24 | Treacle Tarts

Shopping, in general, was not in my department, but – cakes – grocery shopping was.

Bright and early in the morning, when it truth, it was ten a.m., I finally came out of my room. True, I had woken up earlier than that, but tossing and turning in bed was more inviting than starting the day. My body was heavy when I had dragged it to the bathroom and down the stairs to the bustling shop.

"Ready to start the day," Yawning, I wore my apron and pulled the hairnet over my pony. Saturday. It was also known as the day I would rather work than do my homework.

Heron, who was on the counter instead of Mel, gave me a look. Finding nothing interesting, he went back to taking orders from the kitchen to the tables. I caught a glimpse of Mom in the kitchen, taking out a freshly baked cake. Oh. At least her morning was going great.

"So, should I go clean the tables, or scrub the sinks?" I asked Mom once I entered the room. She didn't say anything, but fetched a piece of paper and a wallet from the table. I knew what was going to happen.

Grocery shopping.

Mom and I usually took turns doing the horrid task. And this time, the turn was mine. Before, when I would only shoved junk foods and soda cans into the cart, Mom had taken the liberty to make me a list of things to buy. I wouldn't only be shopping for the house, but also partly for the shop.

"No," I began to shake my head, "Not today. I don't want to go out!"

Mom looked like she was so done with me. As always. "Don't you want to breathe fresh air for once? Go to the mall? I threw in extra cash in case you want to buy something for yourself."

"I do go out to breathe fresh air!" I argued, "You know, when I have work!"

"This day is your off day," said Mom. She went back to the candy mix she was making. "And no one else will do it."

"We have workers here," I motioned at Reg and Douglas, "Mel's not doing anything, is she?"

"Mel's off day is today, too. She has some relatives to visit. And no, only you can do this." She shoved the list and wallet into my hands. I took a quick browse at the list – the usual sugar and chocolate, with other savory things and the rare vegetable. Mom had this incredible superpower to memorize nearly all the prices.

"So I get to buy something for myself?" I considered the idea. Field trip for myself, I guessed. Mitch was snatched by her grandparents today, and Lawrence had my meeting with his personal matchmaker postponed.

"Make sure it's not expensive," chided Mom.

"And expensive for you, is what? One dollar? Two?"

She pointed a pair of tongs threateningly at me. I twisted on my heels, taking off my apron and hairnet. No working today, only shopping.

I was halfway out the kitchen when Mom had a last speech for me, "Change out of those shorts before you go. Those are too short."

I looked down at my 'short' shorts. "These are up to my knees, Mom," I deadpanned.

"No, too short," she told me distastefully.

I realized there was no point in fighting with her. Kneeling down, I rolled down the legs of my pants so that they touched the tops of my sneakers. If that wasn't enough for my mother, I might as well wear my mermaid tail to the mall.

"And once you finish, you can have the rest of the day to yourself," Mom added. I wasn't even another step further out the kitchen.

"Are you implying that the shopping wouldn't take the rest of the day?"

That was it for Mom. She stopped mixing the candy, turned to me, leaning her hip against the counter. Her mouth was a straight line, and her eyes were observing, watching. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Oliver." I held my ground as she said this. "The grocery shopping only takes long because of your inner battles with yourself."

I kept my mouth shut.

She held up two hands in demonstration, "Hershey's on one hand and Toblerone on the other. And then, you'd fight between chocolate milk and plain milk."

I grunted under my breath. I couldn't correct her because . . . she was right. If one would take a trip to the local mall's grocery, they would find me staring at two pieces of different brands, in deep concentration. Inner battles sucked.

"I'll make it quick this time," I gave in, "Maybe I'll even see Jackson today."

She laughed softly as if she knew that wasn't going to happen. That gave me an idea to set a timer to see how long I would be inside the shop.

Free of Mom's last-minute scolding, I walked out of the kitchen and hoped to snatch a cup of hot chocolate on my way out. To my disappointment, Heron managed to slap my hand in time, making my smooth theft a fail. Dang it. He wasn't like Mel, who just let me take the cups.

The ride to the mall was short, thanks to my phone and earbuds. All the time, I was waiting for a call, text, or any form of message to turn up – from Jackson, hopefully, Mitch, or Lawrence. Heck, even from Brennan. I was desperate to talk to someone because I couldn't survive shopping day alone.

When I got there, the place was full of people. More people than my inner self normally tolerated. But I brushed it all off and strolled through the grand mall, my eyes darting around my surroundings. I would be deducing everyone like Sherlock did if only I had the ability.

In our spare time, Mitch and I fooled around at the shops. Sometimes, we went behind mannequins and did guttural noises. Other times, we locked ourselves in the fitting rooms. And there were even moments when we'd hide among the clothes racks, steal a cart and take turns riding it, or just driving mall security crazy.

We did get banned from the mall once or twice. But only for a length of a couple weeks or so. And when we weren't allowed inside, we found an innocent Walmart for our prank parties as substitute.

Grocery shopping became the usual – picking items off shelves, looking back and forth from the list and of course, having inner battles. I gave up timing myself when I was caught between hotdog buns and burger buns. Sometimes, Mom had to be specific in her lists.

The shopping was going the usual until I ran into a familiar face in the kid cereals aisle.

"You should get the Froot Loops," a voice said beside me as I was going between Froot Loops and Cheerios.

In surprise, I turned to the woman next to me, "Maira! You're here!"

"Shopping, the usual," she sighed and gestured at her overfilled cart. By the number of food and ingredients in their fridge, I knew her grocery shopping took hours. The cart was packed to the brim. "Bless you, Ollie, you shop for your family. Jackson would never want to, and so does Brennan."

Surrendering, I dropped the box of Froot Loops into my cart. "He would say 'Mom! You know I could get attacked by fans!'," continued Maira, " and I'd say 'you can wear a disguise! Cap and sunglasses should do it.' But no, he just has to make excuse after excuse. No mercy for their poor mother."

"They're different like that," I hummed thoughtfully. If it were my way, I would be sitting in my room, with Mom's laptop, surfing through the wonders of the internet.

"Your mother must be a proud woman. Wonderful lady, to raise you like that," she complimented. I felt a sting of guilt, because I wasn't much of an angel she saw me to be.

Sure, my Mom was very proud of me. She definitely didn't smack my butt with a spatula on my way out the kitchen.

"The truth is, Maira, I was just dragged into this chore," I explained carefully, "My relationship with Mom is the same with you and Jackson and Brennan. If you met her, I'm sure you'll get along fine."

I could imagine them now – head banging to heavy metal music while creating shrines of dinglehoppers.

"Nevermind that, your mother's still blessed," Maira smiled, "at least she's not in the Mom Squad, is she?"

My eyebrows cocked at the terms, "I'm sorry . . . the Mom Squad?"

A grim look washed over her face. I felt the need to back away a few steps. "The Mom Squad," she lowered her voice and jabbed her thumb at the group of middle aged women diagonally form us, "They're prissy people. Always criticizing whoever comes their way. I try to avoid them most of the time, but they get on my skin."

I took a quick peek at the said squad. Upturned noses, perfect clothing, and observant sight – they were just as I envisioned them. I was willing to bet all the things in my cart that they were Acewell alumni before.

I faced Maira again when she made a sound of disapproval. She was staring at her phone, frown on her face. Finally, she seemed to wave it all off and plastered a smile on her face again. "The boys," she told me exasperatedly, "Brennan got burnt – somehow. Jackson didn't elaborate."

This was one of the times when I wished for a hidden camera at their house just so that I could see what stupid things they were up to.

"He seems to care about you a lot, Ollie," said Maira.

"Really?" I only asked. I had seen how much, too. Nowadays, I never went to bed without receiving a quick text from him, either saying good night or a joking insult. He'd even throw in a meme or two.

Maira nodded, "Yes. When it comes to him, it's always Oliver this, Oliver that, Oliver there. He talks during meals, too, and he can't shut up about you. Brennan gets tired of it, but I'm happy you brought out something in him."

A smile spread on my face. He talked about me, when he was always in my mind, on the other hand. I could picture it – an eager Jackson with his mouth running like a waterfall as he told every one of our adventures.

"You wouldn't mind if . . . if we – uh . . . "

"Dated?" Maira finished for me, "No, not at all. I'm actually glad he found a girl like you. You fit into the family perfectly."

Fit into the family. A traitor. Fit into the family.

Her phone buzzed again. Another frown. It was a no brainer that the text came from Jackson. "I have to finish shopping now," Maira huffed.

"And I have to decide between apples and oranges," I let out a laugh. "I'll see you on Monday, I guess?"

"Monday." She wrapped me into a hug, taking me by surprise and gave me one of those cheek-to-cheek kisses.

After that encounter with Maira Dale, I decided to finish the grocery list. A trip to the dairy section, more inner battles and prying stares from the Mom Squad later, I was done. The lines in the counters were long, but I had my phone to pass the time.

No texts from Mitch. None from Jackson, too (I wonder if his mother had told him about me yet?). Zero from Lawrence. And one hideous picture from Brennan.

What was I to do for the rest of the day?

From the grocery bill, I still had cash to spare. This was the extra Mom treated me. Now, what to do with it? Another sweater? A meaningless knick knack? Food. Ah, definitely food.

At long last, after roaming around the mall, I saw a tarts house. Perfect. I bought a box of treacle tarts – delicious – and sat down on a bench by the tall fountain to rest my arms and eat. Here, I cooled down and feasted on the lovely tarts.

My brain started to direct my thoughts to Jackson. What was he up to now? Burning his brother? Studying? I loved when he was keeping me company, especially when we were alone together. We had endless conversations and debates which I never wanted to end. We could talk and play around for hours and hours and it wouldn't be enough for me.

Soon, consciousness kicked in and I had another inner battle with myself about whether to call him or not. Would that disturb him? Or was he just as anxious to talk to me? Was he thinking about other things? My phone sat dead on my palm as I glued my gaze to it.

A girl was suddenly beside me. She was standing, but she looked like she wanted to sit down badly. Her phone was in her hand, gripped tightly.

Brown hair. Up in a hurried hairdo. Tall, maybe a couple years older than me. Backpack in sight. With a phone and a purse. Eyes darting around. Jaw set. She was looking impatient as she paced, like she was waiting for someone. Friend? Boyfriend? No further deductions.

My hand reached for a piece of tart, and I wondered if I should offer her one or not.

"Where are you, you douche?" she muttered under her breath. So she was waiting for someone. Most likely a guy. One correct guess for Oliver.

Finally, she sat down next to me, but she was still tensed up and looking around the place. Sighing, her head dropped into her hands. This girl must have an interrupted schedule then.

Come on, offer her a tart.

"Hi," I said softly. Her head snapped towards me and she looked shocked as if she didn't notice me there before. Seemingly uncertainly, she sent me a gentle smile.

"Treacle tart?" I lifted the box to her way. She merely stared at it, and then looked back at my face.

"Just violating my nonexistent diet. Come on, it wouldn't hurt."

She was still hesitant, since she declined and politely said thanks. I wasn't going to leave it there.

"Come on," I coaxed, "It's Treacle tart. Harry Potter's favorite."

A small smile tugged at her lips. A real one. She got the reference, thank God. "Just a piece, thank you," she said in a small voice. The girl reached for one piece and put it contentedly in her mouth.

I didn't say anything more and I just focused on my tarts. It wasn't my business anyway, but I hoped she would find whoever she was waiting for. Minutes passed and the girl grew restless. She abruptly stood and gazed at me.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said, "Is it alright if I leave my bag here?" She looked at me expectantly and hopefully, halfway through setting the little bag down.

I bobbed my head up and down, "It's fine. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you so much," she breathed out and scurried off. I put the backpack closer to me and patted it in security.

Three more pieces of tart left. I had to save that. Or not. Just as I was lifting another piece to my awaiting mouth, my phone chose the time to ring. I almost dove for it on my lap. It was Lawrence calling.

"Hello?" I said in greeting, munching on my snack.

"Ollie?" Lawrence's voice came joyfully, "Where are you now?"

I frowned. Was there something that I missed? Something important. Must've forgot about it – oops.

"What do you mean?" I asked slowly.

"What? Didn't I tell you? You're meeting my matchmaker today. In the mall?"

My laugh came out shaky and nervous. Mall? By chance was it this one? "Sorry! Funny story, I forgot –"

"What?"

"Yeah! And even funnier story, I'm here at the mall. Grocery shopping. Where are you?"

Some shifting in the background. Shuffling. The sound of chattering people. "Hold on, I think I see you. Look at the Starbucks."

Starbucks, Starbucks, I chanted. It was across from the bench. True enough, I saw Lawrence's face peek out from one of the windows. He waved at me excitedly. "What a coincidence," I heard him whistle, "I'm coming there, wait for me."

He suddenly yelped. I watched him closer in the store. Lawrence began to topple down tables and chairs and behind him . . . mall security. What did he do this time? A tall Frappé sat on his hand. "Wait for me!" were his last words before he hang up and ran out of my sight, the guards hot on his trail.

I sighed and leaned back. That would take a few minutes before the guards tired themselves out and looked for the scooters. I had experienced the same thing after all. Ten minutes soon passed.

Peering behind me, I saw Lawrence stop, cup of drink intact, and face the guards. They were about to run to him when another rowdy teenager caught their attention. They ran towards the commotion, leaving Lawrence. He put on a lazy smile and waltzed towards me.

"You," I pinched his arm playfully, grinning, "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing!" he put his arms up, "Just jumped behind the counter because the manager was harassing an employee. Just had to save the day. Injustice."

"Injustice, indeed," I agreed. He handed me the tall frappe, which I gladly accepted. "You sweet thing. For me?"

"No, I'm couldn't finish it myself so you get to sip half," he smiled.

"So where's this matchmaker of yours?"

Scratching his head, Lawrence looked around, "We haven't seen each other today at all. Jess said that we would meet in front of Starbucks." The memory of the girl a while ago hit me instantly.

"By any chance is she – " I started but, I was cut off.

"There you are." The girl was back. Case solved. So this was Lawrence's matchmaker. She glanced at me, smiling, before picking up her bag.

The girl slapped Lawrence upside the head. I faked a wince. "I've been looking all over! What have you been up to, anyway?" she glared at him, as Lawrence pouted in defeat.

"Um," his eyes darted towards me briefly. I casually sipped the drink.

"Wait, you know each other?" It dawned on her. "How? Ex?" She looked back and forth between us confusion and suspicion.

Lawrence rubbed the top of my head and I quickly slapped it away. "She wishes," he beamed proudly. I almost choked, laughing. Yes, I did wish.

"Ollie, this is Jess, my personal cupid now," Lawrence said to me, "And Jess, this is Oliver, my friend who I was talking about."

Jess' eyebrows rose in surprise, "Oh! You're that Oliver – sorry. Jessica Winters. But you can call me Jess."

"Oliver Ridge," I gave her a nod. She seemed nice enough. "I know it's a boy name. You can call me Ollie."

We glanced at Lawrence at the same time, for further introductions. But he was busy ogling at the box of my treacle tarts. Swiftly, he caught one and began to eat it. "You!" I pointed at him, "Don't steal my food!"

He frowned at me, and stopped chewing, "But you have my coffee! Learn to share!"

"I always steal your food," I argued, "Get used to it!" I closed the box as a precaution, in case he wanted to steal the last tart. My poor stomach. Sacrificed one piece, and now got robbed of another.

Lawrence leaned towards Jessica and sniffed her. She pulled on a disgusted face and pushed him away, quite forcefully. "You gave her one!" Lawrence motioned at her, pouting.

"Because she looked so stressed because of you! She was waiting for you for so long." Jessica made a sound of amusement and agreement at my words.

"Unfair!" he shoved the last pieces of his tart into his mouth, "You get mad at her, but not me."

"You snatched her tart, you idiot," muttered Jessica.

Lawrence looked up around the place in alarm. In the distance, we both spotted the guards coming back. And they had their scooters with them. Damn. "Not a good place to talk right now," I stood up, gathering all the grocery bags.

"Yep," Lawrence said. He helped carry one of the bags and grabbed Jessica's arm. "We're going to my apartment. I have a car."

"You mean my car," Jessica said as we moved our way towards the exit. "And what is going on anyway? Lawrence, are those guards after you?"

"They just want an autograph, maybe!"

♫ ♫ ♫

The ride to the apartments passed, Lawrence started to go on about how he and Jessica met. Jessica was mostly silent during the whole ride, as if she was contemplating about something. And here I was, trying to wish that she was at least a true Potterhead or a fanatic about SuperWhoLock. If she wasn't arrogant, or rude or easily judgmental, then we'll get along. I was yet to form my impression on her.

Lawrence took the lead as we climbed up the stairs, "So the funniest story when we met," his former joy was back, "Jess actually lives in the floor above me. We've been neighbors for years and we didn't even know each other! We didn't know we went to the same college!"

We were at the hall now. I distinctly recalled my phone stuffed in my chest and Lawrence mistaking me for talking to a ghost. "Correction," chimed in Jessica, "You didn't know we've been neighbors for years and only you didn't know we are in the same college."

"You take digital arts, too?" I asked Jessica as Lawrence struggled to open his door.

She shook her head, "I take Law. Different from him. But I see him around the place – he never knew I existed."

"Well, I'm sorry," Lawrence threw his hands up. He opened the door to let us in before closing the door himself and heading straight to the kitchen. He never took back his frappe from me – I took my right to finish it all up. "I'm not exactly friendly with my neighbors ever since Mr. Vernon tried to shoot my crotch."

Oh, right. The dreaded Mr. Vernon.

"It's common knowledge you stay away from Mr. Vernon!" Jessica argued, "Can't you tell from the name?" Lawrence hustled and bustled around, opening the fridge, cupboards, and anything he can open. Probably to find us food, I didn't know.

"I'm a college student. I don't waste my time making friends with potential serial killers."

I took a seat on the deformed couch to enjoy the show.

"Upstairs, didn't you know I met my yoga instructor there? Never have been fit in all of my life," Jessica looked at the couch, weirded out, "And college student? You mean you're wasting your time procrastinating on work. Is that your bookshelf alphabetized?"

"Yoga instructor?" Lawrence whipped around to give her a sassy look, "Fit? I couldn't tell. You look like the fat cow I always see you."

"You only met me this week!"

Lawrence went back to rummaging through his kitchen for who knows what. Jessica turned to me, exasperated. "He's not always like this," I shrugged, slightly befuddled, "If he is, he has something against you. I don't know. But he's not the kind to hold grudges."

"Thanks," she whispered close to me.

"You've already said that so many times to me today."

"It's because I mean it." Jessica smiled.

"So," I dragged out the syllable, stretching my legs over the coffee table to clear the unrealized tension. "Studying law? And ending up as a matchmaker?"

"Wait!" Lawrence stopped Jessica before she could tell the story, "I haven't told you how we met yet."

I craned my neck to look at Lawrence, who was sitting on a table, his focus directed at a metal box. "Don't tell me you started with a pick-up line," I said.

"Of course I did!" Lawrence said it so proudly. I told him once to stop with the pick-up lines that he practiced on me, but he only replied that it made him smooth. I couldn't believe girls actually giggled at those.

Only Tumblr smoothness could make me go 'damn'.

"I was going down the stairs for school and I saw her," Lawrence started, "First thought? Pretty girl –"

Jessica scoffed at this.

" – so naturally, I had a pick-up line. I went up to her, and said, 'Has anyone told you what's wrong with you today?' And did you know what she said? Jess, what did you say again?"

"What is wrong with you?" Jessica muttered begrudgingly.

"The answer I was expecting was 'no', and I'll answer with a smooth line. But she didn't say 'no'. So to answer her question, I made up something on the spot. I told her that there are a lot of things wrong with me, but the worst is that I've never seen such a beauty before." Lawrence frowned, "That sounded cooler in my head. But anyway, Jess?"

"I laughed at him and I said I've heard better. I was going out of the building then he stopped me."

Lawrence continued, "I offered a ride to wherever she was going. Because I thought, you know, 'wow, this girl is criticizing my smooth lines. What if she makes a good cupid?' So I thought I could get to know her better."

"I told him I was going to the college," Jessica drawled, "And he was surprised. I said that I've been living in the floor above him and we've been going to the same college and he didn't have a clue. He told me about his girl dilemma and when I said I'm up for being matchmaker, he looked like he won the lottery."

"He might as well have," I chuckled.

"Jess here brought her friends together with their current partners. And I thought it could work on me. She's studying law, but this is kind of her part-time talent. Then, I told her about you and she seemed to be interested. Sadly, no boyfriend for Jess."

"Yet," Jessica scowled, "I'm not into relationships right now."

Lawrence stopped and went over to us finally. He set down a bowl of fresh grapes on the coffee table and glasses of juice. "Just refreshments," he said sheepishly. Disbelievingly, Jessica stared him.

"What?" he asked consciously, "Guests in the house. Have to offer food, don't I?"

"And yet you never offer me food when I'm over," I deadpanned.

"You're more like an annoying friend who looks for food herself."

Jessica mumbled a thanks and she began picking off the grapes, two by two on her hand. She was hungry, poor Jess. I guessed the treacle tart hadn't been enough.

"So I'm going to have lessons with Jess today," Lawrence announced, plopping beside me, "To finally get a girl for myself. No more lists in the notebook, finally."

"Where is the notebook anyway?"

Lawrence's gaze darted quickly towards Jessica. But he shook his head and leaned into my ear to whisper, "I kept it somewhere. She's not the girl to like those kinds of things."

"I heard that, Lawrence Riley!" Jessica scowled at him, causing Lawrence to scoot closer to me in defense. "I told you to burn it!"

"It's like my life's hard work!" Lawrence squealed, "It's locked away forever now. No more notebook!"

She reached over and pinched his foot and he practically jumped and crawled behind me. I huffed out a breath and fixed my wrinkled shirt. Mom would be wondering where I was, with the groceries. Or she'd still be convinced that I was still stuck in the grocery.

"That's not the way to do it. You have to be more focused on looking for one worthwhile girl and how to act instead of trying them all on like clothes," Jessica spat out. History? Yes, definitely bad history with boys.

"I'll have you know they're the ones who leave me. And if I ever I have to break off with them, I do it nicely. They're not mad at me. Ollie can agree, right Ollie?" Lawrence glanced at me for backup.

I raised my arms, "Not my division."

"I try to understand girls, I really do. Let me prove it." Lawrence told her.

Jessica took the bowl of grapes in her hands and began to eat – fast. She stood and paced, thinking deeply as it seemed. "Fine. Where do you take them on first dates?"

Lawrence stood attentive, as if ready to answer a test he was confident in, "To Sweet Moments. Always. Ollie's Mom owns the place."

"Sweet Moments?"

"Shop under our house," I elaborated, "It's where I met Lawrence. He's a regular."

"Yeah, I think I know the place. Clevemore hangout, right?" Jess put a hand on her chin.

"Yeah," I nodded. A Clevie here. I was proud.

She now spoke to Lawrence, "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that girls could be watching their weight? And it'll get them to ruin their diet?"

Lawrence frowned, "Diet? Screw diets and looks. I chose them to take on a date because they're already perfect. That's why when I take them there, I try to have them eat desserts. They can't sacrifice sugar for whatever people think."

"True that," I nodded.

"Okay," said Jessica slowly, "So what do you do with them? Flirt with them?"

"I don't flirt. I compliment them. Just start a normal conversation."

"And when you get their number?"

"Call them the day after and ask. But I get scared of it too, sometimes."

Jessica bombarded Lawrence with so many questions, which he answered confidently. And I could detest that he was honest. I saw how he was with girls – free from prejudice, chivalrous but still had a sense of humor, casual. He could be every girl's dream guy, but he was cursed not to find his perfect girl.

Jessica also watched how he performed. She had him pretend I was a girl he saw randomly in the city and he played the role well – until I tried to dump juice all over him. Besides that, I saw Lawrence getting restless about something.

His shoulders sagged as he looked at Jess helplessly, "Can we be done with this? I've learned how to be an ideal guy, Jess. I've read every Tumblr post about what girls think of guys and I've worked harder on research about this than actual schoolwork."

"Before you find your girl, you have to fix yourself first," Jessica pressed on.

"There's nothing to fix! I got you to be my matchmaker, not my critic!"

"I can't believe I'm only getting car rides for this," she put a hand on her head.

"Car rides?" I echoed.

"In exchange for this, I promised rides to school. You see, Jess has this unused car, but she doesn't have a driver's license," Lawrence explained to me. Fair exchange.

Sighing, I stood up from my seat and beckoned Lawrence for us to talk while Jessica cooled down. We stood in his bedroom and he leaned against the door, muttering how he still had projects and papers to do.

"If you don't like her," I told him, "Why did you get her?"

"I thought it'll be like I imagined it to be. Like, she'll ask me what I look for in a girl and she'll set me up with people she knew. Not get me lessons on what I'm not." He seemed stressed now.

"So what? You're going to ask her to leave? Car rides no more?"

"Ollie," he started and walked towards me. Immediately, I gave him a tight hug. "I only got her because that's what you asked. I didn't want a matchmaker, really. But if you think it's the best for me, then so be it."

"Cakes, Law, I don't want to decide for you," I said. He pulled away. "It's your call. I don't get to control you."

"I don't know. She seems to know what she's doing. I can't just let that go."

I pulled on advice, "You just have to be patient with her for now. Tell her you need a breather."

"We could do this, right?"

"Right."

We went out of the room to find Jessica finishing up all the grapes. "We'll continue," Lawrence said, "But we're doing it my way."

She merely cocked an eyebrow at him.

I stepped in between them. They were going to start a stare-down, oh chocolate. "But we'll take a break for now. I'm leaving later on because Brennan set himself on fire and I don't want to leave you here choking each other."

"Brennan?" Jess' eyebrows knitted together.

"Um – it's her pet – " Lawrence started, to keep my secret, but I slapped his chest.

"I want to tell her," I whispered to him, "I trust her."

"You sure?"

I went over to Jess and poured it all to her. Three people now would know the secret. But there was something about Jess that made me certain to trust her. "My Mom's last name is Ridge and she is the ex-husband of Grant Reynolds, yes, the producer and company owner. He's my father. And because of him, I'm now cooking for the Dale family and that counts Brennan Dale. And if you have some crush on him, it's not too late to turn back."

That sounded crazier in my head.

Jess looked surprised by the outburst, "Okay. Wow. You don't mind if I do a background check, right? I've got cop friends, and people who know people . . ."

"You did a background check on me, too, didn't you?" Lawrence accused.

"Of course, I did, Florida boy."

"No, I don't mind. Saves you from all the drama. You have to keep it a secret, okay?" I told Jess and she crossed her chest.

"For you, Ollie." She said and her work face was back, "now, let's get back to business. Let's find a girlfriend for you, Lawrence."

I wanted to tell Lawrence that maybe – maybe – you already found her.