“Oh, Oliver.” I suddenly thought I was going to cry. God, I was tired! “He’s so lucky to have you as his dad,” I said. “You’re so … tolerant and forgiving.”

He gave me a rueful smile, barely visible in the dark. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said. “I told him next year it’s Smith Mountain Lake with his old man, or I’ll disinherit him.”

I smiled as he pulled the van into Lisa’s driveway.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he said, putting the van in park. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Okay.” I leaned across the console to kiss him on the cheek. I felt his hand on my bare shoulder. Felt his fingers trail down my arm until they tightened—it was not my imagination—around my elbow. There was something more than friendship in that touch, and when I drew away, I didn’t reach for the door handle, hoping against hope that he’d kiss me and feeling too uncertain to take the lead myself. But he only smiled, touching my cheek with the back of his fingers. I wondered if he knew he was driving me crazy or if I was reading him all wrong and he wasn’t the least bit interested in me that way. Either way, by the time I got out of the van, I was almost dizzy with hunger for him.

Starting up the long sidewalk to the front door, I stopped to look at the only lighted window in the house: Lisa’s second-story bedroom. She was usually in bed early, and I knew it was worry keeping her up.

“Hey, Morgan?” Oliver called from his van window. “You all right?”

I hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for me to get safely inside. I smiled, the warmth of his touch on my cheek still with me. I waved him on. Then I walked up the steps and into the house, heading for my dark sunroom and a very short night’s sleep.

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

August 4, 2018

Oliver sat at his folding table, slipping the various wall texts into their plastic frames, when I arrived at the gallery in the morning. I’d slept right through my alarm, but still managed to get there by seven thirty, eating a blueberry muffin along the way. I took out my earbuds to exchange a “hello” with him. I found it a little hard to hold his gaze this morning, remembering the subtle but undeniable—to me, anyway—shift in our relationship the night before. It hadn’t been much at all, just a light stroke down my arm, but it had electrified me and I was certain there’d been more than friendship behind it. You didn’t touch your friends that way.

“I have something for you,” he said, setting down one of the wall texts.

I walked over to his table. “What?” I asked, curious.