Page 52 of The One Where They Fall in Love

Henry shoves me when I yawn. “Twelve-hour shifts are not for the weak, huh?”

“Yup,” I grumble.

“Is there anything about it that you like?” he asks, and I wish he hadn’t. My stomach drops at the thought of having to answer that question. Because the answer, truthfully, is no. I’m not dreading every second of it, but I’m dreading the thought of having to go throughyearsof this. It’s only been two months and I already feel like I’ve lost my sense of self. I don’t care enough about my work. But maybe that’s the way everyone feels, and I just have to get over it?

I don’t say any of that to Henry though.

“Is that—”

I stop hearing the words coming out of his mouth when I turn around to follow his gaze. Everything becomes slow motion when Elle walks through the door, followed by her friend Lucy and a man. Her hair is curled into voluptuous waves, bouncing as she moves. She flips her hair over her shoulder as she takes off her coat, placing it on the rack by the door. She’s dressed in black jeans that look like they arepaintedonto her legs and a literal triangular piece of fabric for a shirt. It’s red and sparkly, and is only held on to her by a thin strap around her neck and one around her back.

I’ve never seen Elle like this. My body—and my mind for that matter—doesn’t know what to do with it.

Inhale. Exhale.

Very important to keep breathing.

Get yourself together, Oliver.

Suddenly, I realize that Henry is no longer sitting next to me. I whip my head right and left before I see him heading over to Elle and waving like a dork.

“Elle! So good to see you!” I overhear.

He’s adeadman.

When I slide off of the barstool, Elle is giving Henry a hug. I have to stifle a gasp when we make eye contact. She looksstunning.

When they approach me, I realize I haven’t actually moved an inch. Henry comes beside the bar and steps on my foot, trying to shake me from my trance.

“Ol, look who’s here!” he says, slapping me on the back. His voice is annoyingly patronizing. I throw an arm around him and give him an equally harsh slap on his shoulder, pushing him forward with the force of it.

“I have eyes, asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

Elle and Lucy lean against the bar and a tall blonde man stands behind them. “Oliver, you remember Lucy. And this is her fiancé, Liam,” Elle says, nodding to the man behind her. He lifts his hand in a small wave.

“Nice to meet you,” I say in a monotone voice. Henry steps on my foot again. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Well, we understand this is the type of establishment that serves food and drinks, is that correct?” Lucy says sarcastically.

“Right, of course,” I murmur. Elle gives me a weird look.

“Should we sit at the bar instead, Elle?” Lucy asks. Just as she does, a couple slides into the seats beside Henry and me.

“Well, I guess we’ll be over there then,” Elle says awkwardly, and the group heads off towards a free table on the other side of the bar.

When she’s out of eyesight, I lean against the bar and drop my head, trying to regain my composure. I hate being caught off guard. I’m already on edge because I’ve never been to this restaurant, so I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in. I like to know what I’m walking into, from the menu to the layout of the place. Henry knows this, but two guys should be able to walk into a bar and get a bite to eat without one of them freaking out.

And then there’s Elle. The one thing in my life that has caught me so off guard that I’m still trying to recover, months later. Add to that the fact that she looksamazingtonight. I might actually lose my shit if she gets up to dance in that outfit.

So of course, that’s exactly what happens.

About a half hour later, a familiar song comes on that gets Elle and Lucy excited. The pair skip to the dance floor, and it’s not long before I’m the schmuck sitting at a bar, watching the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen shake her body in a way that should be illegal, too scared to do anything about it.

She looks ridiculous. Not in the usual sense of the word, but in the sense that there is no way she can be the same person that I found sleeping on the floor outside of my apartment three months ago. Every set of eyes in the place has been on her since she walked in, including mine.

Her blonde waves bounce beautifully off her shoulders any time she moves. She keeps doing this thing where she runs two fingers down her part and fluffs the back of her hair—and it is literally driving me wild.

Her shirt—if it can even be called that— lays longer on her front than her back. Every time she sways her hips, I can see the gentle curve of her lower back, and I don’t know what to do with myself.