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“Thanks. It taught me a lot. Now I know what’s non-negotiable for me and what I really want in a relationship.” Georgie reached across the table, placing her hand on top of Oliver’s.
Lightheadedness swept over him as his heart skipped several beats.
“I’m glad I don’t have to pretend anymore.” She smiled. “It was becoming really difficult faking how I feel about you.” Her thumb stroked his hand. “Because I really like you, Oliver.”
Skin against skin, the soft caress of her finger made him ache for so much more. “I like you, too, Georgie. Very much.”
Which was putting it mildly. Oliver fancied her rotten, and, on several occasions, lost in a Georgie-inspired sexy daydream on his commute, had missed his streetcar stop. But with one avoidable hiccup already part of their burgeoning relationship history, Oliver didn’t care for another. Honesty was the best policy, even if it made things temporarily uncomfortable.
He laced his fingers through Georgie’s. “Can I let you in on something?”
She scrunched her nose and leaned in, conspiratorially. “You’re a secret Habs fan?” she whispered, her gaze teasing.
A tentative smile curved his lips as he let out a nervous laugh. “Nothing so unforgivable.” He glanced down at their entwined hands, dreading what he needed to say. “It’s just that…my current contract with the museum ends next August.”
“Oh!” Georgie froze for several beats, then gave in to a smile. “So when do discussions start about extending it?”
A lump knotted in Oliver’s throat. “They won’t. I was brought in for a year.”
Her sunny expression slipped. “Oh.” Shifting in her seat, she sucked in her bottom lip and looked downward.
Fuck. Oliver closed his eyes briefly. As far as tricky announcements went, telling Georgie about his brief Toronto tenure during their first date was neither clever nor helpful. She seemed gutted—seemed being the key word. Oliver didn’t want to flatter himself.
“The plan was, I’d come here, restructure a few things, then return to my life in London. Amalia has a list of post-grad applicants who might take over nine months from now.” He swallowed hard, dreading how she’d respond. If she chose to end their date then and there, how could he blame her?
“There’s no chance you’ll stay?” Georgie asked.
In a city where he could run into his deadbeat dad? Oliver slowly shook his head.
Blowing out her lips, Georgie loosened her grip on his hand. “So nine months—next summer.” She blinked hard and pulled away. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Like I wasn’t expecting to fall for you.
As her fingers slipped through his, Oliver’s heart withered.
She stared pensively out the window at two passing streetcars. “I finally meet someone kind, smart, and sexy…and he’s leaving.”
“But I’m here now.”
Georgie’s gaze swung back.
“We can still go out, get to know each other. Have fun.” He paused, hoping he wasn’t about to inadvertently push her away. “Unless you’re dead set on something long-term or guaranteed, which…” Trailing off, Oliver glanced downward. “Look, last year made me realize how short life really is, and I’d hate for you to waste precious time with someone passing through when someone local, and probably better, is out there.” He lifted his chin. “If that’s what you’d prefer, I’ll curse my rotten luck, but I’ll understand, Georgie. A woman as wonderful as you should have everything her heart desires and nothing less.”
Georgie’s expression was unreadable. Oliver feared the worst. He’d been in this position before, waiting for the soul-crushing reaction.
“Well, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that expectations ruin everything and nothing’s ever guaranteed.” A ghost of a grin flexed her lips. She reached around her plate and captured his hand. “Fuck it! Let’s do this.”
A wave of relief crashed in Oliver’s chest. “Really?”
“Yeah, like you said, life’s too short. Let’s live in the moment.” She shifted forward, threading her fingers through Oliver’s again. “And nine months is nothing to sneeze at. Hell, we could kiss a lot in that time”—she bit the tip of her tongue teasingly—“and as the Brits say, shag ourselves senseless?”
Desire coursed through Oliver as he contemplated greedy kisses, her soft moans against his skin, and his hands filled with her breasts. A torrent of heat blazed in his boxers. “Exactly.”
Fanning herself, Georgie laughed. “Not that I’m expecting anything.”
Oliver playfully scoffed. “Of course not.”
“Never!” she added.
