“How’d you sleep, honey?” Mrs. Oliver asks.
“Yeah, Mags, how’d you sleep?” Kayla asks with a smirk as I’m taking a sip.
I choke and cough and clear my throat. “Fine, thanks.” I ignore the mischief in Kayla’s tone and pretend I’m an idiot who doesn’t understand innuendo.
“Who wants some pancakes?” Mrs. Oliver places a huge platter on the table, and in a flash, Olly is at my side and flinging them onto my plate and his. His mother laughs. “It’s like you came out of nowhere. Really, it’s a remarkable skill, Michael.”
He taps his nose. “I have an internal pancake detector. Very handy.”
I smile at him. He’s stupidly charming when he wants to be.
His hair is damp, and he’s wearing a white polo and worn jeans that hug his muscular thighs. He slumps down into the chair next to me, leans over, kisses me, and starts shoveling food in his mouth.
Unaccustomed to public displays of affection, I look to his family to gauge their reaction. His mother is trying not to smile, his father is reading the newspaper, and Kayla is doing something dirty to a sausage link and whispering to her husband.
Gramps is the only one watching me. He gives me a wink and demands bacon.
Everyone’s fine, Magnolia. Relax.
As though he can sense my nerves, Olly reaches for my hand under the table and gives me a squeeze. It’s a sweet gesture.
I’m realizing now how damn thoughtful this man is. I’m glad I didn’t see it sooner. I don’t need to fall for him any harder than I already have.
That thought makes me choke on a square of pancake.
“Honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Oliver pats my back. “I bet you’re starving, and that’s why you choked on your orange juice and the pancakes. Ted, I told you brunch was too late for the kids.”
Mr. Oliver finally puts away the newspaper. “Wendy, everyone’s fine. Stop fussin’ and get some food before your son eats it all.”
She trots over to her husband, and he leans his head back to whisper something to her, which makes her laugh. She brushes a kiss on his forehead and sits next to him.
Those are some couple goals right there.
I’ve always loved the Olivers. They accepted me tagging along with Bash and Olly whenever those two were running off to cause trouble. And when they ditched me, as those dumbasses sometimes did, Mrs. Oliver would let me hang out with her in the kitchen. We’d make the boys brownies and cookies, all stuff they barely thanked us for when they eventually returned from causing mayhem.
“Breakfast is delicious, Mrs. Oliver. Thank you for having me over.”
“Oh, Maggie, please call me Wendy. I’ve known you too long for us to be formal.”
I nod with a smile and nudge Olly. “Did you know that your mom taught me how to bake?”
“No shit?”
“Son, language.” Mr. Oliver gives his son the hairy eyeball.
After taking a bite of bacon, I explain how I ended up spending so much time with Wendy. “Remember when you and Bash thought it would be fun to tip over the cows in Mr. Palmer’s pasture? Only his bull nearly gored you? Your mom got me hooked on baking that day.”
He laughs and reaches for my hand again. “I forget how long you’ve been around.”
“Since before you had hair on your balls, kid,” Gramps barks out.
“Dad!” Wendy yells. “Too much information!”
I chuckle. “Olly and Bash were in love with Ginnie Essex that summer.”
“Wow. I forgot about her.” He shoves a whole strip of bacon in his mouth.
Suck it, Ginnie. I won him fair and square.
