“Headed back to your house in Denver?” Bev asked.

“Nah. I’ve got renters in my house all year. I’ll have to figure something else out.”

My ears perked up at that. I knew Oliver had moved here from Denver, but a house?

“I’m sure you will.” Bev gave a small nod and excused herself to check on the kitchen.

My eyebrows shot up before I could even attempt to contort my face into a neutral expression. “You own a house?” I asked, surprise leaking into my tone. Oliver had the whole, kid-at-heart routine down pat. Homeowner was not a phrase I had ever imagined would describe him.

He tilted his chin in my direction as if reading my mind. “Yes, I do, thank you very much. I don’t appreciate how shocked you look right now. Is it so wild to think that I might be financially responsible?”

Yes.

“Of course not,” I said, trying to save face. “You just never mentioned it so…I don’t know. I guess you seemed more like the type that would live out of a van than a house.”

He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he finally said. “But vanlife isn’t for me. Not a lot of headspace for people over six foot three and I need to stretch out, ya know?” To demonstrate his point, he clasped his hands together and reached over his head, his chest puffing out in the process.

My cheeks reddened. “Sorry, right.” I stuttered over my words, tearing my eyes away from his face. “Obviously you could own a house. I just never thought about it before, but it makes sense. I mean, you had to live somewhere before this, and why not a house? Honestly, I never even thought about it.”

I was rambling uncontrollably, but my tangled tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. Normally, I wasn’t nervous around guys, but Oliver was different. The confident—though admittedly distraught—version of myself I’d been when I first met him felt like a distant memory. It was hard to believe I’d ever had the audacity to just lean in and kiss him like I had. His self-assurance, combined with how different he was from me, was disarming. Even if I still had my successful career, I knew it wouldn’t impress him in the slightest, and that thought made me uneasy. In fact, nothing about me could ever impress him. Now that I was aware of that, my heartrate spiked anytime I spent more than one interrupted second looking into his eyes.

“Frankie, relax.” Oliver laughed softly and shook his head. “I wasn’t offended. Trust me, if you ever meet my brother, you’ll realize my skin is thick as shit.”

“Okay,” I squeaked out, cursing my voice for cracking. I knocked on the bar and nervously scanned the restaurant. “Um, so, what’s for dinner tonight?” I asked him, not bothering to hand him a menu. Marie’s was technically more of a lounge than a restaurant—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean—and we only served about ten items. They consisted of small plates and whole foods that had a farm-to-table feel, and most of it was vegetarian. Oliver had already tried everything at this point.