name.”
“Why would he?”
Through the window I could see our building across the street, sitting there, innocent in my day’s drama, Rob inside possibly plotting my destruction. “I don’t know,” was how I answered Oliver. Another lie. I turned the subject back to him. “What about you? Was software engineering always your dream?”
“From the time I was five.”
“Really?”
“No,” he said. “At five I told my mom I wanted to be Spider-Man.”
“Solid superhero choice. Howisyour mom?” I asked.
“My mom?” he returned.
“Years ago, in one of our early rematching chats, you told me you were worried about her. I think…” Maybe I was remembering somebody totally different.
His hands slid over mine. “Yes, I was. You remember that?”
Tingles scurried up my arms and down my back. I wished we were somewhere more private. Even just back in my car. “I do.”
“She’s doing better. She moved down here, not too far from me. It’s nice to be able to help her when she needs it. My dad left when I was fourteen and it was hard for her.”
