Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(65)

“Because your dad caught us and called me the help,” she snapped.

“He’s sick! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

“Yeah, well, I got the impression he was pretty lucid at that moment.”

Oliver’s eyes turned angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I think the Walter we saw that night was the real Walter.”

He looked away, telling her that she was right. Not that she needed the confirmation. She already knew the real Walter, and it wasn’t the petulant man-child who adorably liked hard-boiled eggs and the History Channel.

“You know what?” she said tiredly, shoving her key into the lock. “I don’t even mind what your dad said. Whether it was because of the illness or just because he’s a jackass. But I do mind that you didn’t say a word in my defense. The help?”

He dragged a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as she felt. “What would it have mattered? He’d have forgotten in thirty seconds anyway.”

“Yeah, but I would have remembered, Oliver. I would have remembered.”

She reached out to take the flowers, but he held them away from her. Naomi gave him a look. “Really?”

“I was engaged,” he said out of nowhere. “Did you know that?”

Her hands dropped slowly, and she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “I did not.”

Oliver gave a jerky nod. “A few years ago. We put off the wedding planning when my mom got sick. We talked about trying to do it faster, so Mom could be there, but my mom refused. Said she’d rather miss our wedding than die knowing we’d rushed it. So we waited. Bridget held my hand through the funeral. Waited the appropriate amount of time before diving into wedding planning. Then Dad started showing symptoms . . .”

Naomi swallowed, not at all liking where this was going. And not liking this fiancée one bit.

“We took turns caring for him, and I thought, okay, this sucks, but we’re in it together. But the worse he got, the more reluctant she became to set a date or even discuss wedding details. By the time we got his diagnosis and it became clear this wasn’t a short-term problem, she was just sort of . . . done. Said she loved me, but that this wasn’t what she’d signed up for, that it was just too much.”

Oliver shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, but the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes told her it was. Of course it was. What sort of person agrees to marry someone and then bails when the going gets tough?

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked softly.

This time he did meet her eyes. “I told myself then that if and when I got involved with someone again, it had to be someone who understood that Walter and I were a package deal. Someone who wouldn’t bail when things got difficult.”

Well . . . crap.

“And I bailed,” she said softly.

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t blame you. But he’s not going to be better, Naomi. That stuff he said to you on Monday? Not even close to the worst I’ve heard him say. Not about you, just . . . in general. He wasn’t a nice man before, and now that he’s confused, he’s . . . difficult. I am sorry for what he said, but I also can’t help it. He can’t help it. I understand completely if you want no part of it—you barely know us, but . . . I can’t—”

“Be with someone who can’t handle your dad?”

He nodded jerkily. “But I am grateful for what you’ve done for Dad these last couple weeks. And for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to come home to who didn’t throw hard-boiled eggs at me. Someone to just talk about my day with . . .”

He broke off and gave a quick shake of his head. “Anyway. Here are your flowers.” He handed them back. He nodded, then turned back toward his own apartment.

Naomi chewed her lip, weighing the wisdom of what she was about to do.

“Hey, Oliver.”

He paused just before entering his apartment.

“Do you want to come in? If you don’t have to relieve Janice quite yet? I could make us a drink. Coffee? Tea?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly trying to figure her out.

“I liked talking to someone about my day, too,” she admitted, surprised at how vulnerable the admission made her feel. And how true it was.

He hesitated. “I don’t know if—”

“As friends,” she said quickly. “I understand you’re not looking for . . . more. At least not with me. But you still need friends, right?”

He studied her a long moment, then gave her a smile that melted her insides. “Yeah. Okay. Let me change clothes real quick, and I’ll be right there.”

Naomi nodded, then went into her apartment, setting the flowers on the counter, resuming her humming of the Spice Girls song as she gently pulled the arrangement out of the cardboard delivery box.

Her pausing hummed when the box fell away to reveal the base of the bouquet. Not a vase, as she’d thought.

A mug.

As expected, the card had slipped to the bottom of the box, and though she already knew who the flowers were from, the message had her smiling all the same.

It’s no Dom Pérignon, but this is a nice use for a mug, too.

—Ollie



The flowers were so much better than expensive champagne.