"Tell me about your family, Ollie. Are they also here in New York?"

My shoulders tensed at my mom's question. Before we came to this dinner, I made Ollie flashcards about stuff to say when she grilled him. But it didn't dawn on me to provide family info.

Clearing my throat, I tried to bypass her question. "Mom, I'm sure he doesn't want to—"

"It's okay," he said, flashing me his usual charming smile before looking back at my mom. "Actually no, they don't live here. They live in Chicago. I was raised there."

My mom's brows went up with curiosity. "I see. That's interesting. How did you like it there in the Windy City?"

"I loved it, actually. It wasn't until after college that I decided to move to New York."

My heart was pounding inside my chest as I absently picked at the bread my mom put on the center of the table while I listened to them go back and forth. I had no idea if what he was telling her was true, but at least she seemed to be buying it.

I just hoped that she didn't go further into his—

"What do your parents do?"

Dammit. I wish she would stop getting so personal.

Ollie took a sip of his red wine before he answered her. "My mom's a mystery writer and my dad is a professor at North Western."

My mom smiled with surprise before turning towards me. "Wow. Jamie, you didn't tell me his mom is a writer! I love mystery novels. Has she written anything I might have read?"

"She actually writes The Secrets of Ted Winston series."

Oh shit. My mom absolutely LOVED that series. Which is why she squealed ao loudly and nearly jumped out of her chair with excitement.

"Really? I can't believe this! You have to try to get me an autograph. If its not too much trouble, of course."

Ollie, ever the gentleman, waved her statement away. "No trouble at all. I can definitely do that for you."

My mom was absolutely swooning from her side of the table. I had to admit, even I was a little taken aback that his mom was not only a writer, but also a writer of a book series that both me and my mom were fans of.

It actually kind of made me feel a little ashamed. In all of my preparation and long talks with Ollie for this little ruse, I never really actually tried to ask him questions to get to know him better.

My eyes flicked back to my mom. Well, on the plus side, maybe if she kept the questions going about his mom and the book series, maybe she wouldn't get into even more personal questions about him.

Or worse, him and me.

"Enough about books," she said to my dismay. "Im curious, Ollie, what had you moving to New York from Chicago?"

Fed up, I snapped, "What is this, an interrogation?"

My mom's face fell a little. "I'm just trying to get to know your boyfriend a littke better, Jamie. That's all."

Stressed out from all of the lies, and the fact that I had to lie to get her off my back in the first place, I ran my hands through my hair repeatedly, trying to calm myself down.

It didn't work.

Then when I pushed my hands against the table like I was going to get up and leave, I suddenly felt Ollie's hand on my thigh.

I jumped a little and looked over at him. He didn't say anything. Then again, he didn't have to. He gave my thigh a gentle, reassuring squeeze as he held my gaze.

It was weird...like I could almost hear his thoughts. His comforting words telling me that it was okay. To relax. Telling me he had every thing under control and he wouldn't let me down.

Take a deep breath for me, Jamie.

The same words he murmured to be just an hour ago before we walked through my front door whispered through my mind.

So I did as he said. I took a few deep breaths and started to relax in my seat. There was a small part of me that knew my mom was probably watching this interaction closely, but I was too overwhelmed to let it get to me.

A few seconds later, Ollie gave me a single nod, telling me it was all good. When I nodded back, he turned back to my mom and picked up where he left off, like nine of this never happened.

"Actually, Mrs. Lovette, I had a few friends who were also into painting or some kind of creative lifestyle. I always wanted to see The MET, too. So my friends and I decided to move here and give it a go."

For the rest of the night, I didn't say much as my mom and my 'boyfriend' talked and laughed. Of course, my mom didn't hesitate to share some embarrassing stories about me. But after that whole episode of me freaking out and Ollie calming me down, I didn't say much.

Once dinner was over, we both helped clean up the table and the dishes before I offered to give Ollie a ride home. We originally planned it that way so we could talk about what happened during dinner on the ride back.

But we didn't talk. We rode the whole way to his apartment in silence, which was about fifteen minutes from mine.

Then when we got there, I found myself getting out of my car and following him up the stairs when he asked if I wanted to come up for a little bit.

Again, no idea why I was ascending five floors to his place. No idea about alot of thing lately.

"Here we are," he said casually as he unlocked his door and held it open for me. "Sorry for all the boxes."

I stepped inside and took a look around. It was a great apartment. Way more than I could afford. And like he said, there were boxes everywhere.

"Its nice. Have you lived here long?"

He tossed his keys on the counter and started walking towards the kitchen. "A few years. I got a good deal on it. You want a beer or something?"

"Uh, no. I'm good," I answered absently.

When I was walking around his living room, my eyes landed on a large painting that was leaning against the far corner.

Drawn to it, I couldn't help but take in the beautiful way he captured Central Park. As a born New Yorker, I'd been there many times. I loved it as a kid, but didn't go there as much after I grew up.

It just seemed to become overrated, I guess. But this painting was extraordinary. There was a trumpet player in the center, back arched with his face tight, as if he was hitting a high note.

Around him here people. Lots of people and families. There was one little girl off to the side jumping rope. Then to the left, was a man in a suit on bended knee, proposing to his shocked future wife.

So much detail. It had to have taken him a long time to finish this. Suddenly, a mental image of him sitting at and eisle popped in my head. I could see his arms moving back and forth across the canvas. His hand gripping the paint brush tightly before cleaning it and dipping it into a new color.

"Like that one?" he asked from beside me.

I was so ensnared by painting, that I jumped when I heard his voice. "Yeah," I answered, my heartbeat still trying to return to normal. "It's breathtaking, Ollie. You're really talented."

He took a gulp of his beer. "Thanks. Its one of my favorites. You can have it, if you want."

My eyes went wide and I looked at him. "Oh, no. That's okay. I couldn't accept something—"

With a deep chuckle he put his hand on my shoulder again. "Jamie, its okay. I want you to have it. I didn't have that much room in storage either and I didn't feel right selling it."

"Are you sure?"

Just like at dinner, he gave my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sure."

That's when the realization about why I was so...off the last half of dinner and on the way here hit me. No one has ever been able to calm me down like he did tonight. For crying out loud, he didn't even say anything when I freaked out at the dinner table. He just touched my thigh and looked into my eyes.

And that was also when I realized why this whole fake boyfriend thing was mistake. Because tonight showed me that what Danielle tried to tell me the night she met him was true.

That even though I was good at keeping men at arm's length, Ollie was different. He was capable of getting under my skin. Making me feel things that I refused to feel again after my many failed relationships.

Determined to keep my focus and not get hurt again, I knew what I needed to do.

Under no circumstances, was I to let Ollie comfort me or calm me down. Now consoling me or bringing me back from the brink of a meltdown.

But as I looked at him and his thumb continued to stroke my shoulder, I knew that those weren't the only things I had to look out for when it came to Ollie Lake.

If I wasn't careful, the way he looked at me with those baby blues, and the way he touched me, was going to be the death of me.

***

When there was a knock at the door to the loft I was now renting, I burrowed further into my blankets.

I thought Ollie finally got the hint that I wanted to be alone and locked in this room for the foreseeable future.

But no. Of course not. He had to keep coming up here with food, hoping some cookies would be enough to coax me out of my fortress of solitude.

Ha! Good luck with that, Ollie. Only a miracle was getting me out of this loft.

"Jamie?"

I'm not here.

"Come on, Jamie. You're going to run out of food and starve to death at this rate."

I rolled my eyes under my blankets. Okay, maybe I was getting a little low on my food supply, but I was still good for another day.

Or two.

"Fine," he sighed from the other side of the door. Then as if he could see me he said, "You can stay in there and keep rolling your eyes at me, or you can have some of these delicious pastries I just got from La Rose De Baguette."

That last part caught my attention and had me throwing the blankets off my body. He knew pastries were my weakness. That's why he tried to lure me out with cookies.

He must have opened the bag to whatever he was carrying, because suddenly the smell of fresh Danish invaded my nose.

Unable to resist, I got up from the bed and took one step after another to the door. When I opened it, Ollie seemed anything but surprised that I gave in.

"Good morning, sunshine." He extended his right hand, offering me a cup of coffee. "Caffine?"

I took it from him but didn't take a sip. "Thanks."

But when I went for the bag of Danish, he pulled it back, out of my reach.

"Ah ah. There's a string attached to this Danish. Not free, I'm afraid."

"Are you going to charge me? For Danish?"

He shrugged a shoulder, the bag rustling in his hand. "Sort of. The payment is dinner."

"Dinner?"

If he was trying to ask me out...

"It's not what you think, Lovette. All I'm asking is that you join me for dinner downstairs in the kitchen tonight. Like roommates."

A refusal was at the tip of my tongue. But I really, really wanted the Danish. It wasn't like it was a date.

Only dinner.

And I did kinda owe him for letting me rent this place.

"Fine," I grumbled. "Dinner. You cook and I'll do the dishes."

With a self-satisfied grin, he handed me the bag of pastries. "Deal. Dinner is at seven."

I opened the bag immediately and my mouth watered when I saw what looked to be half a dozen Danish. As soon as he was gone and I was alone again, I was going to eat at least two of them right away.

When he started to head back downstairs I mumbled a quick 'thank you'.

"You're welcome," he replied over his shoulder, almost to the bottom step. "By the way...Nice pjs, Lovette."

Looking down at myself, I groaned. Shit.  I was so distracted by my addiction to Danish that I completely forgot I was wearing my old Tom & Jerry tank top and black pajama bottoms that were probably a little too short.

Great. Juuuuuust great.

***

So when I first planned on writing this flashback, it was only supposed to be a short continuation from the previous chapter except from Jamie's POV. But as I was writing it, it just kept flowing so I decided to run with it. I'm so glad I did! I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I can't wait to write the next one which is their dinner!

Hope you enjoyed it!

🖤