"I'm sort of jealous of the two of you," he mused, taking a gulp of his coffee before it got too cold. "It was just me growing up. I always had to entertain myself. I always wished I had a brother or sister to either look up to or protect."
But talking about their pasts wasn't why they were there. While he polished off what was left in his cup, Oliver's eyes wandered around the bakery, glad that his sunglasses would keep him from having to make contact with anyone that knew him. That's when he noticed a writer for the Prophet sitting at a table not far from there's. Now he was really nervous.
Oliver scooted forward in the seat a bit so he could talk softer, hoping that the writer didn't notice or wasn't paying attention to the conversation they were having. "I do love her. And somewhere down the line I want to marry her. But I want to prove not only to her that I'm in this for the long haul, but to you as well. I don't want to run out and buy a ring just because she's having my baby. I want to do it right."
Smiling, Oliver sat back. "I suppose this is me asking for future permission?"