Page 47 of Five
Hmm. Maybe the dress isn’t so bad after all. Especially since it even made Jesse stop in mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing on me. He can act like he isn’t interested but that’s not what it looks like.
The obvious impact my appearance has on these men does a lot to curb my nerves. Not entirely, though. I have to remind myself that, although the circumstances are not ideal, this—a relationship with all of them— is what I was interested in exploring. I wanted this. My eyes flicker to Jesse, whose features have grown dark and shuttered again, and I flinch a little.
At least, I think I wanted this.
Oliver jumps to his feet and hurries toward me, helping the rest of my nerves dissipate.
“Neve,” he says, pulling me against him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here…that I finally get to meet you in person.”
Warmth and comfort and desire slam into me, shocking me with their intensity.
God, he feels good.
Oliver pulls away, peering down at me with the intelligent deep blue gaze I remember from our video chats. He is even more attractive in person, his physical presence a magnetic draw, pulling every ounce of my attention.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
“You do, too,” I whisper, meaning it. He’s wearing a plain cotton tee shirt and a pair of jeans, simple clothing that I would expect for a writer who spends most of his time sitting, but his tanned skin and the way the shirt stretches over a very muscular chest makes me realize Oliver must spend a fair amount of time outdoors, doing something active.
Oliver laughs a little, drawing my attention to what I just said, and my cheeks heat.
Lord. Get it together, Neve.
Remi steps forward from the table and takes my hand in both of his. “I’m Remi,” he reminds me. “We’re happy you’re here, Neve.”
I feel myself blush at his attention but manage a nod and a quiet ‘thank you.’ Remi makes me think of a ridiculously good-looking surfer, with sun-streaked, longish blond hair pulled off his face into a messy knot. Gold bristle dusts his cheeks and laugh lines bracket his mouth.
Behind him, Cope pulls out a chair at the end of the table, beckoning me to come and sit beside him. Oliver stands behind the chair to my right.
“I hope you enjoy everything, Neve.” Remi waves his hands over the table, directing my attention to the food, and my jaw gapes a little. “Ollie told us that your family is from Texas, so I figured I’d make something familiar.”
There are mashed potatoes, fried chicken, barbecued chicken, chili, honey rolls, green beans cooked with bacon… I don’t know how the table is bearing the weight of all the food he made. “This…” I begin, and then stop, getting choked up. “This is the sweetest, craziest thing ever. You didn’t have to make all of this!”
The men laugh as a collective, everyone seeming to expel a breath of relief as the weird tension that had been present since I entered disappears, and everyone seats themselves. “We’ll eat it, don’t worry,” Oz says from the opposite end of the table, picking up the platter of chicken and using the tongs to place a drumstick on his plate. He passes it to Jesse, seated next to him. “So, you’re from Texas? How’d you end up here in the Keys?”
I accept the bowl Cope passes to me and serve myself before passing it to Oliver. “Yeah… My mother was originally from Texas, and my dad, here. My brother and I lived with him here in the Keys until he—until I was around eight, and then I ended up moving to Texas in my teens. I loved living here, though, so I came back.”
A familiar sadness threatens to swamp me at the reminder. Remi made all of these southern dishes to help me feel at home…even a Texas sheet cake for dessert…and it’s all so special. He doesn’t know that my mother became a shell of herself after Nicholas was taken, that I rarely saw this kind of food after I moved in with her. I started making myself ramen at a young age. That and the occasional fast-food delivery was it for me.
I place my hand on Remi’s as he stretches across Oliver to hand me the breadbasket, meeting his grass-green gaze. “Thank you for this. It’s perfect.”
A couple of chairs away, Jesse waves his fork impatiently. “Yep, super sweet gesture, Remi. Good job, Remi. What a stand-up guy.” He points the fork around the table, at each man. “And all of y’all sitting here with your tongues out… she apparently knows how to shower and get dressed. Good for her.” He shovels a bite into his mouth, his manners as terrible as his attitude. “Now, can we eat? We finally have normal food instead of that shit that looks like someone jizzed on it.”
Remi rolls his eyes and offers me an apologetic smile. “You know that’s called a drizzle.”
“What Iknowis that it looks like someone jizzed on my food—“
“All right, dude,” Oz breaks in. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can eat by yourself. We don’t need this shit, and Neve doesn’t deserve it.”
“Gladly.” Scooping up his plate, Jesse stalks from the courtyard.
I set my own fork down and fold my hands in my lap. Everyone’s quiet, the tension back in full measure. I’m hurt, bewildered, and more than anything else—pissed off.
“Pass the bread, please?” Cope asks Oliver, subdued.
I take in a deep breath and release it slowly. I can’t handle everyone just pretending that little episode didn’t happen. Not after a childhood where my mom did the same thing—pushed the darkest, most terrible thing that had ever happened to our family into a box and ignored it thereafter.
“Would someone please explain exactly what’s going on?” I manage to ask the question without my voice trembling and use it as a sign to push forward. “I had been under the impression that Oliver was interested in me, and possibly the rest of you, also…I don’t understand what I’ve done or not done—“
