Chapter 44: Dinner and Other Invitations
Later that day, Liza arrived at Del’s, balancing a paper bag that smelled strongly of curry and lime. She was ten minutes late, which Del noted as soon as she appeared in the doorway.
“You said six.”
“It’s six-ten,” Liza answered, dropping the bag onto the coffee table and beginning to unpack cartons of Pad Thai, Tom Yum, and salad. “Traffic. Don’t scold me, I come bearing food.”
Del sank into the couch. “That makes up for about three minutes of being late.”
Liza settled beside her, prying open containers.
“TV?” Del asked suddenly.
Liza looked shocked. “Wow. TV? Really? I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
Del didn’t say anything and just picked up the remote. Soon, they dug in, the background noise of some news filling the silence.
Liza twisted noodles around her fork and then asked casually, “So, where’s Oliver? He didn’t show up at work today. Called in sick. Is he in his room?”
“I don’t know.”
Liza smirked. “You two live in the same house and you don’t know?”
“I don’t track his whereabouts,” Del said simply, spooning soup into her bowl.
“So… remember what you told me the other day? About you telling Oliver you’re a virgin?”
Del paused, chewing slowly and regretting now forever sharing it.
“Well? Any updates? Did he try something? Did you?”
“Nothing changed,” she said dryly.
“Pathetic. You know, most guys would be thrilled to hear that kind of confession. Instant ego boost. So? Did he bring it up again?”
She remembered Oliver bringing it up yesterday, but then said, “No.”
“Okay. But you must have noticed something., Del. A look. A vibe. Maybe he’s suddenly extra polite around you?”
“He’s the same.”
“Boring answer.” Liza twirled noodles around her fork. “Okay, so picture this…Oliver finally gets brave, corners you in the kitchen, and just blurts it out. Something like, ‘I’ll be your first, Del.’”
She didn’t look up. “That sounds ridiculous.”
“But hot,” Liza insisted. “Come on, you have to admit it.”
“No.”
“Fine,” Liza said, leaning closer. “Then imagine this… you’re in the living room, minding your own business, probably sketching, and he comes in, takes the pencil right out of your hand, and kisses you before you can argue.”
She finally looked at her friend. “Oh my god, Liza.”
“And oh my god, Del, you’re no fun!” Liza burst out laughing. “Alright then, let me really paint the picture.” She set her fork down and gestured with her hands as if she were delivering a monologue. “Oliver. Tall. That broad chest under those t-shirts he always wears like he doesn’t know they fit him too well…”
She chewed slowly. “Please stop, Liza.”
But Liza pressed on. “Now, imagine him with that dark chocolate hair of his falling in his face, pinning you down with those long fingers—god, those hands, Del. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed his hands. He’d be on top of you, looking at you with those sapphire eyes, tell me that wouldn’t wreck you.”
“Are you done?”
“Nope,” Liza grinned, clearly delighted. “But I’ll stop before you throw me out.”
“You should’ve stopped five minutes ago.”
Enjoying Del’s flat refusal to indulge her, Liza leaned back with a grin and changed the subject. “Okay, let’s talk about me now. So, my birthday is officially on. And guess where it’s happening?”
Del raised a brow. “Where?”
“In a penthouse,” Liza said proudly.
Del smirked. “So you successfully bribed your rich boyfriend to throw you a lavish birthday party?”
“Bribed?” Liza laughed. “Please! He practically begged me to let him arrange it.”
Del gave her a look that made it clear she didn’t buy a word, but before Liza could embellish the story further, the front door opened.
Oliver stepped inside, balancing two grocery bags. He stopped when he saw Liza on the sofa. “Oh. Hi.”
“Oliver!” Liza set her container down. “Well, you look perfectly fine. Did you just lie about being sick?”
He looked caught off guard. “I wasn’t lying. I really didn’t feel well this morning. I took something and I’m fine now.”
Liza narrowed her eyes but decided to let it go. “Uh-huh. Well, in that case, you can come to my birthday party.”
Oliver glanced at Del, then back at Liza. “Your birthday party?”
“In a penthouse,” Liza said with a smile. “And you, Mr. Oliver Clarke, will bring Delilah here as your date.”
Del stared at the TV. “It’s a birthday party. You don’t need dates for those.”
“You two are already getting along,” Liza countered. “Why not show up together? It’ll be cute.”
Del sighed. “Or unnecessary.”
Oliver’s mouth quirked, clearly amused by the exchange.
Then Liza leaned closer and whispered to Del, “Okay, but seriously—look at his hands.”
Del frowned. “What?”
“His hands. Long, strong, veiny. The kind of hands you just know…” She trailed off, grinning mischievously.
Del gave her a warning look, but Liza doubled down, her whisper not nearly as quiet as she thought. “Tell me you haven’t imagined those hands on you. Come on. Look at his fingers. They’re practically built for—”
“Liza,” Del muttered, deadpan.
Unfortunately, Oliver had heard every word. He glanced down at his own hands, then at them, looking both puzzled and amused. “My hands are practically built for… what?”
Liza clapped her hand over her mouth and started laughing. “Oh my god, he heard me. This is perfect.”
Del sighed and sank back against the sofa cushion.
“You two are officially my new favorite couple,” Liza said between laughs. “Which is why you’re coming to my birthday together. Pretend couple, real couple, doesn’t matter. Just show up with each other. Deal?”
Del didn’t answer.
Oliver looked like he might say something, but before he could, the TV program cut to a breaking news bulletin. The bright red banner at the bottom of the screen was hard to miss.
The three of them looked toward the screen. A grainy image of a small house filled the frame while a news anchor appeared, reporting: “Tonight, police are investigating a violent burglary gone wrong. Two nineteen-year-olds and a twenty-two-year-old broke into an elderly couple’s home in Westvale. The suspects shot the seventy-six-year-old husband, who died at the scene. His seventy-four-year-old wife is in critical condition at Westvale General Hospital.”
The reporter’s voice droned on…
“Idiots,” Liza muttered, jabbing her chopsticks at the screen. “Nineteen and twenty-two. Too dumb to even steal properly. And would you look at this picture quality—pixels everywhere. Feels like I’m watching security footage from 2002, Del.”
She continued to curse at the burglars under her breath. But Del hadn’t moved. Her fork was still resting in her bowl, her gaze fixed on the screen even after the report shifted to another story. She looked as if the news had pulled her somewhere far away.
Oliver noticed. He glanced at her, then at the grocery bags still on the counter. “Hey,” he said lightly, breaking the silence, “I bought ice cream. Two flavors.”
That pulled Del’s gaze away from the news. She looked at him, then at the bags, and finally reached for the salad container again.