Oliver Wood (olliewood_) wrote in finnigans_rpg, @ 2015-06-27 10:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: melinda bobbin, character: oliver wood, status: complete |
RP: Awkward Encounters
Who: Oliver and Melinda
What: Random encounter in Melinda's shop
When: Saturday, June 27
Where: Sweet Nothings
Rating: SFW
Three weeks in Magaluf had been enough for Oliver, honestly. There was only so much surfing, swimming, running, tanning and drunken shenanigans one could do until it all became a bit too repetitive. Not to mention one could only run from their problems for so long.
He was happy to be back in the magical world; strolling down Diagon Alley he gazed upon the familiar shops with new eyes and a grin on his face... Until he spotted a very familiar looking girl. Oliver double and triple checked, but there was no denying that tattoo on her shoulder belonged to the same muggle girl he'd spent time with in Magaluf last week. Sure she was a fantastic temporary partner, but there was a hint of instability bubbling barely under the surface. That, and she was too clingy.
There wasn't much time to act. Oliver quickly turned and scooted through the front door of the nearest shop without bothering to look just where he was going.
For a Saturday, Sweet Nothings had been relatively quiet. It almost felt as if people were gearing up for tonight, saving themselves any indulgences until later. Although Melinda, from a business perspective, preferred it to be busy during all hours, she had to admit that today wasn’t the worse day for business to be slow. Bryn had cut down on his hours, and the witch who had been training to take over some of his tasks had called in sick this morning. That didn’t mean that Melinda could just cancel on the orders for later in the evening, so she had brought in the freshly cooled red velvet cupcakes for a hen party tonight, and was piping brightly fuchsia chrysanthemums on them when the jingling doorbell had her stop and look up to greet her customer.
Melinda’s smile froze before it had reached its full potential, because even with his back to her, she recognized him. Oliver. She felt a rush in her tummy, first that familiar joy she had felt anytime he had shown up while they were together, quickly followed with an almost overwhelming sense of self-loathing for being happy to see him, and then annoyance. Annoyance that he was here, that he just waltzed in like this, just as she was starting something that felt good, when she didn’t need any reminders of what she hadn’t been able to keep.
“Hello, Oliver,” she said, trying for all the world to keep her professionalism – she was in her shop, after all – and succeeded fairly well, except for the fact that she was still mid-piping of a petal on the cupcake.
There is just no way. Oliver's mind raced, trying to grasp the situation. Simply no way. She said she's a muggle... She said she lived in Liverpool for Merlin sake. But that tattoo... Oliver's nerves were rarely rattled, years of quidditch saw to that. Still, he hasn't expected to see the equivalent of the ghost of a shag past. He hadn't entered into the shop too far, simply closing the door behind him with a quick snap and peering out the window like a nosy old biddy. He gained a visual on her again, and nodded to himself. Definitely her. A familiar voice caused him to start, turning from the window toward the source of noise. There, standing at the familiar counter, looking impossibly perfect with her apron and her hands expertly squeezing frosting onto those little cupcakes, was Melinda. For a second time Oliver felt a jolt, but this was more pleasant, like honey poured down an aching throat.
"Melinda..." He sighed with his face breaking into a smile, stepping forward. It was like old times. The sweet, airy and smell of the shop, the gentle light coming through the windows, and Mel standing behind the counter. Except she looked annoyed. Oliver paused, the knot of joy slipping down his stomach uncomfortably and settling heavily near the bottom and the smile disappearing. Clearing his throat, he looked around the store before giving a casual nod. "Melinda." He repeated, using the tone he often employed when speaking diplomatically to an annoying reporter.
It took everything Melinda had not to gasp when he turned around. Sure, she had seen the picture of him on the journal, but that picture didn’t do him justice. He was tanner, his hair lighter, most likely from the sun and the salt water, his smile brighter and his eyes bluer. Well, that is, his smile was brighter, it made her heart race and her own smile appear for just the briefest of moments as her feet readied themselves to take her to him. His voice, the way he said her name, was like a caress, and even surrounded by fragrances like vanilla, lavender, and chocolate, she was convinced that she could smell that warm, familiar smell of him. But then he saw her, cleared his throat, and Melinda was reminded that she wasn’t someone he’d actually wanted to spend any particular time with.
“Oliver,” she said, a slight bob of her head in greeting, before she noticed the cupcake in her hand and fumbled to get it put down on the counter. “You look-“ Amazing! Sexy! Fantastic! Wanted! Needed! None of the adjectives that immediately came to mind were appropriate here, not with an ex-boyfriend, not when she was seeing Viktor, and what did you say in a situation like this? “-well. You look well.”
Oliver had avoided the shop since their romance faced in December. Back then it had been covered in cheery Christmas decor and a faint trace of cinnamon lingered in the air. Now in early summer the shop looked less cozy and more bright, with summer pastries and lighter, more delicate frosting on cakes. There were more berries, he noted, including curious little tarts that looked absolutely delicious. Yet Melinda looked the same, a bit more color on her cheeks, and her hair seemed longer (to be fair, his was longer again too) but those eyes were still the same beautiful color he'd come too... love? Had he loved her?
And there was the root of the problem. In December Oliver had panicked, pushing away Melinda with a callous rejection and downplaying his feelings toward her. She'd made him happier than he had been in a long time, and yet he feared she'd take that happiness. In a classic Oliver fashion, he threw himself into a frenzy of work and distractions so he wouldn't have to actually confront his issues.
"I am well," he agreed, wanting to tell her all -- mostly all-- about Magaluf. "And you look," he paused, blue eyes sweeping over her familiar form. So many words: radiant, beautiful, lovely, adored, missed, perfect, but none he could say. "You look well." He finished lamely, looking over the chocolate eclairs he'd loved so much. "Erm, I didn't mean to barge in." There was the overly polite, diplomatic tone again. "I just needed to pick up something for Seamus." It wasn't a lie, he did need to bring some sweets for the party, but planned to go elsewhere.
Melinda quirked an eyebrow at Oliver. ”It’s a shop, Oliver,” she said slightly hesitantly. “People come here unannounced all the time, unless they have a consultation for bespoke cakes or desserts.” As much as she would have liked time to prepare herself mentally for being alone with Oliver, she couldn’t demand that he only showed up here when she wasn’t around. Then again, it could sound like he hadn’t meant to go in here, but that made even less sense than him having to announce his arrival ahead of time.
Her cheeks heated up a little and she felt an odd tingling in her shoulders at the mention of Seamus. Was Oliver going tonight and why hadn’t she considered that to be within the realm of possibilities? “For Seamus,” she repeated slowly, still taking in that bit of information. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
"I know that," he replied to her comment of patrons coming and going with slight annoyance. Hadn't she realized he'd not come in to get those damn eclairs that nearly ruin his diet? Hadn't she noticed his absence at all? Oliver hated to feel so petty but the idea of her not noticing bothered him on a deep level. Had she really not noticed at all? Not following up on that remark, Oliver continued to look around the shop, throwing subtle, longing glances at the eclairs and warily checking the door.
"Yeah, Seamus." Oliver was happy they had something neutral to talk about. "He's having a bit of a get together tonight and I thought I'd grab something, maybe eclairs..." A thought dawned on him, and he stopped in his tracks. There was something about her tone. "Wait... you're..." Oliver felt as though a heavy hand was pressing on his chest. "Merlin. You're going too. Aren't you?" The sudden realization made his tone harsher than he meant. First a crazy shag popped up in Diagon Alley and now Melinda would be at a party he'd come home early for.
Melinda had noticed. She had noticed that the éclairs she had set aside every day on the off chance that Oliver would stop by had still been there by the end of the day. She had noticed how hard she had had to work to keep her disappointment from showing whenever a customer came into her shop and it wasn’t Oliver. And she had noticed how her attention had shifted anytime there was even a hint of anything that had to do with Oliver, be it Quidditch or gossip. She had found herself wondering if any of the witches that came into her shop and purchased the éclairs she knew he loved were buying them to gain his favour and how much favour he was showing them. But December was the busiest time of the year for her, and on top of that she was preparing for taking over the shop completely after her mother’s retiring and the full refurbishment of the place, and that was what had kept her going… until New Year’s Eve when Cho had found her in the kitchen. From there it had been a slow climb back to a place where she began feeling like she hadn’t made a huge mistake, the last step being the evening she and Bryn had settled in with a bottle of Tequila (or more) and she had decided to just let go.
Well, she had, and now with the jingling of the doorbell they all came back, and it felt odd. It terrified her that even with the strong feelings that were growing for Viktor everything she had felt for Oliver was still there… along with the hurt and frustration.
“I am,” she said, trying for all the world not to appear as surprised – or was it horrified – as Oliver had, that they were going to the same party. “Seamus has been a good friend and valued customer since before the opening of the shop.” And why was she explaining her reasons for being invited to him? Just because he was Gryffindor didn’t mean that he had dibs on attending the birthday party of the most popular pub owner in Monument Alley. “I’m sure he’s pleased that you’ve found time to go.”
Melinda's steady, polite tone made the knot in Oliver's stomach tighten and feel even worse. It was hard to think with such a shock to the system; keeping himself in check with quaffles and bludgers flying at his face, with opponents trying to knock him off his broom, when calculating and recalculating hundreds of game plans and their possible outcome, while getting mobbed by fans... he found that easy. Being confronted by the girl he loved -- loves? -- while on the run from a crazy shag was not so easy. Oliver had hoped he'd run into Melinda, despite his great efforts to avoid her; and when he did he would not be a prat. In his ideal scenario they'd have a wonderful chat that ended in both of them agreeing to try again, to which Oliver's imagination ran wild with the endless possibilities that would follow.
Except reality is rarely what people expect.
"You don't need to explain yourself, Mel." The corners of Oliver's mouth twitched into a frown, raising his hand in a stopping motion. "Seamus has always said good things about you," Like the enthusiastic thumbs up he'd given Oliver when the rumor broke the two were an item. "He likes you. I'm sure he's also pleased you're going." A sudden, awful thought barged into his mind; what if Melinda was going with someone? He looked up to her, brows knitted into a worried expression for a brief moment before he smiled softly. "I'm glad you're going too. At least I know the food will be tasty."
”I’m sure he has,” she said with a small chuckle. “You don’t want to get on the wrong side of the witch who sends you leftover cake, right?” Melinda looked down at her hands, mentally chastising herself for giving into the ease she had felt with Oliver. It had been so easy to just smile and enjoy herself when she was with him, but obviously he hadn’t felt the same way and that still hurt. She might be able to forgive, but she doubted she’d ever forget.
“I’m not-,” Melinda cleared her throat before she looked back up at Oliver. “I’m not catering tonight, I don’t know who is. I just supplied the sprinkles, though I doubt Seamus would serve anything that tastes bad. The cook he has now at least can tell the difference between cayenne and cinnamon. So… Did you have anything in mind for him?”
"I suppose not!" Oliver laughed, a genuine, happy laugh which caused the edges of his eyes to crinkle and a tilt of his head. Melinda always had a way of pointing out truths with a bit of humor. He adored that quality in her. "It would be far too easy for you to get revenge." He offered a sly grin and a wink. "Not that you would."
For a moment Oliver forgot about the awkwardness between them. He moved forward to the counter, coming to rest against it. "You're not catering? Is Seamus mad? Well, at least we'll know the sprinkles will be the best tasting bit there." His finger trailed to the bit of parchment next to the sweets separating them, scooping up a bit of excess frosting that had been scraped off. Popping the sugar coated finger in his mouth, his features relaxing into bliss. It had been so long since he'd actually had one of her treats; even without seeing her, the idea of eating something from Melinda's bakery caused his stomach to ache.
"Well, I don't know." He answered truthfully, leaning back to look around the shop. Six months had passed since he'd stepped foot inside and only a few staples remained. "So much has changed, you know? I... Well I'm not sure where to begin." Part of Oliver meant the sweets while the other meant the mess he'd thrown them into. Melinda hadn't done anything wrong, her only crime was being too good of a partner to him... which wasn't a crime at all. His blue eyes drifted back to the eclairs. "Hmm. You know, I think Seamus is rather fond of those eclairs; pretty sure he told me so." Oliver smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps he'd like ten...err... maybe a dozen?"
The door to the shop opened with it's happy jingling bell. Oliver had always loved that sound; it meant he would see Melinda, covered in frosting, in that silly apron and looking lovely. However, the sound of his name and the image of the tattooed girl in the doorway was not a sound he'd wanted to hear.
“Seamus? Mad?” Melinda shrugged a little. “Probably, but not for not ordering his cake here. His best friend likes to bake and it’s actually nice to go to a party and have somebody else bake for you.” It didn’t happen very often and it was never a hassle for Melinda to make a birthday cake for anybody – in fact she always enjoyed doing so – but there was just something special about not knowing every little thing about the treat you were about to eat. Her eyes dropped to where Oliver’s finger dipped into some of the spilled frosting. Normally, if a customer had done that, she would have asked them to please not touch anything they weren’t purchasing, but much to her chagrin, all she could do was watch, her eyes following the movement of his finger as the tip disappeared between his lips.
That seemed to wake her, and the small bitter voice inside of her gloated at her that he missed the sweets more than he missed her. Actually, that shouldn’t have surprised her, since she was convinced that he didn’t miss her at all. Why would he? It wasn’t like he was lacking for female company these days, or the past six months for that matter. She eyed him for a moment, because even the most naïve could see that what he was saying about the éclairs was utter rubbish. “A dozen?” she asked with a small nod. “Now would that be three of each variety or a dozen of, oh, I don’t know, the salted butter caramel.”
She had barely finished when the bell jingled again, and relief coursed through her. Another customer meant that she had even more incentive to keep her distance, lest she inadvertently set off another round of rumours. “Hello,” she greeted the girl, looking around Oliver to make eye contact. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Oliver's eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite flavor, though he hid his enthusiasm with a hastily cleared throat, giving him an excuse to hide the boyish, gleeful smile on his face. "A variety, if you will... though could you be a bit more handy with the salted caramel? Please?" Oliver was well aware that his blue eyes and a puppy-dog like look often won him quite a few favors and he wasn't going to let the chance of extra eclairs in his favorite flavor slip by.
With the jingle of the door the girl with the large cherry blossom tattoo on her shoulder strolled into the store, giving a smile and a nod to Melinda before squealing Oliver's name in delight and bounding over to him. She was very pretty, with a thick sheet of blue black hair falling unbroken to her waist and bluntly cut fringe resting just above her eyebrows. She wore a burnt orange sundress that oddly complimented her very pale, slim frame.
"I, er, hello...uhm.." Oliver couldn't remember her name, nevermind wasn't even sure this was the same muggle.
"Jenni! Remember? We met in Magaluf!" She said brightly, seemingly not put off by Oliver's forgetfulness. The world slowed to a crawl and nothing outside the immediate scene seemed to exist. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and felt oddly dizzy.
"I... I thought you were a muggle."
"I only told you that because you told me that!" Jenni giggled coyly. "You seemed like you wanted to get away from it all and," she moved closer to him. "I didn't think telling you I'm a witch would fair well in my favor." She gave him a sly smile, then glanced to Melinda. "You don't happen to have any strawberry tarts, do you? I absolutely love your tarts."
Oliver turned 'round, looking at Melinda with guilt. She didn't need to see this.
Mentally Melinda shook her head. She was tempted, oh so tempted, to bend the truth and tell Oliver that Seamus preferred the raspberry and rosewater éclair and calling him on his attempted cover-up. Well, Seamus did like those éclairs, but really, it seemed that Seamus liked all of them, and not just Oliver’s favourites. So she started packing up a dozen éclairs; six of the salted butter caramels and two each of the rest.
As she packed the pastries, she glanced over at the newly arrived customer, and though she wanted to throw the box of treats at Oliver, she only paused briefly in her work; Magaluf? They’d met in Magaluf? Although she claimed not to have read his journal update, Melinda was very well aware that it was in Magaluf that the picture of Oliver surfing had been taking and looking at the girl – Jenni, apparently – she had a pretty good idea about how they met.
She pasted on a too bright smile when she looked at Jenni. “Strawberry tart is a daily tart,” she informed the witch, her voice too kind. She glanced up at Oliver before she continued, pointedly; “And Oliver, it seems, really loves his tarts.”
It shouldn’t hurt, not like this. Hell, it shouldn’t even surprise her. It wasn’t as if Oliver was anonymous and he hadn’t exactly been discreet with his conquests in the past six months. But all that, Melinda had seen in the Prophet, she’d heard about it from gossiping customers, and that had all made it happen at a distance. Witnessing it like this, right in front of her, in her own shop no less, that felt like a slap in the face. “Your éclairs, Mister Wood,” she said as she put the lid on the box and slid it across the counter to him. “I hope you enjoy them.”
"Wonderful!" Jenni beamed at Melinda. "I'd love two, please. I'd take more but I'm watching my figure." She winked in a friendly way as though they were sharing a girly secret men couldn't understand. "The beach calls, you know." With the mention of Oliver's love for tarts she turned her dark honey colored eyes to him. "You do? I thought you liked eclairs! You kept eating them when we'd visit that cafe on the beach."
Oliver stood motionless and unable to meet Melinda's gaze. He'd caught the double meaning and the saccharine sweet of his former lover's voice scalded his ears. He couldn't look anywhere but his feet, fighting to keep his expression neutral despite the crushing mixture of anguish, annoyance and despair churning inside. Of course the first time he'd run into Melinda after their split it would be a disaster. This could only be worse if Mel was dating one of my teammates and he walked in now. His blue eyes darted to the door, half expecting the thought to come true.
With his body on autopilot, Oliver was barely aware he'd walked up to the counter, paying for the boxes of sweets. Jenni yapped happily next to him, her arm looped around his. He didn't even listen to her, rather looking over Melinda's face and desperately wishing she could read minds.
"Thanks." Oliver smiled weakly as he picked up the package, feeling a jolt of lightning as his fingers brushed over the tops of her's.
"Yes, thank you...err..." Jenni glanced at the little sign behind the counter starting the owner's name. "Melinda, right?" She didn't wait for a reply, smiling brightly while leading Oliver to the door. "Thanks Melinda! We'll enjoy them!"
"See...see you tonight, then." Oliver muttered, looking over Melinda again. He tried to smile, but it felt difficult.
"C'mon, Olliiiee. Let's grab some coffee and catch up." Jenni giggled with a note of mischief in her voice.
Melinda’s mouth twitched up into what she hoped was a friendly smile, though she bristled at the wink. Watching her figure? Pff. As if Melinda cared. It wasn’t her problem, and really, she had never watched what she ate, a fact that many witches didn’t like hearing, since she only just had the curves that kept her body from looking like a little boy’s. However, growing up with a pastry chef mother and later on becoming one herself had meant that she was constantly surrounded by sweetness and fragrances, and the scents of those alone had always been enough to satisfy her sweet tooth. Sure, she tasted her creations, but never more than that, and if she was really indulging, her tastes always ran towards the savoury.
Swallowing down a sigh at this Jenni’s cluelessness, she began packing up the tarts for her. She really tried to tune her out, but her words still managed to sneak their way into her mind, and she had to remind herself that she was the one to break things off with Oliver, that even though they hadn’t visited cafes on the beach, he was the one who had given her the most single romantic evening in her life, when he had taken her to the London Eye to see the city lights. She also had to remind herself that now Viktor was becoming an increasingly more important person in her life and that though things were still slow for them, there was something there.
Her gaze grew distant as she let routine take over while tallying up the price for their cakes. Everything about Jenni bothered her right now, and she just wanted them to go. Mechanically she held out her hand to accept the money from Oliver, when the touch of his fingers jolted her back to reality, as if she’d been hit with an electric charge. Her eyes shot up, meeting his and for a long moment she just looked at him. She just wanted to get lost in those eyes and let him make her feel like the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, just by looking at her.
But that wasn’t his place anymore, and she would never be that woman to him. She’d brought that on herself when she had ended things with him. That thought and the sudden longing for him had her swallow down and look away, hopefully before he saw that tears were threating to come to her eyes. “Enj-“ she cleared her throat when her voice broke. “Enjoy your afternoon,” she said as she watched them walk away.
Footsteps behind her alerted her to Mark’s arrival from the kitchen.
“That was…” he said.
“Yep,” Melinda said tightly, knowing fully well that Mark, a life-long Puddlemere fan, would recognize Oliver’s voice.
“And he’s your…” he continued, fully aware of the history between Melinda and Oliver.
“Mm, hmm,” Melinda nodded, biting her lip to keep it from quivering.
“You know, I think I heard the Floo. You might want to go see about that. I can man the till,” he said casually.
Melinda nodded again, and turned around to head upstairs, just for a few minutes, until she knew she wouldn’t burst into tears. Mark was lying, she knew that perfectly well. The man was still pretty much hopeless behind the counter and there was no way he could hear the Floo in her third floor apartment while standing in the ground floor kitchen. But she appreciated his offer and was happy to take him up on it, even if only for the walk up and down the stairs.<\lj-cut>