Patrick grinned at the way Oliver insisted on calling his favorite sandwich peanut butter in jelly, despite how many times his parents had explained it was peanut butter and jelly. Of course, Oliver also referred to his second favorite sandwich as a girl cheese rather than grilled. The silly names amused Patrick to no end.
“I think that’s a perfect example of what it means to extend an olive branch. So Oliver means peaceful.” In Patrick’s mind, it was a perfect representation of his grandson. While Oliver sometimes struggled with his size and his strength, he genuinely hated to ever see anyone hurt or sad, and he didn’t doubt his grandson truly had given away half his favorite lunch to make amends.
“What else does it mean?” It was clear from Oliver’s tone he was less than impressed with being peaceful. And Patrick was reminded of Colm’s outright disdain over being compared to a dove.
“Oh, you’ll like the second meaning. It’s a good one. According to the Norse, Oliver means affectionate.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you are very loving, that you like kisses and cuddles and hugs and tickles.” Patrick backed his description up with an example of each definition, grinning widely when Oliver giggled as he tickled him.
“I like that one.”
Patrick had suspected he would. Oliver loved nothing more than to curl up on Patrick’s lap for a cuddle during story time. And he practically bowled Patrick over every time he saw him, running to him for a huge hug.
Patrick ruffled Oliver’s hair. “I knew you would. But…I’ve saved the best for last.”
Oliver’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“The Germans claim that Oliver represents an elf army.”
Oliver laughed loudly, his delight almost tangible. “That’s silly, Pop Pop.”
“Yes, but just think of all the fun you could have with an elf army. So many magical opportunities.”
That idea sparked Oliver’s imagination, just as Patrick knew it would, and for the next hour, the two of them remained in the rocking chair, creating their own elf army stories, each fictional adventure more outlandish than the next, until Oliver fell asleep in his arms.
Patrick remained there, enjoying the closeness and refusing to relinquish it. His heart panged as he realized there would most likely be no more newborn grandbabies to hold. Oliver, the youngest, would be the last. He placed a kiss on the young boy’s head, looking down at his sweet, innocent face as he slept.
Now, as always—whenever he was with one of his grandchildren—he thought of Sunday, and for a moment, he allowed himself to pretend she was sitting right there beside him on the porch.
“Ah, lass,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I miss you so.”
A slight breeze ruffled his hair, feeling so much like her fingers, caressing him. And then he imagined her voice, whispering back, “I’m right here.”
1
Four years ago…
“How was your date?”
Oliver jerked at the unexpected voice, unaware of Gavin’s presence until he spoke. “Hey, man. Didn’t see you there. Why are you sitting in the dark?”
Gavin Hawke, Oliver’s foster brother, was sacked out on the couch in the living room of their parents’ house. His folks were out of town for the weekend on an impromptu trip to New York. Oliver’s fathers, Chad and Sean, had surprised his mother with tickets to see Hamilton on Broadway.
“I was watching a movie. It ended and I’d just turned the TV off when I heard your car pull into the driveway. Thought I’d see how your date went.”
Oliver walked into the room, turning on a lamp before dropping down next to Gavin. Gavin had come to live with his family when they were both fifteen, and while the first year had been a pretty rough adjustment for them both, over the past five years, Gavin had become his best friend, the two of them as close as true brothers.
Oliver’s eyes lit up when they landed on a pizza box on the coffee table, and he leaned forward to flip open the lid.
Hot damn. Jackpot. Two pieces left.
Oliver grabbed both, flipping one over on top of the other to make a meat lover’s sandwich, and took a big bite.
“Didn’t you just go out to dinner?” Gavin asked.
Oliver grimaced. “Mmm-hmm,” he muttered, his mouth full of food.
“Must be that wooden leg your Pop Pop swears you have.”
Oliver swallowed and shook his head. “Not exactly.”
Gavin reached for a beer bottle on the end table and took the last swig.
That was when Oliver noticed there were several empties on the floor. “Private party?” Though they weren’t quite twenty-one yet, they’d been sneaking beers from their dads for a couple of years. Their dads pretended not to notice because they never took it too far. Given the fact Sean and Chad had been best friends their entire lives, and Sean had grown up above the pub, Oliver was pretty sure they’d done the same thing when they were younger.
Gavin lifted one shoulder casually. “Rare for me to get the place all to myself. Thought I’d take advantage of it, try out the bachelor concept. Watched some porn, drank a few beers, ordered a large pizza, farted, scratched my balls, and burped at will.”
Oliver laughed before shoveling in another bite of pizza. “Wow. Best night ever. I should have stayed here with you.”
“Guess that answers my question about how the date went.”
Oliver reached for a napkin, wiping pepperoni grease off his chin. “The best two words I can think of to describe Vivian are ‘high’ and ‘maintenance.’”
“That’s not good,” Gavin muttered.
“Tell me about it. She insisted we try some trendy new restaurant downtown that all her girlfriends have been raving about. Cost me sixty bucks a plate for five bites of food. She kept going on and on about how great it was, even suggested we go back again next weekend.”
“Okay. So not a wooden leg. You’re hungry.”
Oliver tore off a large chunk of the crust. “Fucking starving.”
“Not like it was your first date with her. You know what
