Stout (Lovibond Collection #2) Read online

  Waffles don’t require baking. “I’d love some.”

  Adelyn Maxwell

  A dozen servers are whirling through the large crowd of Lovibond guests. Each waitperson is carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, beer, or hard cider on his or her fingertips. Clients and friends of the companies are laughing, eating, drinking, and enjoying the grand opening.

  The venue. Food. Decor. Music. Everything has come together splendidly.

  I’ve been busy ensuring the night runs smoothly so I’ve not had time to speak to Oliver. But our eyes have met on several occasions. Each time I’ve failed at suppressing a smile.

  But I’m not smiling now.

  Oliver’s with a woman. A beautiful brunette with lots of curves in all the right places. And they look very well acquainted with one another.

  I don’t love it.

  Oliver and I aren’t a thing. We’re neighbors who share a lot of things in common and enjoy each other’s company. But lately I’ve been thinking I may want to share more with him than just things in common. I may want to enjoy more than just his company. I may want to share myself with him and watch while he enjoys it. While we enjoy each other.

  I was hoping we could explore that later tonight. But it’s going to be hard to make that happen when he’s wrapped up in another woman. Who is she?

  The brunette takes his hand and attempts to pull him to the dance floor. He’s resistant at first but gives in. I don’t care to watch him hold her so closely so I busy myself with straightening already perfectly placed roses in a floral arrangement.

  “Adelyn.” I turn at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. “Everything is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better event to celebrate the beginning of our cider company.” Lawrence is literally one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met. Kind. Grateful. Unlike most of my clients who act so damn entitled. It’s a nice change.

  “I’m thrilled you’re pleased with the way everything turned out.” I went the extra mile for Lawrence; I wanted this event to be perfect for her. And Oliver since BCC is a reflection of Lovibond.

  “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for Ollie’s birthday. He’s going to be so surprised.”

  Oliver’s thirtieth birthday is going to be a night he’ll never forget. “I promise you this: good times will be had.”

  “I have complete faith in you.”

  I occupy myself with a bit of this and that. And fight the urge to search for Oliver. I’m afraid of what I might find. Or not find in case he’s slipped away with Miss Bootylicious in the tight red dress.

  I leave the kitchen and come face to face with Oliver, minus the curvaceous brunette. Was he waiting outside the door for me? It sorta feels that way. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Do you have a free minute?”

  I’ve been dying to talk to him all night but I didn’t want to make the first move since these are his people. “Absolutely.”

  “I have someone I’d like to introduce you to.” My heart plummets to my toes when I realize his intention for finding me.

  Smile. Smile. Smile. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to meet your friend.”

  “What friend?” He seems genuinely confused by what I mean.

  “The woman you were dancing with. Red dress.”

  “No friend. That was a client. And not who I want you to meet.” He takes my hand and loops it over his arm, leading me across the warehouse. “You’ve topped anything the old event coordinator ever planned for Lovibond.”

  It’s always good to hear praise, but coming from Oliver’s lips, it feels like a welcome caress. “I’m glad you like the things I chose.”

  “Our clients are impressed. That makes me very happy.” Mission accomplished.

  “We aim to please since that tends to be good for business.”

  “I would agree.”

  We approach a man and woman, both appearing to be in their sixties. “These are my parents. Quentin and Libby Thorn. This is my neighbor, Adelyn Maxwell.”

  Mrs. Thorn surprises me with a hug. “Very nice to meet you, Adelyn. We’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you.” From whom? Lawrence or Oliver?

  “It’s very lovely meeting you. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you as well.” This fact I’ve enjoyed learning about Oliver Thorn throughout the last few weeks: he loves his parents and Lawrence very much. I hear it in the way he talks about them.

  Quentin and Libby Thorn. A childless couple from Savannah who took a broken little boy and girl and used love and compassion to make them whole for the first time in their lives. That’s a true love story.

  “How long are you in town?”

  “We have to leave for home in the morning.”

  That’s too bad. “I’m going to issue you a rain check for breakfast next time you’re in town.”

  Mrs. Thorn lights up when Oliver puts his arm around my shoulder. It feels like he’s saying I’m his even if I know I’m not. But I still like it. “This woman bakes some of the most amazing bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

  “Then we definitely have to take you up on your breakfast offer next time we visit.”

  “I would love that.”

  Oliver squeezes my shoulder. “Is it against policy for the event coordinator to accept a dance invitation while on a job?”

  “Maybe. But I am the boss. I don’t think anyone will call me out on it.”

  “What about it, sweet Lib?” Oliver’s dad takes his mom’s hand in his and kisses the tops of her fingers. “My beautiful girl wanna take a whirl with me on the dance floor?”

  Oh my God. Absolutely. Adorable.

  I see exactly where Oliver gets his charm. Mr. Thorn is a sweetheart. A real gentleman.

  Mrs. Thorn’s brows lift. “Beautiful girl, huh? Sounds like someone is buttering me up so he can get lucky later tonight.” Oliver’s mom leans over and winks at me. “And I bet he does.”

  Freaking. Priceless.

  Mr. Thorn tugs on his wife’s hand. “Come on, my beautiful girl. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  Oliver’s mother uses her free hand to touch my arm. “In case we don’t get to talk later, it was lovely meeting you, Adelyn.”

  “You, too. And I’m serious about that rain check.”

  “Look forward to it, darlin’.” I can’t not smile as I watch the Thorns take the dance floor by storm.

  Oliver reaches for my hand and tugs. “Come on, my beautiful girl.” He’s repeating his father’s words to be funny but they still turn me into a puddle on the floor.

  I’m still grinning when we find a spot on the floor. “Entertaining, right?”

  More than entertaining. “Your dad is so sweet and romantic.”

  “He’s good to Mom but no better than she is to him.”

  “Still madly in love. The world sees too little of that today.”

  “I’m glad they’re still in love but sometimes they act like teenagers going at it. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Awe. I think it’s wonderful.”

  “It’s not wonderful when your friends are spending the night and they can hear your parents’ headboard slamming against the wall.”

  I burst into laughter, and he pulls me against his chest. “Okay. Done talking about that.”

  “Dear Trouble” by Correatown is playing. The song is slow. Not necessarily what I’d consider lovey-dovey romantic but perfect for being pulled close and moving together. “This is a nice song.”

  “Good for dancing.”

  Oliver’s hand is low and tight on my back as he leads me in a slow sway. “I’d like to ask you something.”

  People don’t usually say things like that unless the question to follow is a hard one. “Ask away.”

  “Have you dated since Martin?” Oliver and I have been hanging out for several weeks. He knows my deepest, darkest secret about the man who abused me, so I’m curious why he’s only now asking me this question.

  “I’ve been on some dates but not many.�
� All four were disasters. “But I have not had a relationship since him.”

  “Not interested?”

  I’d love nothing more than to find someone to love and spend my life with. But I’m sort of fucked up after nearly being killed by a man who was supposed to love me. “Relationships require trust. I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.”

  “How long since you’ve been on a date?”

  There would be some math involved if I tried to figure it out. “A long, long, long time. What about you?”

  “I was in a relationship three years ago with a woman I loved very much. I was only days away from asking her to be my wife when I came home early and found her in bed with another man.” Ho-ly shit. What the hell was wrong with that woman? Oliver is kind, generous, funny, and sexier than any man I have ever known. What a stupid bitch.

  Her loss. My gain.

  “I can’t imagine what that felt like. It must have been brutal.”

  “Huge kick to the gut. And balls.”

  “I bet.”

  “I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well.” He smiles as he recites my words. He seems to like doing that. Repeating my words. In some senses it’s lovely because it shows me he’s listening.

  “I feel like I need to be really honest about where my head’s been the last few years. It’s not the most upstanding place it could have been.”

  He worries I’m going to think he’s dishonorable? Me? “Have you not yet figured out you can be honest with me?”

  “I wasn’t in a good place after Eden’s betrayal. I went through a lot of booze. A lot of women and meaningless relationships. Do you remember the drunk woman from the restaurant when we met for lunch about tonight’s event? She’s only one of many.” I don’t love hearing how he went through women but it’s his past. “I did other things, too, which don’t make me very proud.” Other things.

  “You placed your trust in Eden, and she betrayed you. You had no choice but to put caution tape around your heart. Not allow anyone in.”

  “I love how you get me.”

  “I love how you get me.”

  I lean in and press my face to his chest as we sway; I’m afraid he’ll see too much if he looks into my eyes.

  Warm breath hovers above my ear and I erupt into chills. “Would you consider going on a date if the right person asked?”

  I bite my bottom lip and suppress my smile against his chest. “Maybe.”

  “What would it take to be the right person?” His voice is low. Tantalizing.

  “Well . . . he’d need to be kind and considerate. Respectful of me and my many boundaries. Trustworthy. Handsome would be a plus.”

  Oliver takes a step away from me so I’m no longer able to hide my face against his chest. “Am I any of those things to you?”

  “You are all of those things to me.” And so much more.

  “You make me laugh. Smile. Feel. I like being with you. I like who I am when we’re together. I like . . . you.”

  Admitting feelings like those is a scary thing. But Oliver did it, not knowing what kind of reaction he’d get from me. He is handing over his trust to me. Reminds me of the leap we took when we confessed our secrets to one another. Would he really believe I wasn’t interested?

  I have the same feelings for Oliver. He makes me laugh. Smile. Feel. I like being with him. I like who I am when we’re together. I like him. But admitting those feelings may be even more frightening than sharing my secret. “I like you too.”

  “I have a wonderful family, great friends, a successful business. But my personal life is an empty shell. I want that to change, but I worry too much has happened. I’m afraid I’m incapable of the things a relationship requires.” There’s that smile, this time slow-forming, but still beautiful.

  It’s as though he crawled into my mind and extracted those words from my brain. “We like each other. We like being together. Maybe we just go on a date and not worry about all the other stuff?”

  “I’d like that. Does Saturday night work?”

  I rarely have a free Saturday. It’s the price of having a successful agency. “I have an event. With my line of work, I’m usually tied up late Friday evenings until the end of the event. Sometimes they’re two and three days long.”

  “I didn’t want to wait a week anyway. Let’s do it tomorrow night.”

  That’s very soon. And exactly what I want. “Yes.”

  “Whatever you want to do, I’m in. Name it.”

  A normal first date typically involves dinner in a restaurant. Maybe a movie at the theater. Boring.

  I don’t think normal or typical fits Oliver and me. Our unfortunate life experiences have seen to that. “I have an idea, but I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

  “I’m open to whatever you want.”

  I don’t know about that. “Maurice performs at a club on Sunday nights.”

  Oliver’s brow wrinkles. “What kind of club?”

  “Exactly the kind you’re thinking.”

  “Oh. What kind of act?”

  “He sings. In drag. While impersonating Whitney Houston. Goes by Wet Me Houston.” Oliver tells me Lawrence is unconventional so he’s used to different. But Maurice is . . . Maurice. I highly suspect Oliver’s never experienced anything like him. “It’s all very over the top. Sequined dress. Wig. Dramatic makeup. Boobs. But he’s incredible. It’s an a-ma-zing show.”

  Oliver looks unsure. Or terrified. I can’t decide which. Madame Dragonflys could be a little much for a first date. I don’t want to push him into something that’ll make him uncomfortable, but I am an eclectic person and this is part of me. Supporting my biggest supporter. “I understand how all of that could be awkward for you. We don’t have to go there.”

  Oliver exhales deeply through pursed lips. “Maurice is important to you. He’s your friend, so yeah. Let’s do it.” He gets me.

  “Really?” He isn’t all in. I can feel it in his tense posture. But he’s doing it anyway. For me.

  “Absolutely. I’m sure it’ll be a blast.”

  “Show starts at nine.” Thinking I can surprise Maurice on this one, so telling him isn’t going to happen. “Want to come over to my place for dinner first? Maybe have some homemade pizza?”

  “Only if you let me help.” Cooking together. That should be fun.

  “Only if you bring the beer.”

  “I think I can handle that. Thick or thin crust?”

  “Thin.” I snap my teeth. “I’m a texture girl. I like crunch.”

  “Me too. Red or white sauce?”

  “Depends on my mood.”

  “I like both.”

  “I make a really good margherita with red sauce or a roasted artichoke and spinach on white. Sometimes, I add grilled chicken to that one.” Why do we have to choose? “Or we could fix both.” People think pizza is difficult but it’s a very easy meal to prepare.

  “I vote for both. You know how I love to eat.”

  The man can shovel it in. “I sure do.”

  “If I’m not careful, you’ll put some pounds on me with all your goodies.” Truth.

  “Why do you think I go around giving all of it away? I gained ten pounds when I started baking. Took four months to lose it. It comes on way easier than it comes off. It’s one of the worst therapies anyone can have. I don’t know why I couldn’t get the itch to clean or something like that?”

  “The baking bug bite is far gentler than the itch to use your fists.”

  Oliver told me about the incident with his father but he didn’t mention anything about fighting being an ongoing problem.

  Huge fucking red flag.

  “Physical violence is your outlet?”

  “No, Adelyn. No. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all. I train with a boxing coach. A punching bag is the only thing to ever feel my aggression. Never a woman.”

  He said he itched to use his fists. H
is words.

  “Look at me.” He holds my chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding my face so we’re eye to eye. “Never. Not once have I ever hurt a woman. Tell me you believe me.”

  This is important. I can’t afford to be wrong again. I can’t afford to believe lies. I can’t afford to fall for a man who will hurt me.

  But Oliver won’t. I sense it in everything about him. “I believe you.”

  The song ends and he’s still holding my face. His thumb skates across my bottom lip. “The only reason these lips should ever be swollen is because they’ve been kissed long and hard.” I instinctively lick my lips.

  Kissed long and hard.

  Those words do so many things to my insides.

  “I could go for some of that.” And so many other things.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Adelyn, but Michelle needs your help in the back.” Dammit to hell.

  I sigh, gathering patience before replying. “Be right there.”

  Oliver releases me. “Duty calls.”

  “Duty calls with extraordinarily bad timing.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll finish this when we have all the time in the world.”

  Yes, we will.

  Oliver Thorn

  I enter Adelyn’s kitchen and hold up a six-pack in each hand. “I come bearing beer.”

  “Nice. But I think we’ll be tanked if we drink all that.” Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline as she laughs. “Or is that part of the plan because of where we’re going later?”

  I think Adelyn is far more worried than me about the drag club. Sure, I wouldn’t choose to do something like that on my own, but I’ll go for her. “It’s for fun. I’m cool with it.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I think you’ll be surprised by how entertaining it really is. It’s like Miss America meets Broadway meets Cirque du Soleil minus the acrobats. Very theatrical.” That’s how I’m looking at this. Entertainment.

  I place two opened beers on the island before putting the rest in the fridge. “I brought a new kind for you to try. Saison.”