Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“And it’s still not over,” I reminded him.
“Thanks for laughing this all off with me.”
“You kidding? This has been one of the funnest days of my life, by far. Minus the potential skin problems we’re going to get after this paint soaks in.”
Oliver nodded, his smile taking over his face. He drove us to South Beach, the windows down and the music playing the entire way. The drive was relaxed, and our moods were high, our heads bobbing to the music and our thumbs tapping out to the beat. It was already six in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon. The streets of Miami were starkly different to the streets of London, but one thing remained constant, and that one thing seemed to make a world of difference: Oliver’s smiling and positive presence.
I wasn’t bluffing when I told him this was one of the funnest days of my life. As I looked out the window, the Miami Bay sparkling underneath us, I realized I hadn’t thought once about the letter.
The one I couldn’t even read if I wanted to.
The thoughts seemed to shoot my good mood right out of the sky. I hated myself for caring so much, and I hated myself for not caring enough. If I wasn’t such a coward, I could have opened the bloody thing already and figured out what my father wanted to tell me.
Instead, I lost it, and with it, my father’s last words to me.
“And we’re here,” Oliver said. “Think they’ll let us two crusty gay rainbows in there?”
Oliver motioned up and down and gave a twirl. We must have looked quite ridiculous, and yet there was Oliver, dancing and laughing and not having a damn care in the world.
His joy, his zest, they were infectious.
I laughed, realizing how much paint was still drying up on our clothes. I wondered how he did that. How was he so good at pulling me out of the darkness?
“I’m sure they’ve seen weirder things come in from the beach.”
Oliver pulled the car up to the valet, where a smartly dressed man opened the door for me. I saw the surprise in his eyes as I stepped out, covered from head to toe in dry paint.
We got a few stares; some were bold, and others tried to be secret. I was an observant man, and the sneaky glances didn’t get past me.
And then Oliver did something that surprised me, and I’m sure even surprised a few of our secret onlookers.
He reached out and grabbed my hand in his. It was a simple act of affection and connection, but it did make my shoulders stiffen for a moment. I wasn’t used to public displays like this. My previous boyfriends grew up like me, during a time where so much as a glance between two guys could get them beat up or worse. It didn’t help that Oliver and I appeared to have an age difference between us, which made me more self-conscious than usual. Normally, I wasn’t much of a blusher.
I felt heat flare up under my cheeks, a blush taking hold.
I felt on edge.
But as we stood by the hostess podium waiting for her to lead us to a table, a laughing troupe of gay men wearing designer budgie smugglers strutted past us toward the gay club down the street, reminding me that we were on South Beach and the “judgmental” stares might as well have just been people checking us out.
The tension in my shoulders disappeared slightly.
“Ever been here?” Oliver asked as the hostess gathered our menus and walked us in.
“Never,” I said, looking around. The restaurant was called Canary Birds and was a modern blast of color and design. It was a new spot and had everyone talking about it pretty much right from opening day. The walls were a luxe navy blue with golden trim. The tables were all sitting on top of ornate ivory birdcages while the cutlery handles were all shaped like feathers, and the food was said to be just as eclectic.
It was very Oliver, and it was very exciting.
The hostess walked us through the restaurant, leading us to a table in a secluded corner. Chances were they wanted to hide the two paint-crusted men away from the rest of the very well-dressed diners. It was fine by me. Privacy with Oliver was exactly what I wanted.
As we took our seats, I couldn’t help but notice that some diners nearby still threw curious glances our way.
It was an interesting feeling. Again, my instinct was to feel as if they were staring for other reasons besides our rainbow-covered clothes. As if the done-up and tight-lipped crowd were glancing at us because of the clear difference in age between me and Oliver. Normally I didn’t think twice about my age, but I’d also never dated someone younger than me by three years, at most. This was new territory, and that brought with it an entirely new set of paranoia.