Chapter 10

Ten

OLIVER

We sleep in the following morning and I wake to the smell of coffee and bacon. Of course, when I stumble out of bed, Hunter has the kettle simmering. There’s croissants on the counter, and I spread some butter and jam on top of one and gobble it down in only a few bites. Hunter kisses me and slaps my arse before he pours himself some coffee. We eat and then shower before dressing and heading to the next stop on our adventure, the Reading Terminal Market. We have to walk a couple of blocks to the subway which stops nearby.

I’ve never heard of it, which doesn’t surprise me, but I guess it’s one of America’s oldest and largest public markets, carrying all kinds of produce, meats, seafood, baked goods, cheeses and home decor. We’re hoping to find something that we can turn into a delicious meal and also maybe a treat or two. Maybe even eat at one of the many restaurants on the premises of the historic building it’s housed in.

There’s so many different vendors that all sound amazing. I don't know how we’ll get to all of them in one afternoon. Our first stop is a vendor that sells handcrafted African inspired jewelry and it’s exquisite. I purchase some earrings for Amanda and try not to think too hard about whether the gesture is a result of affection, or guilt.

We stop at another vendor that sells honey, candles, and soaps that all look and smell incredible, and another that sells gorgeous linens. The entire place is filled to overflowing with shoppers browsing, and while I’m enjoying myself, I’m also feeling a bit anxious about losing my way in this large of a crowd in a place I’ve never been before. Moments later, Hunter’s hand is in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze, and I relax. The freedom to hold his hand in public is one I don’t take for granted, and I know I will miss it when we return home. Being here, where no one knows who we are, and I don’t have the fear of being judged makes me squeeze his hand in return.

We continue on, and there’s so many delicious looking treats at the multiple bakeries I know I will be leaving here with more sweets than I know what to do with. But Hunter will still encourage me to eat every single one.

We purchase fresh banana bread and several cookies before making our way to a vendor that sells fresh made, hand rolled donuts. When we hear it’s only ten dollars for a dozen we give in and I just know I’ll be gaining weight on this trip, but find myself caring less and less. Especially when I take my first bite and moan around it like a fucking porn star.

Hunter laughs. “Keep it PG, Oli,” he teases, “there’s children here.”

“Piss off,” I tease, then take another bite. “God, it’s like having an orgasm in your mouth.” He laughs again.

We’ve gotten the assorted variety and mine is the S’mores one, while Hunter has chosen one with fresh vanilla frosting and m like I’m being made love to; like the way he touches me and kisses me and looks at me isn’t just a desire to make me happy. He doesn’t just want to make me feel owned and bring me pleasure. He wants me to feel cherished, valued, worthy, adored. And I’m floored by the knowledge that this man, this boy, has captured my heart so completely in such a short amount of time.

We come together, each other’s name on our lips, and when I fall asleep in his arms that night, I can’t help wishing we could stay this way forever. Because no matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep myself from falling in love with Hunter Price.

HUNTER

“Christ, this is pure, unadulterated porn,” Oliver remarks from his seat next to me. We’re on the road again, on our way to Baltimore, but I have a surprise stop for Oli on the way there. He seemed a bit more morose last night and this morning and I’m hoping it will cheer him up.

I laugh. “ Until You ?”

He’s so engrossed in his book he doesn’t register that I asked him a question until several seconds later. “Hmm?” he says, lifting his head and looking at me.

I laugh again. “You still reading Until You ? It was spicy but I wouldn’t call it porn.”

“Oh, no, I finished that a bit ago and just started Stepbrother Mine by the same author. Christ these two are filthy. Nothing but kinky sex for pages. Although I am enjoying the flashbacks. Those are sweet. And don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the sex too, I just might need to change my underwear after.”

I cackle. “It’s pretty hot,” I agree, and let him keep reading.

“It’s pretty hot,” we hear from behind us.

“What the hell?” I say, laughing. “I thought you turned it off.”

“I did,” Oliver grouses, slipping out of his seat and searching for the mechanical bird. It hasn’t mimicked us in a while and now it’s going at it again. A moment later he’s bringing it back to his seat and sitting down with it as he examines it. “It’s on again. How did that happen?”

I shrug. “Beats the hell out of me. I think it might be possessed.”

He turns it off again as it starts to repeat my words and sets it aside. “Can we find another one?” he asks, and I start, looking at him.

“You want another talking bird?” His eyes widen so much it’s comical.

“Oh, dear God, no, I meant the restaurant. Barrel whatever?” I laugh again.

“Cracker Barrel,” I say, and he nods.

“Yeah, I’m sure we can find one on the way.” He grins and we sit in silence for a moment longer before he speaks again.

“You’re majoring in psychology, correct?”

I glance at him. “Yeah, why?”

“I just realized I didn’t know what you were going to school for. We never really talked about it. You just mentioned some classes one night at dinner with your mother.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I plan to get my masters in child psychology after I finish undergrad, and then hopefully eventually my doctorate.”

“That’s very admirable,” he says, his tone sincere and genuine, like he’s proud of me. Why does that make my chest squeeze?

I shrug. “I just find it an interesting field of study and enjoy working with children. I’d like to be a developmental therapist. I think there’s a lot of kids, and parents out there who struggle because they don’t know what is causing their child to be upset or what challenges they’re facing and how to help. I’d like to be able to make things easier for them.”

“Did you have any challenges as a child?” The words come out slowly as if he’s not sure he should be asking.

“I got diagnosed with ADHD as a kid. Struggled in school. It wasn’t severe, but it made things for my mom and me more challenging, and the doctor we had really helped. I also have something called auditory processing disorder, which is kind of what it sounds like. I have trouble processing spoken information sometimes, like it actually goes in one ear and out the other. It’s just harder to understand because my brian and my ears don’t coordinate. One way I’ve heard it described is like a tape playing too fast, so the words are going at a faster speed than my ears can process them.”

“Did you get treatment?” he asks. I nod.

“I had a specialized education plan in school. They had special headphones for me that helped reduce background noise to make it easier for me to hear what the teacher was saying. I had some auditory therapy, and I brought recording devices with me to school.”

“Do you have a specialized plan in college?”

“Not officially, but I’ve talked with some of my professors in the classes I’m struggling with more and they’ve been really good about helping me out. Giving me extra time for tests or letting me be in a quiet room by myself.”

He nods. “That you want to go through so much extra schooling even with your diagnosis is impressive. That doesn’t frighten you?”

“Maybe a little. I think it will be more of a challenge for me, but I can’t let it keep me from doing what I want to do. And I’ll be that much prouder of myself when I’ve accomplished what I’ve set out to.”

“Indeed,” he replies.

He goes back to his book and a while later we’re pulling up to my surprise visit. He’s so engrossed in his book he’s not even aware we stopped until I unbuckle and stand, then take the kindle out of his hands and set it aside as he looks up at me, frowning.

“What are you doing? I was reading that!” He reaches for it and I pull it away again, laughing and gesturing out the window. He turns and his eyes widen at the beautiful lush flower garden we’re parked outside of. I found out about it while searching for places to stop between Philly and Baltimore and knew Oliver would love it. It’s got multiple different gardens, each with gorgeous plants, trees, and flowers arranged in what they call districts. The pictures online were stunning, but as we walk into the Hillside Garden, one of the many on the premises, I’m stunned by the gorgeous scenery and the pathway dusted with moss, winding through the six acre garden. There’s the sound of waterfalls in the distance as we walk, hand in hand, through the tranquil landscape.

After Hillside Garden we visit Oak and Conifer Knoll, which houses majestic, ancient trees in a sprawling park-like landscape.

When we reach the Conservatory District, which contains an array of plants in rooms of 19th century classical architecture, Oliver’s eyes widen in wonder. It’s like watching a child on Christmas morning. He’s enraptured, and I love watching him move around the space in awe. He marvels at the architectural landscaping in Cascade Garden, and I wonder what it would be like for him to do something like this. Something that makes him truly come alive. He hasn’t said a word since we’ve entered, but I don’t mind at all because I know he’s taking it all in and I want him to enjoy every moment.

The indoor children’s garden is adorable and charming and looks like something you would see in a fairytale, with its fountain and balconies. There’s an Orchid House, a Waterlily Court, and more.

When we leave more than three hours later, my feet are sore and my legs ache, but I’ve never seen Oliver look so happy. I grunt when he spins me to him the moment we step onto the sidewalk again, and kisses me.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against my lips. “That was wonderful.”

I rest my hand on his cheek and kiss him again, even as people walk past us. “You’re welcome,” I say.

We return to the RV and head back out on the road. It’s only a couple more hours to Baltimore and a Cracker Barrel for Oliver. We’re both hungry enough that we have lunch on the road and decide we’ll save Cracker Barrel for dinner.

“Would you like me to drive?” Oliver asks, no doubt sensing how tired I am.

“You don’t mind?” I say, and he shakes his head, so I gratefully take the passenger seat and doze off for a bit while he takes the wheel.

I wake to my phone ringing, and when I see that it’s Mom Facetiming me, I answer it. I’ve been sending her pictures and we’ve texted a few times back and forth but haven’t talked on the phone yet.

“You guys having fun?” she asks, and I rotate the screen so she can see Oliver driving. He gives a quick wave and a smile. Not the warm, bright, genuine one he gives me, I notice. The one that meets his eyes and makes him look so fucking sexy. No, this is his fake smile. The one he’s been wearing for years, the one that he breaks out when he’s trying to be happy, and I feel a pang in my chest.

“Yeah, it’s been really great,” I tell her. I know I should feel more guilt than I do. What I’m doing to her, what I’m risking, it’s cruel and she doesn’t deserve it. She’s been an amazing mom. But I can’t ignore what I feel for Oli, even if it's only temporary. Even if it ruins everything. I will never feel wrong for having him, for wanting him.

We don’t talk for long, but I update her on our adventures, and when I hang up the phone, I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

“She sounds stressed and tired,” Oliver says after a moment. I murmur my assent.

“Do you feel guilty?” I ask him.

“Yes,” is his quick reply. I’m not surprised. If he didn’t feel guilty for what we’re doing he wouldn’t be Oliver. Wouldn’t be the man I’m coming to adore. His eyes are sad when he adds, “but I need you more than I feel guilty. You’re the only bright thing in my life. The only thing I’ve ever done for myself. And if I had to do it all over again I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened between us. But please don’t do this if you won’t be able to live with yourself afterwards, Hunter. I’m not worth that. And I don’t want to be the cause of your pain.”

“I think it’s too late for that, Oli,” I tell him softly.