“Another kale and super grain bowl, I guess.” Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Oliver winced when he said it.

“I’ll put it in,” I said, but just then, Bev rushed behind me, holding plates and heading to the dining room.

“I got it, Frankie. I’m already running back and forth from the kitchen anyway.”

“Thanks, Bev,” Oliver called as she raced to a table to set down the plates of food.

His smile stayed plastered to his face. I’d grown to be slightly obsessed with the way it curled into his cheeks. Almost as if it were a smirk, but it was the most genuine thing I’d ever seen. I poured him his favorite beer and slid it across the bar.

He caught the beer and eyed my hand. “Glad to see your wrist has completely healed.”

My cheeks flushed as I stopped leaning on my hands to rub the completely falsified injury. “Still a little tender.”

Oliver’s eyes twinkled at my obvious lie. “Is it?”

“So, about my next intro-to-fun course.” I toweled off the bar, changing the subject.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Oliver asked. “I’ve got it all planned out. The day after tomorrow. Bright and early.”

“Can’t wait,” I said, not even having to feign my excitement.

“You’re going to love it,” he insisted.

“Am I?” I teased. I was excited at the thought of spending some more one-on-one time with Oliver. Time that didn’t involve a medic room or feeling self-conscious and nervous on a ski hill.

“It’s going to blow you away,” he confirmed.

“Wow, confident. I like it.” I winked at him, which caused his already-big smile to widen.

A new group came in and approached the bar. I held up a finger to Oliver before going over to take their order.

When I came back, Bev was already swinging by.

“Order up,” Bev said, as she set a bowl in front of Oliver.

“I’ll pick you up at six a.m.,” he said, before picking up a fork and taking a less-than-enthusiastic bite of the kale salad.

“You have a car?” I blurted out.

He froze mid-bite before chewing slowly, squinting his eyes and giving me a strange look. He swallowed and shook his head. “Yes, Frankie. Jesus. You don’t think I own a car either?”

“Sorry,” I sputtered. “I just didn’t picture you driving.”

Now I felt like an idiot. Who didn’t drive? Oliver almost felt like a character in a book to me. Like he was so far out of my typical reality, that he was almost fictional. It was hard to picture him doing normal things like driving, buying a home, going to work. But those were thoughts I really should have kept to myself.

“I drive,” he promised, a small sound of disbelief escaping his throat. “I really have some ground to make up on this date to impress you, huh?”

“Date?” I choked out.

He waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”