Rush and Restraint

Chapter Eleven

The third one was a close up of half of Oliver's face. I'd been holding the camera while we were waiting for our order at my favorite coffee shop in SoHo. It was at the beginning of my last year at the Fashion Institute and he'd flown in for the weekend just to get me settled in. I'd been standing close to him, trying to take pictures of him despite his half-hearted protests. This moment was just before he finally snatched the camera away from me and held it way over his head far out of my reach. I captured him smiling so openly that none of his sharp features could intimidate. His black hair was cropped short on the side, his eye crinkling in the corner and his mouth a little crooked on that corner with his grin.

The last one was one I hadn't seen before but remembered well.

It was the last summer I'd spent at Whitewood with the boys, just before my last year at FIT. We decided to ride our bikes to the shops to get some food and I bungled up my front wheel at a bad curve. We found a repair shop to take it to and Oliver didn't miss a beat in telling me to ride with him. Luckily, I was in a white summer romper and got away with sitting up front pretty much on the crossbar. It was by no means safe and we had to try to get started a few times after I kept nearly falling off that we were all laughing our butts off. In the photo, I was grinning as I leaned back against Oliver's chest to keep from sliding off the bike and he was enjoying every minute of it.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, touching the frame.

"Stellan. He had his camera around his neck, remember?" Oliver said as he fell into a step next to me. "He'd given it to me shortly after I came back from visiting you in New York that fall. Max and I were over at his place to watch a game and he just tossed it to me out of the blue. Just said I might want it. Of course I wanted it but I didn't want to ask too many questions so I just slipped it into my pocket."

I feigned disbelief. "He gave it to you instead of his sweet little sister?"

Oliver laughed and looped an arm around shoulders. "He probably figured he already indulges you way too much."

I pouted a little. "I have no cap on being indulged so please, don't hesitate."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," he told me before steering me further into the room. "Come on. It's almost one in the morning. We have to hit the sack."

"But I'm hungry."

"Of course, you are," Oliver said in an amused tone as he led me to a very spacious kitchen with some serious industrial-grade appliances. "You haven't changed from being a notorious midnight-snacker."

"Why change when everyone's already learned to cope with you?" I quipped as I joined Oliver by the fridge to track down some food. I was surprised at the amount of stuff inside it. "Did you get a cook?"

Oliver let go several of his family's household staff shortly after the burial. He said he didn't want other people underfoot, that he liked to be independent. It was only after I learned about his financial difficulties after his family's death that I realized the real reason. But clearly, things were different now.

"No. I cook for myself," he said as he grabbed a few things out of the fridge. "I had to learn how to fend for myself for years and now I'm just so used to it. I have one person come by and clean the house once a week and that's it. I do my own laundry, make my bed, cook my meals."

"I had to do the same thing when I moved to Paris," I said as I watched him start assembling what looked like a fancy chicken sandwich. "I learned to be independent and I like staying that way. Except for the chateau, of course. I can't maintain the place all by myself no matter how much I fancy the idea of playing Cinderella."