Chapter 15

Morning light filtered through the kitchen curtains as I heard rustling outside. I peeked out the window—Oliver was crouched by the rose beds, shovel in hand, enthusiastically loosening the soil.

"Morning!" He looked up, grinning, dirt smudged on his face. "This soil's too packed. Gotta give these roots some breathing room."

I nodded, turning to brew coffee.

The past two weeks, Oliver had swept into my quiet villa like a whirlwind, breathing life into it. Seashell wind chimes he'd scavenged hung on the porch. Wildflowers he'd picked brightened the dining table. He'd even cleaned out the dusty fireplace, sparking it to life each evening.

As coffee's aroma filled the air, Oliver, hands scrubbed clean, sprawled on the living room rug, flipping through a tattered travel guide. His plaid shirt was rumpled, pants dusted with grass, but he looked oddly charming.

"They've got lavender honey at the market today!" he said, waving the guide like a trophy. "And a goat cheese tasting. Wanna go?"

I slid him a mug and shook my head.

"Not going out again?" He sighed dramatically. "You've been in Favalon six months and haven't even seen the Lake of the Holy Cross?"

My fingers traced the mug's rim. He wasn't wrong—I'd been living like a hermit, curled up in my own shell.

"You're cooped up all the time," Oliver said, leaning closer, his blue eyes locking on mine. "Something weighing you down?"

His bluntness caught me off guard. Dominic never asked me things like that. He'd always waited for me to guess his moods, to coax him, to burn myself out decoding his cryptic emotions.

"Getting out might help," Oliver added softly, his words rippling through my stillness.

[Gotta say, this Oliver's got game…]

[That was a straight shot! I'm speechless.]

[No way! Clara belongs with Dominic!!]

The comments flashed by. Oddly, they didn't annoy me this time. Maybe it was Oliver's clear, cloudless gaze, like Favalon's endless skies.

"…Alright," I said.

He blinked, then whooped, nearly knocking over his coffee. "We're going now! I'm your tour guide!"

The Lake of the Holy Cross shimmered an unreal blue. I stood barefoot on the soft sand, watching Oliver splash like a duck in the shallows. He'd rented a bright yellow rowboat, insisting on teaching me to paddle.

"Use your wrists like this—no, like this!" He leaned in from behind, guiding my hands, his scent all sunshine and pine.

I flashed back to years ago, teaching Dominic to bake a cake, his face blank as frosting smeared his cuffs, no reaction at all.

"Hey, earth to Clara!" Oliver snapped his fingers in front of me. "Check this out!"

He opened his palm, revealing a heart-shaped pebble, faintly pink in the sunlight. "For you," he said, tossing it to me casually, like it was no big deal. "My grandma used to say heart-shaped stones bring good luck. Give us a smile?"

The gift was so simple. No apologies, no guilt trips—just meant to make me happy.

The evening market buzzed with life. Oliver, like an excited retriever, dragged me from stall to stall. "Try this!" He broke a honey cake in half. "The old wolf said it's made with his own beehive honey."

The sweetness melted on my tongue, and I squinted in delight. Oliver reached out, his thumb brushing my lip. "Got some frosting there."

The small gesture froze us both. His ears turned red, and he stammered, "Uh, they've got lavender sachets over there!"

I watched him hurry off, a smile tugging at my lips. With Dominic, I'd needed comments to believe he cared. With Oliver, his affection was as clear as daylight.

At dusk, we sat on a hillside, stargazing. Oliver pulled two wine glasses and a bottle of red from his backpack like a magician. As the wine flowed, so did his stories—flunking art history at Cambridge, nearly getting arrested as a spy in the desert, his quirky uncle's antique shop. I listened, sipping quietly.

"I know who you are," he said suddenly.

My hand froze on the glass.

"Saw your work at an auction in Lumeria," he continued, staring at the stars. "Your painting, Rainy Night… I stood there for an hour."

I turned, stunned. It was a college piece I'd donated to my alma mater before graduating, never expecting it to be auctioned.

"The figure in the rain—it's like they were the rain," he said softly. "Like you."

A breeze rippled through the lavender fields, purple waves rolling under the stars. I realized the comments hadn't appeared once today.

Oliver tilted his head, his eyes reflecting the galaxy. "Wanna hit Arles tomorrow? Where Van Gogh painted Starry Night Café?"

I nodded without hesitation.

For once, I didn't dwell on the past or worry about the future. I just let this sunlit wolf pull me into a bright, living world.