Page 61 of All of You

“Shush, you.” I swat her leg.

Mad chuckles, and at the same time, Oliver saunters into the room juggling four beers. He hands one to Mad, then Perce, and finally me as he slips in next to me on the couch.

“Cheers.” He clinks the neck of my bottle with his as the doorbell rings.

Pop hollers from the kitchen, “On it.”

It has been three days since Oliver’s public announcement and my conversation with the mayor. Neither of us have heard a peep from Dot. Generally an optimist, I want to say this is a good thing—everyone close to me thinks it is—though she’s eerily quiet.

I wish I could say the same for the town. At work, over the past few days, I’ve had more than the usual visitors, many townsfolk popping in to gawk at the woman who won Oliver Winslow’s heart. Or if they’re more salacious minded than that, they’re there to see the one who bested Dot Malone. The funny thing is, even with all the pretenses and masks Dot wears to make everyone think she’s this wonderful person, far too many of us couldn’t escape the fury of the storm constantly brewing behind her façade.

Jack’s question halts my meandering mind. “Miss Wren, I’m going to get a soda. Do you want anything?” Getting up from the spot on the floor where he’s sprawled with Court and Brayden, he smiles at me.

“I’m good. Oliver just got me a beer.” I hold up my drink. “But thanks.”

At the mention of Oliver, he blushes and dips his head. Reggie snickers from the other armchair in the room, eyes on us instead of the TV. She claims Jack has a crush on me, and while I’ve noticed little things, it’s all innocent.

“I’d love a drink, Jackie boy.” Her eyes are on me, making faces like “I told you so” while Jack nods at her.

While Reggie isn’t close to my father’s age, she is a few years older than Eddie, has a strong maternal vibe, and takes it upon herself to oversee these kinds of things.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I lean closer to her and lower my voice. “You said you wouldn’t bring it up again.”

She chuckles and mimes zipping her mouth shut although we both know this isn’t the last time she’ll bring it up. Truthfully, her playful ribbing doesn’t bother me so long as Jack isn’t embarrassed.

“Reg is pure trouble, isn’t she?” Oliver’s lips graze the shell of my ear.

I laugh and shake my head, settling back into his side. These past few days have been pure bliss. It’s like we’ve been living together all our lives. Oliver and I found our groove instantaneously. Now we’re all here at Pop’s for Sunday dinner. It’s a family tradition. For as long as I can remember, it’s the one night a week that I’m guaranteed to see my father and sister along with whoever’s been invited.

Sunday is the only day of the week that my father kind of takes the day off. He usually gets up late, or late for him at seven in the morning, then he tinkers around home for a bit before going to the Grill for a few hours. Then we’ll meet at his place, sometimes put on football, and eat.

Coach Bell trudges into the room, pulling at the waistband of his pants. He’s dressed in his Sunday best—black slacks, a button-down, and tie. The poor man is uncomfortable. Two of his fingers tug at the collar of his shirt.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” He holds up a hand in greeting, smiling, eyes drifting down to the boy on the carpet. “Bray.” Then he continues his perusal of the room. “Maddox, I heard you were back in town. Good to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Coach.”

The men shake hands, all eyes glued to the exchange, as Jack swaggers back into the room. Coach glances around the room, looking for a place to sit, and before I can catch my breath, Oliver grips my waist and scoops me into his lap.

“Sit here, Coach.” He pats what’s sure to be a warm cushion from where I was just sitting.

Deliberately, I wiggle around on his lap, and I feel him hardening as a low groan escapes his lips. He leans into my neck, voice low for only me to hear. “Stop that.”

“Next time, ask before hoisting me into your lap.” I glide a hand around his neck. “I would’ve come willingly.”

One brow quirks as if to challenge. “Then what’s the problem?”

Coach clears his throat, and Oliver and I refocus on the room. “You two getting along well?” Directed at us, his question sounds mechanical and awkward. “I heard all you’ve been through.”

Even though he’s got a heart of gold, Coach doesn’t do personal, and I can only imagine how hard it must be for him to ask. And it’s only more proof the town’s doing what they do best—spreading other people’s business.

That has me wondering again, why haven’t we heard from Dot? There were a few sightings around town that I’ve heard about at the library. By all accounts, she’s acting like nothing has happened.

“We’re great, thanks. And you?”

“Good. Good.” He stares at the empty cushion next to us but doesn’t make a move to sit. “So, uh, Oliver, I’m still waiting on you to put in your application. I told you, it’s just the process; the position would be yours. They’d like to make both announcements at once.”

Oliver fidgets beneath me, muscles tensing. “Um, Coach, I’m not?—”

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