Waiting For Sunday

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“I’m so sorry about this,” I apologise to Oliver as I walk out into the reception area.

“Sunday, jesus—,” he exclaims, his eyes wide, his expression concerned.

“I’m alright Oliver, honestly, it’s probably just a tummy bug,”

“Well it must be a bad one, I’ve never seen you look this ill,”

Walking over to him, I give a wry smile as his arm drapes over my shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll take you home, get you tucked up in bed,”

“But don’t you have work?”

“I do, but I can work from home this afternoon, I don’t have any meetings and everything else can be done via email,”

“Only if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble,”

“I’ll be fine,” he smiles, looking back to Amalia as he opens the door.

“Take care of her Ollie,”

“Will do,” he assures her as we leave.

“Call me when you feel better Sun,” she shouts after me, and I wave back trying to smile, still feeling like shit.

Oliver walks me to his car, opening the door and guiding me as I climb inside. He watches intently and then closes the door behind me once I have my seatbelt fastened around me safely.

“How you feelin’?” He asks, a frown still burrowed deep in his brows.

“I’ll be better after I sleep,” I tell him.

He nods and then pulls out into the afternoon traffic. The drive is quiet, my head leant against the passenger side window, feeling Oliver’s gaze flitting between me and the road ahead.

Pulling up outside a little later, he quickly shuts off the car and walks around opening mine.

“Here we go— steady,” he rushes holding out an arm for me.

“I’m ok,” I tell him, “Honestly Oliver I’m alright,”

“No I know, but I’m worried, you still don’t look 100%,”

“Oh thanks,” I scoff quietly.

“Come on,” he chuckles, “Give me your keys,”


“Sunday— give me— your keys,”

I roll my eyes and hand them over, watching with a small smile as he opens the door, walking inside as if this is his home too.

“Right— bed,”

“Hardly think I’m in the best condition to go to bed,”

“To sleep Sunday,” he grumbles, pulling at my hand as he closes the door behind us and then starts up the stairs.

I like this side of Oliver, he’d make some woman a good husband one day. Kind, attentive, caring. I mean, what more could you ask of him?

“Get into bed and I’ll grab you some water and some Advil,”

“Can I at least brush my teeth first?”

“If you need too,”

“I really do,” I tell him. He nods, turning and making his way back downstairs and into the kitchen as I wander down to the bathroom and brush my teeth and remove my make up.

Climbing back into bed a couple of minutes later, a softly smiling Oliver walks in, one hand holding Advil, the other holding a tumbler with ice-cold water inside.

“How you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” I flush.

“Why on earth would you feel embarrassed? You’re sick Sunday, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about, everyone gets sick,”

“I know, but I’d rather you not have seen me like this,”

“You always look beautiful,”

I look to him, feeling my cheeks flush, “You know Oliver Ross, I do believe you could charm the birds from the trees,”

“Well then clearly my mother taught me well,”

“Your mom?”

“Yes— she always told me that no matter how a woman looked, if you were truly fond of her, then they’d still look just as beautiful,”

“Your mom sounds lovely,”

“She is,” he smiles, finally handing me the Advil and water. I smile timidly, whispering thank you as I swallow the small white tablets and wash them down with the ice-cold water. Handing it back to him as I settle myself, the duvet thick and plush and watch as he stands and sets the water down.

As I turn onto my side, I quietly gasp as Oliver walks around and begins to undress.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in with you,” he smiles, his brows hanging low above his eyes.

“But I thought you had work,”

“I do, but it can wait,” he replies, pulling at his trousers and letting them pool to his feet.

Moments later he climbs in, and I watch almost dumbfounded as his lean but muscular body nestles in beside me, his fingers coming up to my face and pushing hair behind my ear.

“Just get some rest, but if you need me, I’ll be here, right beside you,”

“Thank you,” I smile back, my heart beating a little faster, butterflies dancing in my chest.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

“Maybe just some toast,” I smile back, smiling at Oliver as he picks up his bag and slouches down beside me on the couch.

“Just toast?”

“Maybe some peanut butter too,”

“Really? I’ve never really been a fan of peanut butter?”

“Are you serious?” I gasp, bewilderment clear on my face.

“Mhmm, just never really been a fan,”

“Well, we need to change that don’t we?”

“Sunday— honestly, I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me like it,”

“We’ll see,” I smile, pulling the blanket from my legs.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you something to eat,”

“But shouldn’t I be looking after you?” He asks as he pulls out a manuscript from his bag.

“I’m ok Oliver, I’ve had some sleep, and thanks to you I slept really well,”

He watches with a smile as I make my way out into the kitchen. We’d come downstairs a little over half an hour ago, and I meant it, I really had slept well. I’d gotten myself so panicked back at the studio and even though I don’t feel so stupid anymore, I liked that Oliver wanted to care for me.

I couldn’t remember a single time when Jake and I had been together, that he’d stayed behind to look after me, even though countless times before I had nursed and babied him through the many countless hangovers.

Toasting some bread, I pulled out the peanut butter from the cupboard and a banana from the basket on the dining table and began making him a sandwich. I’d like to think that the mixture of sweet and savoury would help change his mind and open him up to a whole new world.

A few minutes passed and even as he called after me, checking that I was ok, I finally walked back in and sat the plate down on his lap.

Fountain pen in hand, he looked between me and the toasted sandwich and scrunched up his nose. Sliding the pen underneath the first triangle he looked up hesitantly at me.

“Seriously? Peanut butter and— banana?”

“Hey— don’t knock it until you try it,”

With a nod he placed his fountain pen down on the coffee table along with the manuscript and pressed on, pulling the toasted triangle from the plate.

“Here goes,” he breathes in.

“It’s not poison, it’s just peanut butter,” I giggle as I sit down beside him again.

“I know,” he replied playfully.

Pushing the triangle toasted sandwich into his mouth, he hesitantly takes a bite and leans back against the couch. His frown eases and as he looks up to me, I smirk knowing that I had won him over.


“Yeah— it’s terrible— you won’t want any of this,” he chuckles feigning disgust as he takes another bite.

Still sitting beside him, I internally congratulate myself, before settling into a comfortable silence and both eat our sweet and savoury treat.

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