Chapter Text
“You should ask him out,” said Chuck, encouragingly, as she wiped down the counters. “I think he likes you a lot.”
Olive pushed her mop in a small, sad circle around herself. “Really?”
“He’s here every day, always asks to be seated in your section and I’m not really sure he likes pie that much.”
“He didn’t finish the blueberry tart,” called out Ned, from the kitchen.
“Maybe it was the blueberries,” said Olive, contemplating the idea of a reciprocated romantic relationship. She was so full of confused emotion, she felt like bursting into song. Sometimes it helped clarify her thoughts, when her subconscious picked out songs with revealing lyrics, but she wasn’t used to having other people in The Pie Hole at night. Usually the store was hers for an hour or so, when she could dream of meeting that someone who made her heart sing. He was shorter now, this man of her dreams, with dark brown eyes that were not at all like Ned’s and tattoos and—
“It’s a good idea,” said Ned.
Olive resisted the urge to trip him with her mop. That would just be childish. It wasn’t his fault she fell head over heels for him — except for how it kind of was. “I haven’t had much luck with love lately,” she sighed.
“Aw, don’t mope.” Chuck threw her arm around Olive and gave her a gentle squeeze. Sometimes, Olive thought the weird no-touching thing that was part of Chuck and Ned’s relationship was getting to her, kind of like how it got to Digsby, when he’d lean on her so she wouldn’t stop petting him.
“You know,” Chuck continued, “Ned and I are fine here, if you want to take the rest of the night off.”
She said it like it was a suggestion, but Olive couldn’t help but notice that she was being steered straight through the front doors. On the way there, Ned plucked the mop out of her hands and opened those doors with a flourish.
Olive found herself deposited onto the street, with her coat and purse flying through the air after her. She turned around in time to hear the lock click into place and see all the shutters come down. She shrugged on her coat and picked up her purse, which felt lighter than it should.
“Drat,” she said.
Someone cleared his throat. Olive looked up from searching the insides of her purse and could not help the happy gasp that slipped from her lips.
“Might I be of some assistance, Olive?” Alfredo Llamosa stood underneath a streetlamp and the light hit him just right, so as to highlight the dark glossiness of his hair and the warm tones of his skin.
“I seem to have misplaced my keys,” she said, breathlessly. She loved the way he said her name. “They’re probably still in The Pie Hole, unless I forgot them this morning, but that would’ve meant I wouldn’t have been able to let myself in—” She cut herself off, took a deep breath and went to knock on the door. “You know, Ned and Chuck are still inside. I can just take a quick peek around for my keys and be on my way.”
“Ned wouldn’t happen to drive a Mercedez-Benz W108, would he?” asked Alfredo.
“Huh?”
“Is that his car driving away over there?” Alfredo pointed to car turning the corner at the far end of the block.
“Shoot. He must have parked in the back. I guess I can call…someone. Actually, I don’t have anyone to call,” Olive confessed.
Alfredo reached into the pocket of his puffy vest, pulled out a piece of paper, quickly wrote something on it and handed it to Olive.
“What’s this?” she asked, not believing her eyes.
“My phone number. Now, you have someone to call.” He smiled gently at her and Olive gathered her courage.
“Alfredo, would you like to go out, with me? Sometime?”
He smiled even more brightly, if possible. “I would love to go out with you.” Then he laughed, low and delightful. “Truthfully, I was waiting for your shift to be over so I could ask you out to dinner.”
Olive’s knees were shaking from relief and giddiness. “Tonight?”
“If you like.” Alfredo opened the passenger door of his car for her. It was sleek and grey and looked marvelously fast and modern. “Your chariot awaits.”
*
Meanwhile, Emerson Cod furiously knitted yet another cash cosy as he contemplated the disappearance of Sherlock Holmes and his companion Joan Watson.