Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Who is your friend?” I ask. I feel slightly relieved, knowing he isn’t trying to hide the phone call.

“It’s not important.”

The sense of relief is gone. He is definitely hiding something.
It’s important to me.

I feel like I’m being crazy. I barely even know this guy, and I want him to tell me everything.
Who does he talk to on the phone? What is his favorite movie? How many girls has he fucked?

I shake my head and look away from him. I stare at a couple sitting a few tables away from us. They look like they’re in love. Oliver and I aren’t even in a relationship yet and I’m already jealous—how will I act when we do decide to make it official? From his comment earlier about not being together, I’m beginning to doubt that will ever happen. Is he even interested in me at all?

I try to make the best of the night, regardless. I tell myself we are only friends, and that’s exactly how I treat him for the remainder of the evening. We talk about everything from hockey—I find out he’s a Leafs fan, and I tell him I am considering excusing myself to use the ladies room, where I’ll escape from the window and run all the way home to sit in my Habs jersey, shame-eating ice cream right out of the container, never talking to him again—to politics. I don’t have much to say about politics, but I’m not surprised when he goes on and on about it for almost half an hour.

We share breaded shrimp in a ranch and spicy Thai dressing, spinach dip, and our main courses. I cringe as he holds his fork out to me with a tiny piece of steak on it.

“I hate steak.”

“Try it anyway—live on the edge!” He laughs.

Once again, I comply with his command. I don’t know what it is about him, but he’s just so unbelievably handsome. I feel like I’d do whatever he tells me to do.

I gently bite the steak off the tip of his fork.

“Is it that bad?” he asks, noticing the face I’m making.

“I guess it’s not. I was expecting it to be worse than that. I haven’t had steak since I was a child. My grandma only served chicken and fish at dinner,” I admit. “I mean, I definitely wouldn’t order it, but I also don’t feel the need to gracefully spit it into my napkin.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you tried it at least.”

He’s touching my arm again.

“I’m stuffed.” I offer him the last couple bites of my parmesan chicken, and he accepts. While he’s finishing up, I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room. I’m not paying attention to where I’m going as I turn the corner to the washrooms, and I walk right into a man who was just standing there.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, apologizing for my clumsiness. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he steps to the side, allowing me to walk by with plenty of room this time.

I give him a quick smile, and I look down, ashamed.

I see a cross tattooed on his forearm, slightly covered by the shirt he’s wearing. I turn around, and he’s walking away from me.

That was weird.

When I come out of the washroom, Oliver is at the table, smiling and laughing with the waitress. I join him at the table and ask if I can pay but he says it’s already taken care of. I thank him, and the waitress. She nods, and heads to a different table.
Maybe he’ll write about her later.

“Shall I drive you home?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” I reply shyly. I almost want to ask him if I can see his apartment, but I don’t want to seem desperate. It was a nice evening and we are just friends. Graciously accepting the ride home seemed far more appropriate.

He holds my hand out tightly as we walk out of the restaurant, sending mixed signals that my heart just can’t handle right now.

“I could really use a coffee,” he sighs.

“I’m sure they served coffee at the restaurant. Do you want to go back in?”

“No, no. I want my coffee. It’s the best in the city, don’t you know?” He laughs.

Is he asking me out for coffee?

“I need to get home. I actually do have to work in the morning. I only work part-time, and they called me today to see if I could take an extra shift and I could really use the money,” I explain.

“I can make it decaf.” He places his arm around my waist and gives me a little squeeze. I really can’t say no to him so I smile and nod.

I feel like I’m going to fall asleep in his car. It’s almost midnight. I hate that all of the time we spend together is so late at night, because he works late shifts at the coffee shop. I would really like to grab an extra coffee tonight that I can put in the fridge and microwave in the morning, but I really don’t want to offend him by telling him I’m going to microwave his coffee. As a normal person, I see nothing wrong with this but as a coffee shop owner—well, I’m sure he’d have a problem with it.

It’s starting to rain, and we both run from his car to the shop. It’s truly beautiful at night. It’s dim, and the leather seats of the booths are comfortable. There are even red couches by the front window that fit so perfectly with the dark chocolate décor of the entire place and the back wall covered in jars of coffee beans from all over the world.

Then there’s the smell. There’s nothing like the smell of a coffee shop.

If I could live here, I would. It’s no wonder he spends most of his time here.

I sit in the booth, waiting for him as he makes a decaf crème brulee coffee. He talks to both of his baristas, and to Frederick. I see Frederick look over at me, and I wonder when his last shift is. I smile at him.

Almost as though he read my mind, Oliver walks over and tells me that Frederick’s last shift is tomorrow. “I really need to start interviewing. We are going to be extremely busy soon, and I won’t have enough staff. I wish you’d consider coming to work for me.”

“I’m thinking about it,” I respond—but I’m really not. Serving coffee in a coffee shop is far too much human interaction for me. Even though some of that interaction would involve interacting with Oliver, I still can’t bring myself to do it.

Frederick comes over to the table and sits down with us.

“Hi, Frederick, how are you?” I say. I’ve met him several times but I’ve never had an actual conversation with him. The times we’ve met, he was busy working, and I was just ordering coffee.

“I’m good, thanks. Nice to finally meet you officially, Lauren. I’ve heard lots about you.”

“That’s never good.”

“Oh, but it is,” he says with a laugh.

As the night goes on, our conversation seems to dwindle, and I really need to get home. I don’t want to ask Oliver for a ride; he seems to be having fun, and he really looks like he wants to stay.

I sit quietly sipping my coffee. Although it’s not a long walk back to my place, I’m not sure I feel comfortable by myself at this time of night.

“Are you heading home soon?” I finally ask.

“Do you want me to drive you home?”

“Only if it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m just going to help Frederick close up and then I can take you back to your place,” he explains.

I watch as Oliver counts the cash and Frederick sweeps up a pile of dust, dirt, and red coffee stir-sticks. The two girls behind the counter leave once they’re done cleaning up the tables. Oliver pats Frederick on the back, thanking him for his help cleaning up as he walks out the front of the building. Oliver is still putting paperwork away. We are alone.

“Do you need help with anything?” I offer.

“No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll get you home so you can get some sleep. Thanks, though.” He says affectionately.

I walk over to where he’s standing at the counter, and lean in to see what he’s doing. He’s filling out his day planner with a list of his interviews for tomorrow.

He looks over at me, and our eyes meet. I melt instantly for the hundredth time tonight.

“What are you staring at? Is there a piece of chicken in my non-existent beard?” He laughs.

“No,” I reply. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He touches my cheek with his soft hand, and then leans in to kiss me. It’s the first time our lips have touched, and it feels amazing. He pulls back and I close my eyes. He takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I lay my head against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. It’s a perfect fit.

“I had a great time with you tonight, Lauren,” he says.

“So did I. Thanks again for dinner.”

“Finish your painting tonight,” Oliver demands.

“I can’t just finish it. I haven’t even started it yet. It takes time,” I explain.

“Just stay up and finish it.”

“Sure. Perhaps if I don’t even so much as blink for the next five days, I can get it done.”

“I’ll squirt drops in your eyes,” he offers.

I laugh and sigh loudly. I back away from him, unable to stand touching him anymore without wanting to go further.

Oliver pulls me back in, tilts his head, and bites my neck softly between gentle kisses. He moves his mouth along my collar bone, and then back up my neck to my cheek, then my lips. He slides his hand to the back of my dress and playfully flicks the zipper.

I feel as though I’m going to pass out.

Hurriedly, I help him pull my dress down to my waist. I lean back against the counter with my arms around his shoulders. The café is dark and it is late, but I still wonder if anyone can see us from outside. He kisses me, softly biting my lower lip. He slides his hands down my ribs and up again, stopping at my bra.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers as he kisses my cleavage. He lifts me up so that I’m sitting on the counter in front of him. My legs are around his waist. He pulls back and kisses my stomach. He gently caresses my back with his hands and returns his lips to mine.

I cannot believe this is happening.
I let out a soft moan, but I cannot let this go any further tonight. I’m just not ready for it. It has been so long and I want it so bad, but it just can’t happen yet. Not like this. “I should get going.”

He sighs, almost out of breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Lauren. I’ll drive you home.”

He holds out his hand and helps me down from the counter. He slowly pulls my dress back up over my body. I grab my purse and he takes my hand, leading me out of the shop, turning off the last dim light by the door.

For once, I actually appreciate the crisp air, cooling off my body. It feels refreshing.

The car ride back to my place, though only a couple minutes long, feels like it lasts forever because I really don’t know what to say to Oliver.

He finally breaks the silence. “Would you like me to walk you upstairs?” he offers.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. I appreciate the ride—dinner, the coffee—everything. Tonight was really nice,” I say sincerely.

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks.

YES, YES, YES!
“I would like that, but I’m not sure. I don’t know what time I’ll be done work,” I explain.

“Okay, send me a text when you’re done, if you want to.”

OF COURSE I WANT TO!
“Sure. Sounds good.”

I enter my apartment, locking the door behind me. My legs literally feel like they’re about to melt. I lean against the door for support. I should go to sleep but I’m definitely not tired.

NyQuil strolls towards me and rubs up against my leg, purring.

“Hey, Nike.” I sit on the floor beside him and give him a scratch behind the ears. “I really like Oliver. I hope you do, too.”

I giggle at myself, actually concerned about my cat’s approval.

I walk into my bedroom, letting my dress slide off and fall to the floor. I change into my pajamas and collapse onto my bed. There’s no way I’m going to sleep anytime soon.

Suddenly, I’m painting. I’m not even quite sure how I got from my bed to the canvas in my study, but I am painting.

Perhaps this was the exact inspiration I needed. I’m throwing red paint at the canvas; the color of passion. I’m not sure where I am going with this yet, but I know this is where I need to start.

This feels amazing. I feel alive.

This is the feeling I was looking for when I moved to this city. It feels as if a giant burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I spend an hour painting red abstract shapes onto the canvas, and another hour sitting in front of the canvas, just looking at it.

I can sleep now.

Feeling good about myself for finally being productive, I wash the red off my hands in the kitchen sink. I watch as the color falls off of my skin, swirls with the water, and then runs down the drain. I am nowhere near finished this painting, but I feel like I have finally gotten something meaningful done. So meaningful, in fact, that I may actually want to keep this one for myself.

I pull the elastic out of my ponytail and let my hair fall softly onto my shoulders. I curl up into bed, hugging a pillow tightly. I fall asleep, imagining that I am in Oliver’s arms tonight, and in my dreams, he holds me until morning.

Chapter Four

I feel too claustrophobic within these walls

My alarm clock goes off, startling me. I quickly sit up in bed and look around my bedroom, which is still dark at this ungodly hour. I am exhausted from having stayed up late, but oddly, I feel refreshed at the same time.

I reach for my cell phone, noticing that the tiny blue light in the corner is flashing. It’s a text message.

Good morning, beautiful. Have a good day at work.

It’s from Oliver. I wonder if he woke up this early just to send me that message. It’s an excellent start to my day.

Thanks, you too,

I reply. I hop out of bed and wander into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

I only have an hour to get to work, but I make it on time. The grocery store is uneventful, as usual, but my short four hour shift feels like it lasts for days. I just want to get home so I can see if Oliver has sent me another message. When I am finally done, I literally run home.

I am met by a distressing surprise; there’s an eviction notice on the door of my apartment. I pull it down, hoping no one else has seen it, and I slip inside. I sink down to my knees, clutching the paper in my hand. It seems my account was overdrawn, and my last two rent checks have bounced. I am now two months late with just over fifteen hundred dollars owing.

I don’t even know how this is possible. I haven’t checked my bank account, because I only use it for rent—I keep cash on me for anything else, but I was sure there was enough in there to make the payments.

I call the bank right away, hoping this is a mistake.

They explain that a purchase was made, using my debit card, that made my first rent payment bounce. As a result, I was charged a fee for non-sufficient funds, which caused the next payment to bounce as well.

They couldn’t disclose any more information than that, but they suggested I visit my local branch to see if they’d be able to offer a more in-depth explanation.

I hang up the phone and sink into the soft cushions of my couch.

What purchase are they talking about?

I get a text message and I hope it isn’t Oliver, because I really don’t feel like talking to him right now. I definitely don’t want to have to explain what’s going on.

Thankfully, it isn’t him. It’s Shay. I decide not to answer her. I need to get this sorted out, so I head to the bank.