Authors Note: No beta, all mistakes are mine.
The first chapter is Bernie.
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Her phone buzzes late on Tuesday afternoon.
You free Friday?
Dinner?
My place?
I'll cook?
Yes, El. I'll come to your place Friday for dinner.
What time? Should I bring wine?
7:30?
Just you
Actually, a bottle or two of red would be good
I hope you like Italian
It's all I can cook
She wants to be annoyed by the constant buzzing - can't he just send a single message? - but she knows he's too impatient to type out all his thoughts before pressing send. That thought makes her smile.
I love Italian. See you at 7:30.
–-
It wasn't their first meal together; alone or with others; at her place or his. But over the last couple of months, the dinners had taken on a certain ambience. The lighting had started to be a touch lower, the food slightly more elegant, and their conversations more overt. They had also been testing their physical boundaries more and more each dinner: they stood closer together; brushed hands; fed each other bites of food; and ended night with hugs that got longer each time.
An outsider would call it dating. Kathleen explicitly called it dating when she agreed to invite Eli over for the evening. But Elliot and Olivia had not yet called it dating.
When she arrived, he already had bruschetta arranged on a platter and waiting on the kitchen island next to a bouquet of wildflowers. Those are pretty , she thinks as she sets the wine down and runs a finger of a few petals, and new .
He half turns from the stove, stirring something in a pot, "The salad is ready, but the Bolognese needs another 10 minutes," he replaces the lid and wipes his hands on the towel resting over his shoulder. He points to the glasses partially hidden by the bouquet, "Pour some wine and enjoy the bruschetta."
She can sense that he's excited, childlike, as if he cannot wait to show her his good work.
"Impressive, El."
"Well, the pasta did come in a box," grinning, he grabs a yellow box from the top of a wastebasket and waves it a couple of times before dropping it back in, "so don't get your hopes too high."
–-
The meal exceeded her expectations though. She already knew he was probably a better chef than she was, but she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't impressed by his cooking. They ate at his table, with candles, slow and relaxed. Then they took their glasses and a slice of tiramisu (which he admitted was also store bought) to the garden, sitting close to each other on the small sofa.
She remarked that he'd cut back most of the weeds and even tilled a spot of dirt.
"Yea, Ma wanted to plant something or rather, so I cleaned up a small section for her."
"That's nice. Where is she tonight?"
"She had a card game with some friends," he looks at his watch, "but she should be back any time now, they never go past 10:00."
"Mmmmm," she hums over another bite of the rich dessert, "it's nice that she goes out."
Bernie joined them in the garden a few minutes later, but only to inform them that she was heading to bed.
"It's such a nice night Bernie, sit, have a cup of tea." Olivia invites, pointing to the free chair, and ignoring the look of mild disbelief that flashed across Elliot's face.
"Oh, it is beautiful out tonight, but I really am tired, so I'll let you two enjoy it." She kisses Elliot on the cheek then bids them good night.
–-
They stay outside enjoying the wine and their conversation. As the evening passed, they slowly rested into each other. At one point Elliot turned and put his arm on the back of the sofa. Then, a while later, Olivia also turned, tucked her legs up, and leaned into him. As their words ebbed and flowed, she melted against his body, and after a light, but cool, breeze, he wrapped his arms around her and held her hands in his.
For the past several minutes they sat in a serene silence, letting their fingers play over each other, intertwining, rubbing, tapping, and tracing.
"Liv," Elliot was the one to break the quiet.
"Hmmm?"
"I really want to kiss you."
Her heart stopped. Thank god. Finally. She knew tonight had to be the night. There had been a certain vibe, an electricity, between them all evening. She knew he sensed it too and she did everything she could to cultivate the feeling. Smiles, slight touches, then firmer touches, her tone. She was aware of it all and the effect it would have on him.
For weeks - through their dinners, coffees, texts, and calls - they had been working their way here. They knew that their "friendship" was slowly evolving to a new relationship. But they were both apprehensive, too afraid to make the first move - for their own reasons.
What if it was too soon after Kathy? What if the kids, his or Noah, don't approve? What will others think? Fin will never let me live this down.
What if she rejects me? Does she really want this? Has she, can she, forgive me? Does she trust me?
She twists her upper body the best she can, feeling the cool air hitting her back where she had been leaning against him. Her brown eyes flit from his blue ones down to his lips and back. She gives him a shy smile and a slight nod. But that's all it takes.
His lips meet hers. His lips are softer than she'd expected, and she tastes the wine and a hint of sweet coffee as he presses firmly into her. It's only a few seconds before he starts to pull away, but she follows his lips with hers, catching his bottom lip between hers.
He hums into the kiss and brings his hand up, letting his fingers weave softly into her hair, and then lightly adding pressure to the back of her head. She takes that as a signal to tilt her head and part her lips. Their tongues touch briefly before they both pull back.
Sounds of their labored breathing join the noises of the night for a couple of moments before their lips meet again.
–-
It's around 1:45 a.m. when Bernie gets up to use the bathroom and refill her bedside glass. She does this every night, usually at the same time. She's lived with Elliot long enough now that she can make it from her bedroom to the bathroom and kitchen and back without needing to turn on a light, unless Eli's left his school bag or soccer gear out.
But tonight her path is partially lit. A soft light spills from the window between Elliot's room and the living space. Hmm, that's odd. He's usually asleep by now .
On her way back from filling her glass, she notices shadows moving through the light. She approaches the window and peers in, the best one can peer into frosted and textured glass, but she can't quite make out her son's movements in the middle of the room. What is he still doing up?
She's on her way to his door to make sure everything is alright when she hears a woman's voice. She can't make out what it's saying, but it doesn't matter. She realizes that Olivia must be in there with in. Well I'll be damned! Katie's going to be so excited to hear about this. And she owes me $5.
–-
By morning Bernie can barely contain her excitement over her late-night discovery. She had completely intended on just waiting them out. But by 8:20 she had run out of patience. And at 8:27, she knocks on Elliot's door lightly and then twists the knob with one hand while holding a mug of his favorite blend in her other, "Elliot, I made coffee…" but she trails off.
She sees Elliot on his back, head tossed back but turned towards Olivia, and soft pffts of air escaping his parted lips. Olivia is tucked into his side with her head on his chest, but she's completely encased in the blankets, only her closed eyes and hair visible. As she looks around she can see their clothes tossed haphazardly on a chair in the corner, though Elliot's boxers are still at the foot of the bed, and their wine glasses are on his dresser.
She backs out of the room as quietly as she can, but the click of the door registered to Elliot. He blinks, adjusting to the morning light, then inhales deeply to fully rouse himself and to take in the smell of her, of them. He lets himself soak it all in before his dry mouth and full bladder refuse to be ignored.
After stopping by the bathroom, he makes his way into the kitchen. He sees Bernie standing there smiling over her mug.
"That's quite the Cheshire Cat impression you are making there," he grumbles as he eyes the mug that Bernie had previously carried to his room, "that mine?"
"That's yours. I was going to bring you coffee in bed, but then I realized we had a houseguest."
"Houseguest? Mama, what is this 1957?"
"Boy, you sure are grumpy for a man who got some last night."
"MA!"
