#call back thread

Tristan: "No, look at this." He held up his arm. "Looks like a damn kraken tried to rip my arm off."

Oliver: "Not your fuckin' arm. The shit with that guy - Luke."

Tristan: "Oh, right. So how'd it go? Judging from the fact that you're still calling him 'that guy' I take it not well."

Oliver: His back to Tristan saved him the trouble of masking the confusion and panic. "...When did I ask for his number?"

Tristan: "Uh...a week and change maybe? What, you don't remember?"

Oliver: "No...I don't remember shit." Nausea crept into his body. Tristan wouldn't lie about something like that. But - no. He could make no logical path to his having Luke Graham's number.

"So, I asked ya?"

Tristan: "Keep telling you not to drink whatever O’Charlie’s has on tap. Probably one step above motor oil."

Tristan nodded. "Yep. You insisted and persisted until I did. I was hesitant, no offense. He's just been in such a bad way."

Oliver: Oliver frowned at his boss, tossing the dirty rag in his hands to the side. "Well, yeah...he just - the shit from before. Dunno what's wrong with that man."

Tristan: "Grief," Tristan said simply. "Pain. Uncertainty. It'll fuck up the best of us."

Oliver: "Don't make people lay on someone unconscious. That's another kinda fucked up."

Tristan: "What?"

Oliver: "When ya came t'get em. I woke up with him layin' on me, man. S'why I have em a shiner."

Tristan: Tristan's brow furrowed. "He didn't say anything about you being asleep or passed out...."

Oliver: "I tried t'kick him out n'he started in on that Robert shit. I don't remember askin' for his number, man. I swear I didn't."

Tristan: "Well unless you have a twin no one knows about, you did." Which opened up a whole can of worms about Oliver actually losing time because of his lifestyle choices but Tristan wouldn't go there. It wasn't his place.

"Maybe you decided not to go through with whatever made you ask and you deleted it."

Oliver: Oliver looked up, deadpanned expression running pale. Tristan was abandoned to his own devices, his employee disappearing below deck to his locker, to his phone.

Had he stored the number? He couldn't have lost that much -

Graham, L.

Oliver stared at his phone.

Tristan: Tristan gave a sympathetic look to Oliver's retreating back, trying to imagine losing time on a regular basis. That was the only explanation here.

He knew he wasn't lying. Oliver knew he wasn't lying. Luke knew he wasn't lying. So if they were all telling the truth...

He got started on their daily clean up. He'd go down to check on Oliver if he didn't come back up soon.

Oliver: There was no way. He clicked through messages. There were none. Recent calls? Cleared. He never emptied his Recent Calls page. He should be upstairs helping Tristan Seger. Instead, he was pacing.

Luke Graham was called, phone pressed to his ear, dropped to his hip, and returned.

"This is fucking stupid."

Luke: Miles away at the library, Luke was frozen, staring at his phone. It was on silent but he could swear that Dana's name had flashed across the screen for a moment.

He slowly set his pen down. Should wait for a call back? Call back himself? Text?

Or should he do nothing at all? What if it was Oliver and not Dana?

Oliver: "Doin' what-the-fuck-ever. Talkin' shit 'bout some fucker named Robert. The fuck is goin' on with my life."

The phone continued to ring, sent him to voicemail.

He called again.

Luke: Luke took a deep breath. Another call. Maybe it was Dana.

He made his way to a more private area and very cautiously answered.

"Hello?"

Oliver: "Luke Graham?"

Luke: Not Dana.

"Yes....?"

Oliver: Oliver held his breath for a moment, letting it escape in a sharp exhale. "How the fuck do I have your number?"

Luke: Definitely not Dana. "I...I don't--" He forced himself to relax. "I don't know. I didn't give it to you."

Oliver: "Don't fuckin' lie t'me."

Luke: "I'm not lying, I didn't give it to you. Why would I? So you could hit me again and make my relive my worst memories over and over?"

Oliver: "You're the one that was on top of me when I woke up!"

Luke: "You wer--no, I'm not doing this with you. You called me. You got my number. I don't know how but you did, and now you're calling to yell at me because you got my number."

Oliver: "Tristan Seger said I asked for it from him. I did not fuckin' do that. Just like I did not let ya lay on top of me. Stop actin' like I'm a fuckin' idiot. I dunno what game you're playin' but I'm fuckin' done."

Luke: "Tristan Seger gave you my number? Why?!"

Oliver: "He said I asked!"

Luke: "Why the hell did you ask?! For this delightful experience?"

Oliver: "I didn't fucking ask!"

Luke: "Then why did he say you did?!"

And that's when it clicked. Oliver hadn't woken up one day and asked for the number of a man be most likely hated.

Dana did.

Oliver: "I don't fuckin' know!" he all but screamed. "I wanna know why ya keep showin' up in my life!"

Luke: "I haven't gone near you in weeks!" Not unless Dana was present, and even then he never made the first move. He waited for his boyfriend to come to him.

Was that a bullshit technicality? Yes. But that was the only way to give Oliver an answer without incurring more of his wrath.

Oliver: He couldn't have the police involved. This was a lawyer. Nothing would be done anyway. He was trapped with this man in his life.

"Ya pull somethin' on me again n'you're gonna wish ya hadn't. I mean it, man. Enough." But would Luke catch the trepidation in his tone before the dial tone...

Luke: "You called me! Are you seriously threat--?!" No, he didn't catch it. He was too busy feeling his heart trying to leap out of his chest.

Luke closed his eyes. This wasn't going to work. They needed someone else to borrow.

Oliver: His phone, jacket and wallet were collected. He had no idea what that phone call was meant to yield, but so much did he want a cigarette, a joint, a beer. Something; anything.

"Sorry 'bout that," he muttered once he returned on deck.

Tristan: "No worries," Tristan said casually. He'd managed to make a good dent in the clean-up while Oliver had been below deck. "Good work today. Sorry if the whole phone number thing freaked you out."

Oliver: "S'fine, man. It ain't your problem. I'll deal with it."

Oliver looked around for something to busy himself with, already drifting into his thoughts once more. He forced himself back, picking up a large wet broom.

Tristan: Tristan nodded and continued wiping down the deck.

"Oh, want some overtime this weekend? It's not dock related."

Oliver: "What's it related to, then?"

Tristan: "Cleaning out my mama's rain gutters."

Oliver: "I can do it on my own."

Tristan: "You sure? She'll try to feed you her entire pantry."

Oliver: "I ain't gonna turn down a home cooked meal."

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "Well, then you'll have enough food for a week and some overtime pay."

Oliver: "How about just the meal?"

Tristan: "No, come on. No matter what the work or how short the time is spent doing it, people on my crew get paid. You know that."

Oliver: Oliver sighed and stared at his boss for a beat.

"Overtime n'one meal, not a week. Deal?"

Tristan: "You're more than welcome to attempt talking her into it," he said with a grin.

Oliver: He smiled back, though scarcely reaching his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Tristan: "All right, then. Tomorrow morning, seven sharp."

Oliver: "Your place, or here?"

Tristan: "How about my place? I'll drive us over, give you a ride back."

Oliver: "...Alright. Thanks." Why him and not someone else, he wondered.

"Ya good for now?"

Tristan: "Yep, all good," Tristan said with a nod. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

Oliver: "Kay. Tomorrow." He waved behind, lighting a cigarette as he walked away. It was time for O'Charlie's.

Gina/Charlie: For someone else in Edenton, it was also time for O'Charlie's. For a very different reason, however.

"Charles, would you tell your customers to quit judging me? I'm not drinking. I'm not drinking!" Gina added to the patrons sitting at the bar, staring at her.

And at the bump visible under her coat.

"I don't tell 'em what to do. Ain't their daddy," Charlie grunted from behind the bar. "What'd you want again?"

"The bourbon on the sticky note I gave you. I don't have it, Pete doesn't have it, the liquor store doesn't have it, The Brig doesn't have it."

"Why this one?"

"Because I have a rude guest demanding it and I'm worried he's going to do gross things to the room if we don't serve it to him."

Oliver: Oliver adjusted in his seat two stools to the right of Gina Lawson, blatantly listening in as other patrons were. He had nothing to add, but he was curious...

"Which bourbon is it?"

Gina/Charlie: Gina turned toward the man who'd spoken, hope lighting her face. "Crocodile...uh..."

"Croc Jaw Poison," Charlie supplied.

"Yes, that! Do you know it?"

Oliver: The blond twirled the unlit cigarette between his fingers. Sounded familiar. Something back during his army days.

His brows rose suddenly.

"Dark green label? Ya ain't looked everywhere. That drive through convenience store in Windsor has it."

Gina/Charlie: "Oh, thank you! You just saved my inn's reputation and my husband from having to clean up god knows what."

Gina was reaching for her keys when Charlie snatched them away. "What the--!"

"I ain't lettin' a lady in a delicate condition buy bourbon. Store won't either."

"But I need it! Want Lawrence to have to clean some man's fluids from my curtains?"

"Sit and hush. I'll send Dwight."

Oliver: Oliver stared at the owner, frowning. What a prick. But then again, she was in a state.

"Why ain't your husband doin' the askin' 'round?" he finally asked once Charley turned his back.

Gina: "He is," she sighed. "We split it up. He went to the liquor store and The Brig and then got called back by the staff."

Oliver: "Just kick the guy out if he's bein' a dick."

Gina: "Asshole booked the suite for two weeks and has been ordering room service twice a day." That was a lot of money and a lot of potential for more.

Oliver: "He's gonna, like, suicide in that room," he laughed, twirling his cigarette again.

"Ya need insurance or somethin' for that kinda thing?"

Gina/Charlie: "He better not," she said dryly, conceding defeat and hoisting herself onto a barstool.

Gina nodded. "Yep. I need insurance against anything that might get me sued." She blinked as Charlie set a coffee cup and a bowl of pretzels in front of her. "You won't let the pregnant lady buy bourbon she isn't going to drink but you'll give her coffee?"

Charlie scowled. "It's a Shirley Temple. Woulda put it in a glass but that lady was over here sayin' folks were judgin'."

He grunted again as a smile slowly broke out over her face. "Quit givin' me that look and drink it."

Oliver: "Put it in a teacup at the very least." He couldn't judge. The evidence was under his nose. He looked around anyway. Most had gone about their business. Two had yet to take initiative to fuck off.

"Ever heard of Shirley Temple? She's gotta virgin drink named after her. Ain't that somethin'? You're old enough t'know of her, right? You're like sixty."

Gina/Charlie: "Eeeeeverybody's a critic," Charlie muttered, taking Gina's drink and transferring it to the most dainty cup he had. It actually wasn't all that dainty, but it was small and almost nice. That counted for something, right?

Gina chuckled softly to herself as the last two busybodies--giving her savior the dirtiest look they could muster--finally looked away.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

Oliver: Hell, Oliver was surprised he had even that. He looked from the cup to the man with refrained humor, seemingly ignoring the gratitude.

"Yeah? Where's mine?"

Charlie: "Keep it up, Langdon. I'll replace your beer with Goldschlager."

Oliver: "Ya won't do it," he grinned. "I'll like it too much."

Charlie: "If you do, it'll finally let me get rid of it all."

Oliver: Yeah? His empty frosted glass of beer was pushed forward, gaze steady. Challenge accepted.

"Nothing's stoppin' ya."

Charlie: Scowling mightily and never breaking eye contact, Charlie reached behind him for a rather dusty looking bottle of Goldschlager.

He cracked it open, pulled the glass closer.

Oliver: Oh, shit. He almost forgot - no, priorities. Alcohol was a priority.

"Uh, so uh. Boy or girl?"

Gina: The priority had taken the form of a full glass of cinnamon flavored nightmare fuel that had been placed directly in front of him.

"Surprise," said Gina, clearing her throat to hide a giggle fit. She patted her belly. "Little baby No Name."

Oliver: Good smile, he thought. She didn't belong here. Her husband should have made this stop.

"Ya like them noun names like February, Crystal, or Daisy?"

Gina: "No, my taste is more....marine oriented. Pearl. Marina. Ariel."

Oliver: Oh. Right. The Wayside Inn. "Ya want a girl," he pointed out.

Gina: "I wouldn't mind one. Wouldn't mind a boy either. I stray a bit from the ocean for boy names. Cooper. Elias. Lawrence. Even though actual Lawrence said no, I might make it a middle name."

Oliver: "Hmm." He took his first sip. "Elias ain't bad. What's your last name now?"

Gina: "Atlas. Lawson-Atlas technically but I mostly use Atlas."

Oliver: Another sip. "Ah. Nah. Elias won't work. Too much S."

Gina: "Fair point. What about Ariel? I like that for a girl or a boy."

Oliver: "Ari - no. He'll get the crap kicked outta him for the rest of his life."

Gina: "He would not," she laughed. "Ariel is a million times better than Drift Wood."

Oliver: "That's just a cruel spirit what named him. Ya ain't cruel enough. If anything you're too nice."

Gina: "She's not cruel just cringy. Her last name is Wood and when she found out she was having a boy she decided on Drift because it would be....I don't know, zen?"

Oliver: "N'now look at him. Bein' criticized for his existence in this here bar." Sweet golden cinnamon nectar was swallowed down. That familiar tingle in his arms was like a greeting hug.

Gina: "I heard a rumor he's going to change it, poor thing. His mama's very upset as you would imagine."

She sipped her Shirley Temple. "How's the Goldschlager?"

Oliver: "I'll be a gold statue by tomorrow," he smiled, still dwelling on that sucker Drift and his life over a damn name.

Gina: "You know he's gonna refuse to sell you anything else, right?" she chuckled. She felt an odd sense of pride that she'd gotten him to smile. Something told her he didn't do it very often.

"At least until he runs out. You really will become a gold statue."

Oliver: That laugh, and her rosy cheeks. Pregnancy glow seemed to be a real thing.

"Nothin' wrong with somethin' that'll put hair on your chest. I mean...just mine, I guess."

Gina: Another chuckle. "Or something that'll turn you back into a seventeen year-old that feels really cool drinking in the parking lot with his friends."

Oliver: "Nah. I was never that seventeen-year-old boy. I was gettin' ready t'join the army. I was out runnin' every night with a backpack stuffed with all my textbooks."

Gina: "You were in the army?" Gina could absolutely imagine him, skinny and determined, running laps with his backpack. "Are you still?"

Oliver: "Was, yeah. Retired now," he shrugged, glancing around as though disinterested in the topic.

Gina: "Those seventeen year-olds drinking Goldschlager had nothing on you." She toasted him with her teacup.

Oliver: His laugh was brief. If only she knew everything. His off and on girlfriend since high school; their drama; the daughter he wasn't allowed to see.

He tipped his glass in return.

"N'I got nothin' on your husband," he smiled, winked.

Gina: It was almost magical how her face lit up. "Well, don't go selling yourself short. Nice, strapping, swarthy men are hard to come by these days."

Oliver: "Did ya forget we're in O'Charlie's? I think ya want them men at your own bar, or maybe Pete's Place or whatever it's called."

Gina: "We are in O'Charlie's, and yet here you are." She took another sip of her drink, looking around the bar. "I always thought this place got a bad rap."

Oliver: Was she flirting back? With that in mind, was he truly being flirtatious?

"It deserves it. S'why I come here."

Gina: "No, I don't think it does." If he listened closely, he'd hear the soft, almost sad lilt in her voice. "Anyone who's ever been...in a bad way....understands why people come here."

Oliver: He could hear it, but he chose not to dwell on her tone. "It ain't always pitiable people, ma'am. Sometimes people are just born bad."

Gina: "Maybe," she said quietly. She was staring at one of the empty booths against the wall. "But sometimes something makes them that way."

Oliver: "...Yeah. Sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes a guy just wants d'peddle drugs t'stupid people, or kids, or..." he shrugged. "There's a market for anything." And suddenly, just like that, he wanted a hit.

Gina: "Yes, there is." She sighed and went back to her Shirley Temple. "You should come by my inn sometime when you're tired of hearing Charles' conspiracy theories."

"I heard that," came Charlie's grunt from the other end of the bar.

Gina smiled.

Oliver: "Ya don't want my sort there," he scoffed, ignoring the man behind the bar.

Gina: She tilted her head. "What sort do you think you are?"

Oliver: He sighed. "The kind that come here."

Gina: "Well, I did too. And I'm allowed in my inn."

Oliver: "You're here on business. What would your husband think?"

Gina: "My trips here haven't always been on business." She nodded toward the booth she'd been staring at. "That was my table."

Oliver: "Why come here when ya got your own place?"

Gina: "Told you." She gave him a sad smile. "Anyone who's ever been in a bad way comes here."

Oliver: "Whatever it is probably wasn't your fault."

Gina: "Took a while, but yeah, finally realized that."

Oliver: "Was it a man?" he asked his glass.

Gina: Gina nodded. "Yep. This was years ago, long before I met Lawrence."

Oliver: "N'he's a different kinda man," he filled in the blanks.

Gina: Another nod. "Yep. The complete opposite."

Oliver: "M'I in the middle?" he smirked.

Gina: "I think you might be closer to Lawrence's end of the spectrum than you think you are."

Oliver: "Mm...s'a nice thought."

Gina: "It is." And her gut told her it was truth.

She smiled. "Really, come in sometime. I promise not to serve you Goldschlager."

Oliver: "Ya say that like I ain't drinkin' it right now. Have ya tried this?"

Gina: "Once. And that was enough."

Oliver: "It ain't that bad."

Gina: "Cinnamon is for coffee, not for alcohol."

Oliver: "Coffee's gotta be black and bitter."

Gina: Gina made a face. "If your coffee is bitter something went terribly wrong."

Oliver: "S'gotta be pure or I won't wake up."

Gina: "Ah, you're one of those people," she chuckled. "No sugar even?"

Oliver: "If I want sugar I'll have gum."

Gina: She laughed. "Are you a dessert person? We make our own ice cream at my inn."

Oliver: "Hmm. I haven't had that since, like... Hell. I dunno when. Childhood."

Gina: Gina's eyes went wide. "You haven't had ice cream since you were a child?!"

Oliver: "Well, yeah!" he chuckled, though the sound was more for show, caught off guard by her surprise. "Just don't have a taste for it."

Gina: "That makes me so sad. You have my deepest sympathies."

Oliver: "It's just sugar! I mean look at America. Should be praisin' me."

Gina: "It's not just sugar. Ice cream is pure happiness." If it wasn't obvious, Gina had quite a significant sweet tooth.

Oliver: "I guess it suits ya."

Gina: "It does not suit the baby. No ice cream, just popsicles and ice."

Oliver: "What, can't have milk or somethin'?"

Gina: "No, milk is fine. Cheese too. It's specifically ice cream that he doesn't like."

Oliver: "'He'? Thought it was a surprise."

Gina: "Feels like a 'he' sometimes," she said with a smile. "Sometimes a 'she'. Today is apparently a he day."

Oliver: "Nah. It's a girl. Ya keep thinkin' of girl names. It's a sign."

Gina: "You think so?"

Oliver: It's what the mother of my child did. "Mhm," he nodded.

Gina: Gina patted her belly. A girl... "I like the thought of that. Between you and me, I've been picturing Lawrence doting over a little girl. He's so patient and sweet." So completely loving.

Oliver: "But is he gonna spoil her?" he smirked.

Gina: "He totally will," she laughed. "She'd be everything to him."

Oliver: "She's gotta be a strong independent woman when she grows up, though. Can't have her bein' a daddy's girl."

Gina: "Oh, we'll make sure she is. Strong and happy and the first ever child to think her parents are cool all the way through teenagehood."

Oliver: "Ha!" he laughed. "Okay. I think you're gonna have t'lower your expectations."

Gina: "Nope, I'm determined. I just need to learn more cool things from now until she turns twelve."

Oliver: "Can't be music. All of it sucks now."

Gina: "I don't have any musical talent anyway. Gonna have to find another way to be cool."

Oliver: He simply smiled. "You'll find a way. Maybe. Probably not."

Gina: "Come on now, have faith. Little No Name here will think Lawrence and I are cool."

Oliver: "You'll be the coolest uncool parent."

Gina: "Thank you," she laughed. "The vote of confidence is appreciated."

Oliver: His attention suddenly turned to the screen above the liquor, reading the news via closed captioning. A snippet on the latest war.

Gina: Gina turned to follow his gaze. "This has to be the only bar I know of that plays news instead of sports."

Oliver: "He plays the Superbowl. Maybe even the uh, what's that channel...Spike TV."

Gina: "Oh yeah, that's true. I only remember him putting it on when that cop show was on."

Oliver: Her cup was glanced. "Want another? Or water?"

Gina: "No, I'm good. If memory serves the bathrooms here aren't an experience worth repeating."

Oliver: "Maybe they've been fixed since then?" Not that he would know.

"Speakin' of bathrooms, I'll be right back."

Gina: "No offense to Charles, but I doubt it. Best to play it safe."

Oliver: A quick nod, and her acquaintance disappeared across the bar to the men's room.

Gina: While Oliver did his business, Gina managed to talk herself into another drink. It was orange juice this time, which she knew for a fact Charlie only kept stocked for anyone who wanted a tequila sunrise.

Oliver: Oliver returned five minutes later. He plopped in his seat and rubbed his head. He sniffed with a crinkled nose and smiled.

"Lemme guess. Virgin mimosa?"

Gina: "Well hi there," she said, smiling back. "Virgin tequila sunrise, hence the grenadine."

Oliver: "We've upgraded from the teacup, huh?" he sniffed again.

Gina: "Yep. Got an actual glass this time. Charles won't serve me orange juice in anything else." She tilted her head. "Feeling sniffly? I have tissues."

Oliver: "Ah. Nah, m'alright." He checked his watch. How much longer on her drinks?

Gina: Not long at all, as Charlie gruffly informed her (and Oliver) that Dwight was on the way back with the bourbon.

"Want more Goldschlager?" he asked Oliver with a smug look.

Oliver: "D'ya actually have more?"

Gina: "Two cases worth."

Oliver: "Try and give me alcohol poisonin'."

Gina: "Well I ain't givin' it to you all at once."

Oliver: "What m'I payin' ya for?"

Gina: "A hangover."

Oliver: "Then make my migraine count."

Gina: "Don't come in here and mean mug me tomorrow." Charlie left Oliver the bottle.

Oliver: Well alright then. He poured himself a shot's worth.

"Your husband drink?"

Gina: "Not often these days. Solidarity."

Oliver: "What cha gonna drink when you're free?"

Gina: "Coffee," she said with great feeling.

Oliver: "I meant cocktails!" he smiled.

Gina: Gina laughed. "Gin martini."

Oliver: "A gin lady!" he nodded, lips downturned in exaggeration. "Fancy that."

Gina: "Yep. A gin lady who married a gin man. Only proper way to make a martini."

Oliver: "I have a friend that would agree with ya. 'Fore he was in my unit, he was a bartender. Could make anything taste fruity. M'a simple man. I drink alcohol, I wanna taste alcohol."

Gina: "Gin doesn't taste fruity, it tastes....herby." She smiled. "Martinis are pure alcohol. Gin and vermouth and you're done."

Oliver: "I am drinking the cinnamon n'gold untouchable. I know what gin tastes like," he laughed. "I've tried it all!"

Gina: "Even the obscure bourbon Dwight's bringing for my demanding guest?"

Oliver: "Mhm. Reminds me of hickory."

Gina: "Is it worth sending two expectant parents and Dwight on a wild goose chase through two counties?"

Oliver: "If the guy was gonna trash the place, it shoulda been handed over t'the cops."

Gina: "He didn't explicitly say it, just heavily implied it."

Oliver: "What's done is done, I guess."

Gina: "Yep. Luckily his stay is ending soon."

Oliver: "Don't let him back. Your place is magically always booked."

Gina: Gina laughed. "It might just be. It actually will be soon. I have two weddings back to back."

Oliver: "Hmm. I don't get marriage, really. No offense t'you n'yours."

Gina: "None taken. Doesn't always work for everyone. For some it's pure hell."

Oliver: "N'then they cheat, or hate each other, n'ya wonder what they ever loved 'bout em t'begin with."

Gina: "Yep," she said with a nod, sipping her drink. "Seen my share of those."

Oliver: "This your first rodeo?"

Gina: She shook her head. "Second rodeo."

Oliver: "So ya know of love lost."

Gina: She nodded. "I do. And then some."

Oliver: "What makes the next guy any different?"

Gina: "When you've seen bad, you recognize good."

Oliver: "Maybe," he returned half-heartedly.

Gina: "Well, if you manage to pick yourself up you do."

Oliver: "Well, you're lucky."

Gina: "I am now," she said softly, absently running her belly.

Oliver: "First child?" he asked.

Gina: There was no response for a few long moments before Gina shook her head. She offered nothing more.

Oliver: Not worth touching whatever that was. He simply nodded and sipped his drink.

Gina: Gina gave a silent thanks to the heavens that he accepted her answer and didn't press for more. That was the most comforting thing about O'Charlie's to her; nobody asked anything.

"What about you? Got anyone you're seeing?"

Oliver: O'Charlie's also meant getting little from the questions you did ask. Or the opposite, hearing a story for the good part of your evening.

"Not really. Ya know, dates, I guess."

Gina: "That's good," she said with a smile. "You should bring your next one to the inn. You'll earn so many points."

Oliver: "Tryin' t'hook me up with someone already?"

Gina: She chuckled. "Even if I was, I don't know anyone to set you up with."

Oliver: "Mhm." Too clean and well-mannered for me. Your friends wouldn't want some medically retired infantryman.

Gina: "But if I do find someone...." She let her voice trail off and smiled.

Oliver: "I'll be holdin' my breath."

Gina: "I accept your challenge and you'll have a date by the end of next week."

Oliver: "No I won't. You're wild on shirley temple."

Gina: "My skills are many and powerful."

Oliver: Just humor the woman. "Alright. Like I said... holdin' my breath."

Gina: She grinned. "I'll reserve a table at the inn for next Friday night."

Oliver: Jesus. He swallowed down his drink hard. "Hey now, you're gonna - ya can't - you're gonna raise your friend's hopes up too much."

Gina: "Impossible."

Oliver: "Ya just met me. Err to the side of caution." When a man tells you he's bad news, listen.

Gina: "Fair enough." She suddenly blinked. "You never told me your name."

Oliver: Didn't I? Maybe I've already had one too many.

"Oliver Cole." He offered his hand.

Gina: Gina smiled and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Oliver Cole. I'm Regina Atlas. I go by Gina."

Oliver: His hand was rough and uninviting compared to hers. Labor verses the life of a business owner. He felt the gap between them widen another inch.

"Gina," he nodded.

Gina/Charlie: "Yep, unless you're Charles or Peter Graham. They call me Regina."

"Dwight's back, Regina," Charlie said, right on cue.

Dwight was indeed walking up to the bar, holding up a bag.

Oliver: Goodbye, pretty woman. Wait. "I'll walk ya t'your car."

Gina: "Thank you. And thank you, Dwight. My curtains thank you also." She finished her drink and took a deep breath.

"Help me off the stool first?" she asked Oliver.

Oliver: "Yes ma'am." How much was all this? "I got her drinks," he muttered to Charles. He offered his hand once on his feet.

Gina: "Oh, you don't have do that." Gina took his hand in one of hers and braced herself on the bar with the other to hoist herself up. "God, this is getting harder and harder."

Oliver: "Probably 'bout time t'make the husband do all the work n'ya keep on keepin' on with makin' your daughter. M'still gettin' your drinks."

Gina: "We're starting to make that transition. Been taking half days and doing all the office work." She took a moment to find her center of gravity and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Oliver: "Mhm," was his version of 'you're welcome'. Money was placed on the counter for both of their tabs. Whatever change was leftover would be chalked up to tip.

"Ready?"

Gina: She gathered her purse and the bag and nodded. "Yep! Thanks again, Dwight!" she called over her shoulder.

Her small, light blue SUV was parked as close to the door as she'd been able to manage.

Oliver: Oliver shrugged his old weathered jacket on at the door, breathing in the frigid air as soon as a breeze hit him.

"Ya have a good night now, Mrs. Atlas."

Gina: Gina gathered her coat around her, grateful she hadn't taken it off. "Thank you, Oliver, you too. Better buy a nice shirt for your date."

Oliver: "We'll see, won't we?" He was heading to the road. He knew he'd had too much to drive, and was on the lookout for... something. Someone.

Gina: "Yes we will," she said with a smile. She got into her car and started it up, watching him walk away for a while as she let it warm up. She was going to find him a damn good date.

But first, she had business to take care of.