"One last time to make me see what?" I whisper, eyes looking at the candles, at the roses, at my coat crumpled on the floor. Everywhere and anywhere but him.
Ollie takes both of my hands in his. They're small and delicate compared to his callused chef's palms. A heat gathers beneath my skin, warm, a rising tide. My eyes travel to the spot, thinking how perfectly our fingers seem to fit together, as though made to hold onto one another.
And then I finally look up. Right into those turquoise eyes that have a way of undoing me, of making me melt, of shattering all the convictions that so closely guard my fragile heart.
"Isn't it obvious, Skye?" he murmurs. "To make you see how much I love you."
I inhale sharply, releasing a slow breath. Part of me wants to rip my hands away and hide. Part of me wants to wrap them around his neck and never let go. I'm torn down the middle, frozen. But now that the words are out there, I can't ignore them. I can’t misinterpret them. I can't pretend they don't exist.
"Since when?" I whisper.
He holds me tighter. "Since I let you walk out my door four and a half years ago."
And with that, I do break away.
I thought I'd buried it, but the pain is still raw, and I'm not strong enough to sit there and take it. And if we're going to finally talk about that night after so long, I can't hold his hands and pretend that everything is okay.
"Ollie…" I challenge, trailing off, not sure what I want to say, to ask.
"Skye," he challenges right back, daring me.
My chest expands, swelling with all the unsaid words I've kept inside for the past four years, all the bitter remarks I ached to scream, all the vengeful accusations I've wanted to yell, all the nasty and hurtful things I've only said out loud in my dreams. But there's something else beneath all of that pain, something I told myself time and time again that I would never admit, not to him, not to anyone. But there it is, pushing past everything else, bringing a confession rather than an accusation to my lips.
"You broke my heart," I whisper.
"Skye." He sighs.
"No." I shake my head. It's my turn to speak. "You say you're in love with me? You say you've known ever since that night? Then how could you do that to me? How could you have been so cold, to not even speak to me, to let me walk out your door in complete silence while you listened to me cry? I don't think you even understand what was so horrible about that night, what made me need to never see you again. It wasn't the rejection. I was prepared for the rejection, I went in there expecting you to turn me down. No, the part that broke me was those few moments when I thought you loved me too. To have that little hope I always tried to ignore actually come true, and then to have it ripped away without so much as a sorry, without so much as a goodbye. Before that night, I never imagined you could hurt me so much. And ever since, it's the only thing I expect you to do."
Ollie steps back as though punched.
I stand firm. Because I meant every word and he had to hear them.
"I hated myself for hurting you," he says, still keeping his distance, vulnerable across the candlelight and the silence. "But you have to understand where I was coming from. Before that night in my room, I never once thought of you that way. You were my little sister's best friend, one of my closest friends. I never allowed myself to cross that line, not ever. And then you were there in my room, beautiful in the moonlight, like some sort of vision from my dreams, and something shifted. You touched me and sparks burned my skin, heat that had never been there before. And then you looked up at me, so honest, and told me you loved me. And I did the only thing I wanted to do in that instant, I kissed you. And it felt so right, I never wanted to stop."
I swallow the tightness in my throat. "Then why did you?"
Ollie shakes his head, laughing darkly, little bitter exhales. "Because, Skye, what was I supposed to do? You were leaving to start college the next day. I was leaving to go back to California, hundreds of miles away. We were in completely different places in life and I thought if I just stopped it, everything would go back to normal, that we would both forget. Only that's not what happened. I went to California and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't escape the memory of that kiss. And I went home for Christmas that year wondering if maybe you thought the same thing, if maybe it was worth trying. But you never visited the house. You never came over for dinner, never came in to see my parents. Bridget always met you out somewhere. And I realized I got exactly what I wanted. You forgot about the kiss. But you forgot something else too. You forgot about me."
"I never forgot," I whisper, voice raw. How could he think I forgot? For four years, I tried everything I could to push Ollie from my mind. And for four years, I've been able to think of nothing else, no one else. Even when I was with John, it was Oliver who burned in the back of my mind.
Ollie steps closer, still not touching me, but my awareness of him feels like a soft caress, stirring every part of me, zapping my every nerve to life. Our bodies are only an inch apart and palpable energy electrifies the small space. Still though, I make no move to close it.
"Me neither," he says, and his voice brushes warm against my cheek, pulling me closer. "Which is why I came to New York when a job became available. I wanted to see you. And I never meant to show up so unannounced, but when you came in that day, speaking to me like nothing had ever changed, I knew you thought I was Bridge but I didn’t care. For a moment, I got an idea of what we could be. But I didn’t know if you felt the same way. And I waited, sending you signals, trying to read the look in your eyes. But I couldn’t. And then I kissed you, and you ran away, which was a pretty obvious sign that I should bow out. But I couldn't do that either. So that brings us to tonight, to right now."
Ollie brushes his fingers across my cheek, trailing them around my neck, back into my hair. I look up, swallowing as my eyes meet his smoldering gaze, but the words are still trapped beneath my tongue. A shy smile plays on his lips.
"I'm in love with you, Skylar Quinn," he whispers, leaning down so our foreheads touch and our lips rest a tantalizing inch apart. "And I couldn't give up without making sure you knew exactly how I felt. I'm in love with you. Now it's up to you to decide what happens next."
I can't breathe. Can't think.
Oliver McDonough is in love with me.
I've waited my entire life to hear those words. And still, after so much time, I have no idea what to say.
So I don't speak.
I lean up and kiss him instead.
And just like four and a half years ago, the fire sparking between us flares to an inferno in an instant. Ollie kisses me back and before I know what's happening, I'm in too deep. My hands slip into his hair. His arms hug me tight, lifting me onto my toes. We're both hungry after waiting so long.
But there's something else. Something wrong. A prickly sensation in my chest that even the flames won't burn out.
I try to ignore it. I want to. But I can't.
And really, I've been ignoring my gut for too long already.
I break away, ripping myself free of Ollie's embrace, turning my back on him, breathing heavily as I bend over my stomach, eyes on the ground, trying to fight the dizzy spell threatening to overwhelm me. And I realize my eyes have started to burn.
All of my dreams are coming true.
So why am I crying?
"Skye?" Ollie's voice is deep and dark.
But I can't look at him.
"Skye, what's wrong? What happened?" And the vulnerability in his tone just brings me back to the moment four years ago when I asked him nearly the same thing.