Page 89 of The Felicity Theory (The Laws of Love 4)

“This is silly,” she said as he ripped open the pasta pack. “Maybe we should go out and grab something.”

“It’s late, the restaurants will be closing.”

“Takeaway then. Fish and chips…” Her voice dwindled, then she grinned. “Actually, I could kill a kebab.”

His expression must have changed because she burst out laughing. “Don’t look so horrified!”

“Do I?” He probably did, because the only place was Eros Kebabs, full of tourists who’d been on a pub crawl and teens who’d escaped their parents’ eagle eye. And then he found his mouth watering, could almost smell the lamb on the spit, taste the tang of yoghurt and tabouleh. He remembered devouring them when he first arrived in Bondi, and they were delicious. He’d been so conservative these last few years, frequenting a small range of upmarket bars and restaurants that Leonie liked.

He glanced over and saw her cheeks dimple and gave a snort. “You’re right. This is ridiculous.” He barked a laugh, took the tin of caviar, tossed it in the air and shoved it back in the cupboard. “Let’s go get a kebab.”

* * *

“I’ll find somewhere elseto stay tomorrow,” Felicity said as they faced each other over the plastic tablecloth in the buzzy little café.

“Why?”

“You’ve got so much on. I feel like I’ll be in the way.”

Oliver put the kebab to his lips. Ripped off a chunk and chewed in almost angry silence.

“That doesn’t make sense.” It came on a half chew, half growl. “While you’re in Sydney, I won’t have you pay to stay somewhere.”

She reached out then, touched his arm, lightly.

They simply stared at each other.

“It feels awkward I guess.” She let out a small sigh. “You—me. Us. It’s been wonderful, but now we’re in Sydney, suddenly reality bites, doesn’t it? And I don’t… I mean… I’m here to have a holiday and you’re here to sort your life out, and the trajectory for both of is… different.”

She was right. He knew she was. It was exactly what he’d told himself since Streaky Bay. Here she was, this fay creature, constantly surprising him with her common sense. Her maturity. Oh yeah, he pretended he was mature, but frankly, who was he kidding? He’d been the consummate con artist for years. Not intentionally, not with an eye to harm, but because he was pretending to the world that he was not lost.

But then he looked at her and he realised she’d been lost too. They’d both been delivered hefty blows. Sure, they’d coped differently, but they bothknewthe intensity of pain and grief. Theygotthat in each other.

And that’s when Oliver accepted, sitting in a cheap and cheerful kebab shop opposite the wide expanse of beach he ran on each morning in an attempt to appease some hollow empty space inside him, that he didn’t want Felicity to go, and he didn’t want to sleep in that apartment alone. He didn’t want to go on doing sensible things in his mechanical way, never, ever feeling truly alive. He wanted the magic they’d shared on the road, if only for a few more days.

He tossed the kebab aside, wiped his fingers on a napkin.

“Stay,” he croaked. “Please—stay. At least while you’re in Sydney, use my place as your base.” He hauled in a shaky breath, and then he took her hand in his and squeezed it tight.

“Please.”

For what seemed an eternity they sat like this, and then finally she squeezed back.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

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