Verity (jokeshopgirl) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-12-06 17:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, oliver wood, verity |
IWho: Oliver Wood, Verity Ashford
When: Evening, 29 November, 2012
Where: Wood Estate, Fernando Circle, Villa Park
What: Verity visits Oliver now that he’s home from the hospital.
Rating: Low
Status: Complete!
The last twenty-four hours were miserable.
Pansy’s visit to the hospital yesterday had ignited Oliver’s reserve of patience. After weeks in the same room stuck in the same bed staring at the same walls, he’d already been prepared to leave the hospital against medical advice. Discussions with his doctors and nurses had brought about a plan to wean Oliver off the IV-drip morphine by Friday, but after the encounter with Lizzy, there wasn’t a thing in the world which would have kept him in that bed an hour longer.
Except, perhaps, hindsight.
At half five, Oliver was still sitting on the couch, his head rolled back onto the suede cushions, mouth gaping open, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. In the last half hour, he’d taken to counting heartbeats by the throbbing inside his skull; everything ached.
Alice had given Oliver as many Vicodin as the labeled allowed, but even maxed out on prescription drugs the pain was incapacitating. Instead of laying in a hospital bed floating on morphine, Oliver was laying at home on the couch, the drugs ineffective at curbing the deep ache in his shoulder. But Verity was coming soon, and Oliver had already buggered one date. Added to that her disappointment in him for leaving the hospital early, plus whatever Lizzy had told her about Pansy’s visit and Alice was right - he was starting behind the curb.
Feeling a wreck but determined to change that, Oliver pried himself from the sofa and gingerly made his way into the bathroom. He bathed, as well as he could with his bandages and bracings, put on clean clothes and deodorant. A splash of cologne, a glance in the mirror, and the bloke staring back looked nothing like the lump who’d wallowed all day on the couch. Even if his cheeks were a bit peaky.
By six o’clock, Oliver had water boiling on the stove for pasta and a pan sizzling with onions, garlic and oil. It was a simple dish, really, simple was all he could muster at the moment.
Verity had brought clothes to change into after work with her, and collected them from her car once she was finished with her chores for the day. She’d asked Fred and George if she could leave at 5, so she would have time to prepare for her date at Oliver’s place at 6. After some teasing on George’s part, Verity got the time off.
To be honest, she was nervous about going to Oliver’s. Lizzy hadn’t had good things to say about Oliver’s last day in the hospital, and Verity was a little concerned that she was walking into... well, into a spider’s nest. The way Lizzy spun the tale, Oliver had been stringing several girls along, going so far as to fool around with one on his hospital bed. Verity had hoped that something real might develop between herself and Oliver, and the flirting and the talking about kissing was all real on her side. She feared it wasn’t real on his.
She showed up at his door at 6pm sharp, dressed in one of her most adorable/sexy outfits, her hair and makeup perfect even after the long day at work. She was nervous, a little bit, thinking about Oliver’s new stripper roommate (she’d read that on the network, sure) and wondering how many of the rest of his harem had already come to visit after he left the hospital.
Before knocking she closed her eyes and pushed those thoughts from her mind as best she could. He was so kind, so smart, so handsome, so funny. She wanted to like him. She wanted to be close with him. But she wanted to keep her emotions in check, too. She wouldn’t let him hurt her. Not after the last time.
She knocked on the door, then opened her eyes and put on a smile.
Verity didn’t have to wait long at the door. Even Los Angeles was beginning to turn chilly now that December was breaching the corner and Oliver pulled the frying pan off the burner before walking quickly to the front door.
‘Wow,’ he proclaimed, eyes widening. Whether he wanted it to or not, Oliver’s heart jumped and his head pounded. ‘You look... absolutely beautiful.’ And she did, from the top of her blonde little head all the way to her brown boots. Verity had clearly put a lot of effort into her appearance; tights, shirt, skirt and boots all color coded, hair and makeup impeccable. Suddenly, Oliver wished he’d bothered to attempt shaving.
‘Please, come in,’ he said finally, stepping aside and ushering her in from the doormat. ‘Can I take your jacket?’
“Thank you,” Verity said, blushing a bit as she walked through the door into his home. She took a lot of care in how she looked, most of the time. She was a girly girl at heart, even though she had the capacity to get in the mud and rough it like the best of them. She had to give up a little on her appearance when she worked in a joke shop. She was constantly getting hit with slime or sitting on whoopie cushions.
“Sure,” she said, shrugging the jacket off of her shoulders. She was without purse today, only keys, wallet and phone in the pockets of her jacket. It made for lighter travel. She held her jacket out to him, folded over her forearm. “How are you feeling, Oli?” She asked, the nick-name coming naturally to her, even though she didn’t know where it came from. “You look... “ Well, he looked absolutely amazing. “A little tired.”
Taking Verity's coat, Olivier began hanging it up in the hall closet. He'd grown accustomed to using feet, teeth and chin to get anything accomplished with only one hand. 'I'm alright,' he said, getting the coat onto a hook. 'Just on a lot of drugs.' Really, that was the worst of it; they made him feel sluggish and every task felt like it took all his energy.
'But I'll ring up a pot of tea and be right as rain,' he said cheerfully, settling the hook back into the closet. 'Dinner should be ready soon. Can I offer you anything to drink?'
“I’ll have tea with you,” Verity responded. She wished she could help. It wasn’t as if she thought Oliver needed the help. He was getting on fairly well by himself--or, well, not by himself, exactly. He had his stripper roommate, didn’t he? Anyway, she knew how her father used to react when she offered to help him after his surgery, and he was in a wheelchair.
“Please tell me I can do something to help,” she said as she followed him back toward the kitchen. “...er, something that doesn’t involve cooking.” She amended, giving a sheepish smile.
It was the perfect opportunity, and despite a nagging sensation on the tip of his lips, Oliver couldn't resist.
'There is one thing,' he said, his voice dropping deep and a slight flush rose along his collarbone. The anticipation Oliver had experienced building up to this moment was so intense he actually felt slightly queasy. Surprising to him, his wrists and fingers vibrated imperceptibly with excitement.
Oliver stepped closer to Verity, approaching her slowly. With his left hand, he reached up and brushed his fingertips along her jaw, trailing up into her hair. 'May I kiss you?'
Verity's heart suddenly started to thunder as he came closer to her and touched her so gently. Her mouth was dry, her knees a little weak. She couldn't help but stare up into those amazing, blue eyes. He made her positively melt, and she had no idea why. Well, besides... everything. His accent, his gentle touch, his piercing gaze. He was so handsome, so smart, so funny, so kind.
After flicking her eyes from his incredible blue ones down to his lips then back up again, Verity gave the breath of a nod. She'd longed for so long to feel his mouth against hers, to know what it was like to have Oliver Wood kissing her. All of the flirtation, all of the time spent thinking about his strong hands, his warm arms, it was all leading up to this moment.
She felt her eyes falling closed as she leaned up and in, waiting for him to kiss her.
As Verity's eyes shut, Oliver became strangely nervous. He never got nervous kissing girls, but tonight he did.
Fingers tangling deeper into her hair, Oliver guided Verity's face towards his, dipping his head until his lips were just dusting hers. A breath, a beat, and finally a kiss they both had been hoping for weeks.
Oliver's heart jumped into his nose, then plummeted to his heels.
Verity’s hands lifted up to rest against his chest, very, very gently. She pressed forward, up on her toes, to return the kiss. It was so gentle, so tender, unlike any kiss Verity had ever experienced before. Her heart was pounding in her chest, throbbing in her temples. She was doing the best she could to keep up with her breathing.
Something about being this close to him, her lips against his, was so familiar. She couldn't help but feel an insane surge of love and affection bubble up within her. It was at the same time both thrilling and terrifying.
Oliver could feel it too, that strange déjà vu(o?) that was an uncomfortable security. And he wanted more, to discover and know beyond a gentle touch of timid lips. Verity's mouth was soft and Oliver pressed the kiss forward when he felt her respond, gently urging her mouth open with his and allowing tongues to embrace tentatively at first. The hand in Verity's hair moved to cup the base of her skull, holding her carefully to make up for the arm that could not embrace her.
The longer the kiss lasted, the less Oliver's head and shoulder burned.
After a moment of both shy and tentative exploration, Verity pulled back out of the kiss to catch her breath. She lifted her eyes to look up into his, wondering if he felt it, too .. That strange sensation that was both so foreign and so familiar. Being this close to him made her acutely aware of how handsome he really was.
"I hope that helped, " she whispered.
Eyes still half-lidded, Oliver stared almost drunkenly down at Verity, his gaze locked on her eyes. It was scary how easy it was to embrace her and yet how unstable her kiss had made him. Was that a good thing? Or were all the out of character anxious nerves a warning against what a terrible idea this was? Whatever the case, Oliver felt as if this weren't the first time he had kissed Verity, but millionth. Just the first in a very, very long time. Like coming home to something familiar, only they barely knew one another.
It was weird. Perhaps a good weird, though, for he wanted to do it again.
'Yeah,' he replied at last, brushing his thumb along Verity's cheek. 'That helped a lot.' It really hadn't, though. Oliver was now quite emotionally perplexed.
Probably just the Vicodin, though.
Her heart still thundering, her head a little dizzy, her hands warm against his chest and her knees slightly weak, Verity gave him a nod. That was what she’d been waiting for. That was one of the most amazing kisses she’d ever had--one of the most amazing experiences in general. Now her heart was heavy and aching, her cheeks burning, and her soul was trembling for more.
“Good.” She said with a smile, then tore herself away from him. She had to. This couldn’t have gone farther, not if she wanted to keep herself safe. She couldn’t let him in, not when she knew what he was like. Or did she really? She didn’t want to believe what Lizzy told her about the girls coming to see him at the hospital. She didn’t want to know it, and a part of her wished she could erase it from her mind. But that pain--the pain of finding out about the other girls after having fallen for him--would be even worse.
“Now... what did you make me for dinner?” She asked, putting on a flirtatious tone. Flirting was easy, kept him at a bit of a distance.
Exhaling, Oliver forced himself to let go of the strange sensations tingling though his body. Why did have such a affect on him? He's liked girls before. Had relationships before, but even those at their height had never made him feel this off kilter. There was something very special about Verity, and he wanted to discover what it was.
'Pasta,' he replied, letting food be a guide to normalcy. 'I'm sorry it's nae more, but I got a bit of a late start. Come on, I'll show you to the kitchen.' He offered her his hand and a genuine smile; not touching her was no longer an option.
Verity looked down at his hand, then back up to him. She hesitated for just a moment--it seemed the more she touched him, the keener the sensations became. She wasn’t sure what it was, what it meant, or how to stop it. She knew that stopping it would be the best idea, if she could, it’d protect her from the unavoidable heartache. But was the ‘in the mean time’ pleasantness worth the eventual pain?
It was too much to think about in that moment, so she slipped her hand into his and gave him a nod. “Show me the way.”
Lacing his fingers in hers, Oliver lead her through the foyer and to the left into a grand open kitchen. Black granite tiles ran along against the walls, jutting out to form a breakfast bar, the only separation between the kitchen and the dining room. In the center of the kitchen was an island stove top, where the pasta bubbled and the light sauce of onions garlic and mushrooms sat, waiting for the final addition of brown sugar and broth.
Aside from the kitchen, the home was not terribly personalized. Oliver had only spent a few days setting the home up before going into hospital, so there were still boxes of things, and furniture in its wrappings. But it was cozy enough and the house grand so that what still packed items remained did not feel like clutter.
'We can eat in the sitting room,' he said letting go of her hand to set the kettle to boil. 'It's more moved in than here.'
Verity took in all the sights, sounds and smells of the place. It felt comfortable, welcoming, even though it was sparsely decorated and still in boxes. She let go of his hand somewhat reluctantly, despite herself, and then nodded. “It smells wonderful,” she said. “I never should attempt to cook for you again.”
She stood awkwardly in the kitchen for a moment, then leaned back against the counter and watched him at the stove. It was alarmingly familiar, for whatever reason. She had the strangest sensation of deja vu that she couldn’t quite shake.
“Can I help with anything?” She asked, then realized that was what got her into the whole kissing mess in the first place. She probably shouldn’t have done that with him. It only intensified her feelings for him, feelings she knew that she shouldn’t have. “I mean, anything else?” She added, going very pink.
Verity’s flush set Oliver grinning and his belly rolling, a sweet sensation that had nothing to do with hunger. 'Nae a thing, sweet lass,' he chuckled. 'Pasta's nearly done. And tea wot be a mo. Do you take cream or sugar?' He asked, adding the last of the ingredients to the sauce and setting it on top of the burner again; the steam and comfort of cooking seemed to be improving his headache.
“I’ll take it how you do,” Verity said, softly. She crossed her feet at the ankle as she leaned back against the counter, still watching him. He was looking better now, she thought, perhaps being up and around was helping him. Of course, she hadn’t thought that his brightening had anything to do with the kissing. He’d probably kissed lots of girls, so she didn’t think that her kiss would make a difference.
‘Black, then’ Oliver replied, pulling the pasta off the stove and hauling it one handed over to the sink. He’d already set the colander in preparation and immediately dumped the pasta overboard, steaming water draining off while their dinner collected in the bowl. ‘Never much enjoyed tea or sugar,’ he admitted, setting the now empty pot aside. ‘Dinnae really grow up with it.’
“That’s fine with me.” Verity said. Drinking tea the way he did, having dinner he prepared, it was like she was getting a little sample of what his life was all about. It might not have been the best idea to get closer with him, but she wanted to. She was ignoring the part of her mind that was screaming for her to run away.
“At least let me set the table?” She asked, glancing around to the living room. He hadn’t done that preparation yet, had he?
‘No need,’ Oliver replied, dumping the pasta into the saucepan with the mushrooms. He flipped the burner heat up from a simmer to high medium, beginning to stir everything together. ‘Nothing to set, really... But if you’re itching for something to do, you could grab some plates from the cupboard to the right of the sink. Above the counter. There’s flatware in the drawer below, as well.’
Verity nodded. She pulled out some plates and forks, then came back over to where he was standing at the stove and set them aside. She found that she loved to watch him cook. It was almost hypnotizing. She had to shake herself out of her daze a couple of times.
After a minute or so, the kettle began boiling, so Oliver switched tasks quickly and flipped off its burner, popping open the kettle spout to plunge the kitchen once more into the soft sizzling noises of the pasta. He left the kettle to sit, turning off the last burner and dishing out pasta onto each plate. For the tea, he knocked a couple bags of PG Tips into a large green pot, dumped water over the lot, and left it on the counter.
‘That’ll take a few minutes to brew, but we can get set up if you’d like in the meantime.’
Verity watched his hands while he worked, her cheeks a little flushed. She couldn’t stop her mind from imagining what those hands could do. She’d already had a little taste of what his lips could do.
“Sure.” She picked up both plates and moved to the living room to set them down. “This smells fantastic. I hope you didn’t work too hard. You should really be taking it easy.”
‘Promise, I’ve been taking it very easy,’ Oliver said, following behind her with two tea cups.
The living room, which was visible from the dining room, took two steps to get down into, a sunken den in front of large floor to ceiling glass windows. The windows made up the entire wall, giving the room much the same feeling as an aquarium. Only on the other side instead of water and fish was a large, elaborate garden. Now that the sun had set, small little lanterns lit the patio in a warm, dim glow. It was all very peaceful, beautiful, perhaps a bit romantic even. Oddly, Oliver hadn’t even thought about it.
‘Sat most of the day on the sofa, actually,’ he added, setting the tea mugs down and glancing back towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll just go grab the kettle. Make yourself cozy.’
Verity gave him a little nod. She hoped that he would be taking it easy, she hoped that he was resting and following most of the doctors’ orders, even if he wasn’t staying in the hospital like they wanted him to. It took her a moment to realize that the living room had a very beautiful glow, almost romantic. That would just make things perfect, wouldn’t it? She really didn’t want to fall in love with him.
She settled on the sofa, fingers itching to reach for her plate and start in on that food. It smelled wonderful. She was a polite girl, though, she waited for him.
The tea pot had always been the most difficult thing to carry one handed, but after a year of practice, Oliver had become quite adept at balancing the otherwise topsy-turvy ceramic. Only downside was he moved a little slower than usual; the extra caution was worth the effort though in his mind. Scaulding hot tea belonged in a pot, not on his clothes.
'Here we go,' Oliver announced, setting to pot on the coffee table before taking a seat next to Verity. Their knees knocked a little and Oliver smiled apologetically at her. 'Dig in, please.'
Ver gave him a little smile at the knocking knees, then reached for her plate and hungrily scooped some of the pasta up to dig in. It was absolutely fabulous. She almost groaned as she chewed.
“That’s it,” she said, her mouth still a little full, “I’m gonna hire you as my own personal chef. What did you put in this,” she added, swallowing. “Heaven?”
Wiggling his eyebrows, Oliver replied as he'd heard his father say countless times, 'Main ingredient is love.' The response was second nature and completely true to him. 'You can have all the best ingredients in the world but you'll never make it taste right if you don't pour all your love into it.'
And that was how Oliver had lived his whole life. Cooking, football, his studies; if there was a task Oliver meant to accomplish, he did so with his whole body, mind and spirit. He held nothing back, left nothing to chance. The philosophy had served him both well, and terribly. But the good far outweighed the bad.
'I'm glad you like it,' he added, taking a bite himself. For a one-armed half-arsed attempt, it wasn’t bad on his palate. Especially after all the hospital food.
Verity gave a little chuckle at his response. It sounded almost cliche. But she liked that he was so deep, that he had so many feelings in there. He wasn’t just a stupid jock. There was so much more to him than meets the eye.
She ate for another moment in silence, just enjoying the food, enjoying the company. Her knee bumped into his again and she gave him a smile.
That smile shot straight to Oliver's heart and he flushed again, a slight pink rising along his neck. What was it about Verity that made his blood bubble to the surface? Made his lips and fingers tingle? How was it he could feel so miserable all day and in fifteen minutes with her completely forget about pain and exhaustion?
It was almost more frightening than wonderful.
'So. How was your day?' he asked at last, unable to hold her gaze any longer. When Verity looked at him, it felt as if she were staring beyond his eyes into his soul.
“Normal,” Verity said, softly. “I spent all day looking forward to coming over here, actually.” She reached for her tea after setting her nearly empty plate down. She was pleasantly full and wanted to stop eating before that changed.
“Though I have to admit, I do worry about you coming home against medical advice. I hate to think of you here miserable and in pain when you could be there with nurses at your beck and call.”
Verity's wasn't the first disapproval he had met since requesting an early leave. Lizzy, his surgeons and his parents had all disapproved, and had no qualms about letting him know just how much.
'Really, I'm fine,' Oliver insisted, setting his own plate aside; he hadn't eaten much. A little pasta went a long way in his condition. 'I'm nae doing anything I should nae. Simply cut myself off the morphine early, which admittedly may nae have been the most intelligent of decisions but I've been in pain for years. No reason to shy away from it now.'
Oliver reached over and set his good hand on Verity's knee; it wasn't meant to be sexual, simply reassuring and comforting. It was important to him that she understood he was alright and there was no need to worry. 'I'll be alright, love. And if nae, Alice is here. She can take me back to the hospital.'
Before she could stop herself--because she knew she should have stopped herself--Verity took hold of Oliver’s hand on her knee and wrapped both of her hands around it, lacing her fingers through his. She gave a little nod.
“Alice. That’s your roommate?” She asked, wondering if Alice was the name of the stripper Oliver was shacking up with. Was that the girl on his bed that he’d had his hand up her skirt?
'Aye,' Oliver replied, allowing himself to lean I to Verity a little more. He wished he could hold her, wrap his right arm around her petite frame and curl her against his chest. Something just told him that she'd fit perfectly there.
'She's not home tonight, though...' he said suggestively, heartbeat rising once again into his throat. The urge to kiss Verity again was mounting.
Verity flushed. "Oh? Did you kick her out so we could be alone?" she asked, trying to stop the grin from crossing her features, but it was no use. She liked the flirting. It won over her fear of getting too close.
Leaning in closer, Oliver pause only when their noses brushed. 'Something like that...' he whispered, still linger a few centimetres away. From here, he could smell her shampoo, or was it her perfume? Didn't matter much because the damage was done in either case. Like apples and summer and wonderful memories.
Oliver closed the gap between their lips and kissed Verity deeply.
The whole world washed away again as Oliver kissed her. It felt like coming home. As wonderful as it felt, it was also overwhelming and a little terrifying. She both wanted more but knew that was a bad idea at the same time. So many emotions flitted through her, and the only thing she could do was kiss him back.
Encouraged by her responses, Oliver pushed forward, intensifying the hiss until Verity was pressed against the suede sofa cushions. His hand, still on her knee, remained politely still for the moment while his tongue and lips explored Verity's. Though full of energy and clear desire, Oliver's kisses were also gentle, precise, every nibble of a lip or caress of a tongue intentioned to delight and praise.
And the way Verity met and moulded to his affections left Oliver wanting more the more they kissed.
Verity’s hands released his and she lifted both of them to cup his face as he kissed her. Her fingertips trailing gently along his cheek, jaw, and one lowered to rest against his neck. He needed a shave. Maybe she could...
No. She didn’t want to let this get any more intimate. She didn’t want this to go much farther, for fear that she might not be able to stop herself. With a gentle, muffled whimper, she pulled her mouth away from his. She pressed one last, sweet kiss against his lips before leaning her head back just a little so she could look into his eyes.
But Oliver didn't quite understand, or didn't want to. Perhaps it was the haze if Vicodin, or the addiction to how Verity made him feel: painless and free, or maybe he was just being a bloke. For whatever reason, he'd missed the stop signal.
Smiling briefly at Verity, Oliver's eyes slipped shut again as he pressed his head forward, nizzling his face against Verity's skin and nip-kissing tenderly at the juncture of shoulder and neck. The hand on Verity's knee moved presumptuously and slowly up towards her thigh.
“Oliver,” Verity breathed, lowering her hand to cover his on her thigh. It was bizarre that she was more than willing to let Thor jump on her in the store room at her work, and yet here she was, sitting with someone for whom she had large amounts of feelings, and she was stopping his hand from moving further up. She hated that she stopped him, but she had to.
“It’s getting late,” she whispered, kicking herself for using such a cliche.
Stilling, Oliver sat through a torrent of emotions until he felt calm enough to pull back and smile as understandingly as possible. Internally, however, there was no sense to be made of the situation.
Verity was rejecting him, plain and simple. She'd flirted, reeled him in with kindness and that amazing smile and allowed him to think there was more to the hand holding and gentle touches than was truly there. They'd had dinner, kissed, and now she was leaving abruptly and early. His blood thickened in his skull, his jaws tightened again and every ache and pain returned with disappointment. What had she done to him?
'Are you uh...' he paused, pulling back to give her space and himself time to breathe. 'It's not quite seven...' Hell, this was awkward. Had Lizzy put her up to this?
“No,” Verity was frowning now, her brow furrowed, kicking herself inwardly. “No, I know, it’s not really, I just... things were moving a little fast, and... well, I didn’t think that you-- I mean, I didn’t think that I...” She closed her eyes and sighed.
“I’m sorry.” She said. Pulling away from him, stopping his hand, it was turning him down. She didn’t want to--Lord knows she didn’t want to. But she had to. As crazy as she was about him, she didn’t want to get played. She didn’t want to get her heart broken again.
'No. No, it's fine,' he said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. 'I-' it wasn't fine. Nothing about the situation was fine. 'I dinnae mean to presume. I'm in the wrong, nae you.' The words were little more than propriety, but Oliver felt compelled to say them. It was the correct and gentlemanly thing to do, unlike the thoughts still churning desire in his belly.
Had he completely misread the signals?
“No no, really.” Verity said. “I should have...” Should have what? Told him she didn’t want to fool around on their second official date? Or was it third? Crap, maybe that’s what he was expecting. He’d cleared the house, cooked her dinner... any other girl on the planet would have given her left foot for an opportunity like this. Oliver Wood, athlete and celebrity, wanting more from Verity, nobody shop girl. It was unheard of.
Verity was just wondering how many of those other girls on the planet he’d had over this week. She didn’t want to--no, she wouldn’t be--the next in a long line of conquests.
“I should have been more clear, I guess.” She said, though it wasn’t really what she meant. This had turned so awkward, so quickly. Now she really wanted to run away.
Scritching nervously at his scruffy chin, Oliver tried to shrug off feelings of inadequacy, dejection and testosterone.
'I donnae... Um... I donnae...' he stopped, brow knit tightly. Things like this didn't happen to him. Flirtation, check. Innuendo, check. Dinner, kissing, romantic setting, check. What had he done so incorrectly?
'What do you want, lass?'
Verity took a deep breath, trying to figure out a response to that question. What did she want? Was it time to bear her soul here? Or was it time to push him away even more? She finally opened her eyes to look into his once more.
“I... I don’t want...” She had no idea what she did want, but she knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be hurt. “...I’m afraid,” she confessed. That was the easiest way to put it.
'Of what?' he asked, still scratching at his chin. Clearly direct questions were best, as all of Oliver's interpretations and presumptions had failed him.
Verity shifted her weight, turning her eyes down to stare at her hands in her lap. He wanted to know, and she didn’t want to lie. For some reason, something deep inside her was telling her that she had to tell him the truth, always. “When I moved here, I was following my boyfriend. We’d been together for years, through most of college, and afterward, and... I really thought things were going well. No one had ever meant as much to me. Well, apparently, he meant that much to other girls, too. I was... I didn’t know. So, we broke up. And... yes, that’s why I’m hesitant.”
Oliver hated men like that. Hated them with every fiber of his male being. Not only were they horrible wastes of space, but they ruined beautiful, confident women like Verity.
Softening, Oliver lowered his hand from his chin and reached for Verity's companionably. 'I'm sorry you were put through the ringer, love, but I'm nae like him. I donnae lie. Nae for years.' It was important she understood that point, specifically. Things may not have been destined to work between them but Oliver did care about her. And she needed to learn to trust again for herself.
'I wonnae, and donnae want to push you.' So he let go of her hand with great reluctance, knowing in his heart it was the right thing to do.
Verity went quiet for a long moment. “That’s what he said, too.” She remembered how he denied it and denied it. She remembered how he told her he loved her, that he would never lie to her. And she remembered coming home to find him with that other woman in her bed.
She closed her eyes. “I’m really sorry. I should go.” She stood up from the sofa abruptly. Her nose was burning as if she was going to cry. She thought she’d moved on past this, but her emotions were obviously still so strong.
It took Oliver a little longer to get up from the sunken couch but he managed it, hoisting himself up so he could, against every instinct, walk her to the door. What a rubbish week this was turning out to be.
'Alright,' he sad, trying to keep a calm volume to his voice. It was difficult not to let his tenor betray his frustration, but he did care about her, probably far too much. That was why this was so difficult, yes? For the first time in many years a lass had meant more to Oliver than a friendly shag, and to discover so early she was no where near ready even for a little fun took his insides and rearranged them into an uncomfortable tangle. But it was better for her if he let her go. So he would, even if it made him want to punch his fist through the plaster walls.
As they walked to the front door, Oliver broke the momentary silence with a bit of honesty. She needed all the trust he could give, as a friend. 'For what it's worth, Verity, I think you're a brilliant woman. Very beautiful, very smart, and you have a wicked smile. Drives me a bit mental, really.' Pausing, Oliver retrieving Verity's jacket from the front hallway closet, kicking the door shot with his toes and turning to face her. The red along her nose and the tightness around her features broke Oliver's heart. She had been hurt so badly before, an all he wanted to do was comfort her and prove not all blokes were like that. Someone was waiting out there for her, to love and spend the rest of his life pleasing her. But if dinner and a snog frightened her away, she was going to miss him when they met, and that was terribly tragic.
'I promise we're nae all like that chancer,' he said, staring into her eyes. They were as sad as his own. 'Whit's fur ye'll no go past ye,' he added, remembering suddenly another of his father's favourite phrases. 'Now go. Drive careful. And ring if'n'ever you need anything, alright?'
Verity took a moment turned away from him so she could collect herself. She moved with him to the door, accepted her coat from him, and lifted her face up to meet his eyes. There was a tear line down her cheek, but she was holding it together... for now. She kept telling herself that she could lose it in the car, so long as she made it out there she’d be okay.
“Thank you, Oliver.” She hated feeling this way. She hated that that horrible man had turned her into this, and she hated that she was hurting Oliver, too. She hadn’t even given him the true reason. She hadn’t told him about what Lizzy said. Moot point now. She turned to step through the doorway, her heart aching.
She needed to go cry at a sad movie, drink lots of alcohol, and pass out on the sofa.
As Verity stepped out of his home, Oliver shut the door slowly. It latched shut with a click that echoed loudly in the foyer and Oliver wished then that Alice had been home. The house seemed suddenly far too big for one person alone.
Maybe it was time for another Vicodin.