He let her talk-Oliver knew Alicia well enough to know that even if she did open up to him (and he managed to talk about real feelings with her too, something he could only do with his girls, and occasionally a Weasley or two) she needed to go at her own speed. When she got to the part about slapping her uncle, he stopped rubbing her feet and looked at her, worry on his face that he didn't even bother to hide. "He didn't touch you, did he?" he asked. He'd kill him, if he did. Those old bloody men better not touch a hair on his Lici's head, or they would wish they'd never been born.
She was just as quickly turning back to Gwenog, which made Oliver feel a little sick. He groaned and pushed her legs off, standing to put the kettle on for tea. He wasn't really prepared to talk more about that woman. "Maybe not," he owned quietly as he filled the kettle and turned on the stove. He liked making tea without any use of magic, it made it feel more ritual and relaxing.
"I'd just rather not dwell on someone who doesn't seem to like me back."