“Ecstatic,” I said flatly.

He grabbed me around the waist, and I looked up into his eyes. He dipped down to kiss the top of my head.

“Alright,” he said, releasing me but grabbing my hand and tugging me to the kitchen. “Since I so abruptly ended our date, let me see what I have in here for food.”

He gripped my waist and I let out a small squeal as he effortlessly lifted me onto the countertop. I watched him dig around in his cabinets. Being in his space felt more intimate than I’d expected. Like I was getting some sort of behind-the-scenes peek into his life.

“So, plans,” I said carefully, wanting to keep the moment light, but also desperately wanting to know more about where he’d be going next. “I haven’t exactly helped you come up with any.”

Oliver produced a sleeve of crackers and handed them to me. I took one and nibbled on it, trying to play it cool as I waited for his response.

“Helping me come up with a plan was always going to be a losing battle.”

I swallowed and took another cracker from the sleeve. “But you said you aren’t going back to Denver. You must have some idea of what you want to do next.”

He shrugged. “I’ve reached out to a few people I know. I’m sure I’ll find some gig for the summer.”

The summer. He didn’t have anything lined up yet. Even though I found little comfort in that, it made me feel better to know that hopefully he wasn’t traipsing out of here the second his last snowboarding lesson ended. I should come right out and ask him.

“How many more lessons do you have left?” I asked.

“Why? Trying to book one more for yourself?” he teased, poking me in the ribs.

“No,” I said, feeling slightly frustrated he turned every attempt at conversation into a joke. Typically, I liked that quality about him. But the fact that I couldn’t even broach the subject of him leaving, or figure out where we stood, was starting to get annoying.

At this point, it was obvious to me that this was Oliver’s coping mechanism. He avoided the hard stuff by constantly being the fun, chill guy. I knew he wouldn’t change—not for me anyway. But some of the topics I thought were light, he still chose to avoid.

“I’ll squeeze you in if you want. I promise, no more injured wrists,” he continued.

“I’m good,” I said.

His face fell as he noticed my annoyance. “Everything okay?” Oliver asked. His voice sounded completely different when he wasn’t joking. Deeper.

“Yep.” I forced a smile.

“Frankie.” He tipped my chin up so that I’d be forced to look at him.

It was almost as if we were on the brink of something incredible, yet if I said even remotely the wrong thing, he’d never speak to me again.

Oliver’s eyes scanned mine and his jaw clenched. “Talk to me,” he whispered.