“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.”

Oliver reluctantly went back to his flat to check on Eric and to continue working on his latest story, not entirely sure if he should say anything to Ariel about it, yet. Instead of facing it head on, Oliver write a little note to stick on the fridge, which explained that he was going to Alice's flat. Just that. He didn't want to offer any other information until he was sure that Alice wouldn't be frightened off. It would be enough to drive Ariel a bit crazy until Oliver got back, too, he assumed. So that would probably be rather fun, he supposed, when he got back.

Waiting at the front of the building as requested, Oliver turned when the door opened and swept Alice up as she rushed over to greet him. He smiled into the kiss, and his arm slipped around her back as she set her feet back on the ground. He had expected her to side-along him to her flat, but instead she started walking. It seemed obvious after he considered where they ate lunch, though, so Oliver decided not to question it. After a while, though, they were at her door, and Oliver found himself stepping back in surprise as a little yappy thing started bounding around Alice's flat.

A chuckle rose from Oliver's chest as Alice darted around after the dog, only managing, "You named it Lemon?" between his laughs. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest until Alice made her way over to introduce him. "I hope you didn't name her Lemon because she's crazy. I mean, I know we call cars Lemons, but she seems nicer than a bad car," he teased lightly, offering a hand for the puppy to sniff at before Alice put her down.

Oliver wiggled his toes, grinning as the dog made her way over to the couch, his eyebrows lifting as she bounded up the stacks of books to sit herself down. "That hardly bothers me. Remember when you brought all of those boxes in?" he asked, shooting her an amused look before walking around to crouch in front of Lemon, reaching out to wiggle a finger in front of her in hopes of drawing out a reaction.

"I have a feeling this one would drive Eric nutty," Oliver laughed, scratching behind the corgi's ear affectionately. "You're a silly one," he told Lemon. "Making such a mess. Methinks you need training, little lady. My boy would probably set you straight after a time."

Oliver pushed himself to standing, moving back over to Alice and extended his arms so he could draw her towards him as he sat on the arm of her couch. "D'you need help cleaning up? Or should we just start planning puppy play dates?" he asked with a warm smile, his fingers playing across her lower back. "I can always try and trick Eric into being her babysitter when she gets a bit excitable."

“I like lemons,” Alice replied, either missing the joke or being deadly serious – though, really, it was hard to know which. The dog would be a bad car, though – that much was safe to say. She was a very satisfied little pup. With a full flat once again, Alice and a friend meaning extra attention, Lemon was ready for the indulgence that company meant and the playing up that would usually warrant even more attention from those around her. Part of her was tired though, wearied by all of the mayhem she’d wreaked prior to her mistress’s homecoming, and slowly but surely her eyes fell shut for a power nap that would give Alice time to clear up. “But she is crazy,” Alice conceded with a grin.

“The boxes went away quite quickly!” Alice protested, opening her mouth in shock, not realising he’d remembered. “I’ve been trying to train her,” Alice reasoned, picking up some of the wrapping paper so that she could set it all down on the dining table. “Not that she takes a blind bit of notice of me, mind you. She’s just happy to roam about and annoy the neighbours and explore. I think I’ve got my ‘no-means-no’ voice down to pat, however.” Alice smiled, rolling up a bit of paper onto its tube.

Fingers on her head made Lemon twitch to life again and she licked Ollie’s fingers, beginning to wag her tail. Lemon looked a little mournful when the hand went away and she sat up to watch as Alice drew into Ollie’s arms without a second thought on the matter, sliding her arms around his middle as he did the same to her, coming to stand in between his legs.

“It’s nothing a bit of magic won’t solve,” she assured him. “I think puppy playdates are the best thing to be talking about. She’s just nuts because I’ve been gone all day and you’re new. Aren’t you?” Alice looked at Lemon who had stood up, her front paws braced against the arm. Alice lifted her up and held her between them. “You’re as mad as a box of spanners, aren’t you? And nuts to insure. So expensive.” Alice shuddered, recalling it. “So, Mr Connolly,” she met Ollie’s gaze, letting Lemon out of her arms so she could hop back down onto the sofa, “can I tempt you with some takeout and …” Alice flushed, glancing away as she cleared her throat. “Beer.” She amended with a light laugh. “Takeout and beer. And maybe a movie?”

Oliver chuckled in response to her objections, giving her an apologetic smile before she continued. His expression changed to one that clearly said 'I'm so sure,' but he nodded nonetheless, hoping not to discourage her in regards to her attempting to train the puppy. Oliver had been lucky when it came to Eric and his more gentle demeanor. Lemon would certainly give Eric a hard time, he mused to himself. Something told him that Eric might be able to mellow Lemon out a bit, just as Lemon would probably just work him up into having a bit more fun now and then.

Oliver was, of course, completely oblivious to the comparison his subconscious made between the dogs and his relationship with Alice. But that was probably for the better.

Glancing down, Oliver laughed at Lemon's approach, shaking his head at Alice's teasing. "She would give Eric a workout, I think. He'd spend the whole day trying to tidy up his toys, only for her to toss them about again, I'd wager." Despite the idea of a mess, Oliver couldn't look upset. He, of all people, knew the irritation that things strewn about could cause. Paper wads, for example, were especially infuriating, though he wasn't going to bring that up right then. Things had gotten a good bit better as of late, so at least he could claim ownership of a clean room for the time being.

His eyebrows rose in surprise at what he assumed she almost asked of him, before a smirk found its way onto his face. Oliver leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her shoulder despite the fabric in his way. "That thing you didn't say?" he began as he stood and gave her a slow once-over. "That would be welcome, too," he teased, dropping an additional kiss to the corner of her mouth before moving towards the kitchen area.

"You sure you don't want to make anything? I don't mind. Unless you had something you wanted that would be easier to order," Oliver shrugged, looking at her over the top of the kitchen's island. "Oh. And I always say yes to movies," he assured her, pushing the palms of his hands against the countertop and leaning forward to present her with a wide grin.

This was the thing and the thing was this: as much as Alice wanted to move back in with Ollie and Ariel, she not only imagined she had the mistrust of the werewolf but she also felt that she was in trouble with Eric for absconding on him for another puppy. It seemed as though all of the men in her life were at odds with her, though thankfully the most important one had come around. She snuggled further into Ollie at the thought, pressing an absent minded kiss to his jaw.

“She’s got more energy than me,” Alice observed, watching as Lemon wiggled her bum as she struggled to stick her head underneath the pillows on the sofa and inspect what was underneath. The witch raised her brows in dismay and laughed openly at the dog. “Eric is going to be in so much trouble, bless his heart. I’ll make sure to apologise to him when I next see him. I can’t wait for it to be less frosty in the mornings so I can take her out and tire her.” Alice puffed a lock of hair out of her eyes with a smile.

Alice flushed brightly under Ollie’s gaze, her shyness leaking through. She licked her lips and rubbed at her cheeks, following after him around the counter into the kitchen, her feet complaining as she moved off of the warm floorboards and onto the cooler tiles. She dropped her hand and brought her other up to one of the cupboards. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then glanced at Ollie, wondering if he felt like having a bit of a play.

“Shall we make ravioli?” She asked, taking out a big pot of flour that she’d bought a few days before to make some cakes with for her brother to take to work. They’d not been a disaster, either, by all accounts. She was quite pleased. But the ravioli recipe she’d been mulling over for a few days, unwilling to commit to it. She’d bought everything, too, but she’d ducked out at the last hurdle and had elected to boil of some nonsense pasta that she’d bought, dried, from the supermarket. This was much more interesting.

“Fresh,” she enticed, opening the fridge to take out the ricotta, the spinach, and the eggs they needed. “With a cheese sauce of some description,” she took out some mature cheddar to prove her point. “And maybe some white wine?” She had that, too. It was for food, that particular one, and she opened her lower cupboard to check she had one there. Glad to find so, Alice lifted it off of the rack and popped it in the fridge before looking at her … boyfriend? She guessed so.

“Okay, okay, right.” She fussed, pulling the metal measuring scales across the counter. She dropped some flower into the bowl, measuring out four hundred grams of it, and then replaced the flour into the cupboard before handing setting out the eggs. She cracked them into a little bowl and then turned to face the island which she wiped off and took a little bit of flour to dust over. “Do you want to make the dough?” She asked with a smile. “Just get the eggs into the flour and then it’ll come together nicely. We’ve got to let it stand for about twenty minutes, that’s quite important, but during we can make the filling. I need to find my cutter really.” She knew she had one somewhere – probably in one of the drawers. Again, it was somewhere.

Lemon came into the kitchen at that point in search of something to eat and Alice indulged the dog instead of turning her away. She put some food into her bowl and Lemon licked her hand in thanks before sitting down to her snack. Alice replaced the tin back in the fridge where she’d got it from and washed her hands again before picking up the bag of spinach, idly scanning the back of the packet to discern whether or not it had been washed. What she couldn’t decide, mind you, was whether to cut it up or not. She supposed so, they could hardly have random bits in their pasta.

So, with that decision made, Alice wiped off the chopping board and set it up next to Ollie with a little shy smile. She emptied half of the bag of spinach onto the board and then began the painstaking task of picking off the stems and sorting the wheat from the chaff – not all of it was nice. Only then could she take a knife out of the block and start cutting it into nice strips but even then it took a minute to sharpen her blade before she could get going. They were cooking together though, side by side in a sort of bizarre fashion.

“This is odd,” she vocalised her thoughts. “But nice,” she amended quickly. “I like it.”

Oliver gave a shrug and a nod to show that he didn't mind her suggestion, though he had not expected to fully make the lot. His mother had never been the from-scratch type, except perhaps when it came to desserts. But still, he could make do. And Alice clearly seemed up for explaining the steps he needed to take. It almost felt strange, he mused as he took his spot at the counter, to know that they might have patched things up enough for this to become a recurring event. Perhaps not with ravioli, but with dinner in general. It made him smile to himself as she gathered what she would need to cut up the spinach.

He wasn't entirely sure where it came from, but when Alice pointed out that the situation was strange, Oliver swept up a bit of flour with his finger and reached over to brush it across her cheek. Then he turned back to his assigned job, as though nothing had happened out of the ordinary. "It's actually rather fun," he said nonchalantly, doing his best not to smile again.

Once the eggs and flour had been properly combined, he searched about for the rolling pin to thin the dough out, assuming that would help with Alice's cutting and filling plans. Pushing the wooden pin through some extra flour to keep it from sticking, he began spreading the dough around into a sort-of circle. Perhaps if they had extra left over they could use it for dessert. His mum had always taken to covering the extra of any of her cooking dough with sugar and cinnamon to make a sort of crunchy treat cooked in the oven.

Upon finishing, he turned to Alice, looking to see if she had completed her part as well. Oliver leaned against the counter, completely unaware that the side of his trousers and shirt might have picked up some spare flour as he did so, watching her finish up. After she had it all sorted out, he lifted a hand again, passing his thumb over the lingering hints of flour on her cheek, the right corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a warm smile. His gaze shifted from the spot of flour to meet Alice's own, and he realized that he most certainly had not been kidding earlier. It would be welcome. But she wanted slow.

So he tried to pretend that his tongue had not darted out to wet his lips, and turned back to the task at hand. "Right, Miss Chef. Lead on."

Alice’s mouth fell open without preamble when he scored flour across her cheek and she huffed affectedly, unable to keep a smile from quirking up her lips at the sides. She looked down at her spinach and flushed a deep red, her hands cupping absently around it before tickling her knife back over the soft, leafy surface. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Ollie and, again, coloured up as her mind traced back to what she’d almost offered – a Freudian slip in every sense. She brought up a hand absently to push her hair back off of her shoulders and swallowed a deep breath, continuing to cut the spinach.

“My nanna taught me how to make these,” Alice murmured as she threw the stalks away and turned to reach for the ricotta. “She even bought me the cutter that’s in the draw,” she smiled thoughtfully and shook her head before turning back to her board with a small ceramic bowl for mixing in her other hand. She then carefully began to peel away the foil from the cheese, glancing up absently in Ollie’s direction with a half-smile as she caught sight of him being perfumed by flower. She shook her head and turned the ricotta into the bowl, adding her spinach before beginning to mix it all up together.

They finished more or less at the same time and Alice looked up as he addressed her. She curled some of her hair back behind her ear shyly and cleared her throat, wondering where her damsel-in-distress or whatever it was routine was coming from. She picked up her bowl and took up a pair of spoons each before moving over to stand properly beside the man. She gestured for him to cut the dough in half for a start and then finally sort of found her vocal chords – though not before somewhat inanely holding up the spoons.

“So, we get the cutter and it might be worth kind of marking out how much we have first and then that way we can see where to put the mix. Does that… make sense?” Alice bit her lip, her eyes flitting up to his as she held the bowl against her middle. “If it doesn’t … I mean, I’m not very good at explaining, I don’t think. And there’s plenty for four here so I guess I can freeze some so,” she furrowed her brows and looked away, mentally treating herself to Bat-Bogey Hex for her stupidity. She was glad that she wasn’t one to chat up people she liked. She’d fail miserably.

“Merlin,” she complained, “I feel like I’m in Beauxbatons again,” she rolled her lips together, shaking her head again. “You know? When you’re all stutter-y and awkward because you like someone and you can’t talk to them which is stupid because I’ve lived with you and slept with you and … uh … that with you and that’s all sort of preceded, well, this so this is a really silly way to have done things but I still feel awkward because somehow you’re still really, really hot even when you’re covered in flour so I’m going to shut up now and you need these spoons to make sure the mixture is even. Have you seen my ravioli cutter?”

Oliver didn't mean to stare at her lips as she spoke, but was it really his fault that he couldn't help it? She bit the lower one and he had to bite back a groan. He felt like a bit of an ass for wanting to make the sound at all, and for wanting to reach out and interrupt her. She wanted slow, Oliver reminded himself again. Slow meant letting her choose the pace, he decided, because if it were up to him, the ravioli would be completely forgotten. It already would have been, arguably.

A confused look took over his features when she mentioned school, not at all sure where she was headed with it. That is, until she mentioned having slept with him versus having slept with him. His eyebrows lifted, not expecting the smirk that stretched across his face in response. It didn't feel bad to be told he was attractive, after all. When she tried to change the subject, though, he shook his head. Clearly, he was having none of that.

Instead of looking for the cutter in question, Oliver reached his hands around to her back, stepping closer until she was pressed up against him. "I haven't seen it, no," he replied quietly, his tone gentle and his words as slow as his movements. Ducking his chin, Oliver leaning in until his lips were brushing against her ear, his left hand moving up so he could curl his fingers into her hair and pass his thumb over her opposite ear and cheek.

"Alice," he uttered after a moment, spreading his fingers across her back. "I can't focus on ravioli when you're so distracting."

Oliver probably would have had incredibly red ears from the twinge of embarrassment that he felt, but it was true -- she was all he could focus on. As if to prove his point, he started leaving a trail of kisses along her neck, using the hand cradling her head to tilt it back and provide more access for his search. "You're much, much too distracting," he repeated, baring his teeth briefly to pass over her pulse point, before he continued down towards her collarbone.

Finally, he lifted his chin so he could meet her eyes. "I love you, Alice. More than I ever expected I could."

Lifting her grubby hands up, Alice smiled as she was curled into Ollie’s chest. She reached over for a tea towel to wipe off her palms and then abandoned it so she could drape her arms over his shoulders, he fingers coming to stroke through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline when he said about her being distracting and she opened her mouth, hoping to protest. She didn’t think she was being distracting. She was helping, she thought. Surely she was helping. She was helping. She concluded that Ollie was a bit nuts.

She shivered a bit as his breath began to ghost across her ear, his lips twinging at the lobe, and she looked at him curiously, her breath hitching as his mouth found her neck. Her eyes slid shut and a little, nonsensical sound parted her lips. A whimper bruised through her teeth as his nipped at her pulse and she squeezed her closed eyes, one hand dropping down to grab the material of his shirt as pleasure pummelled through her like rushing waves.

When his touch departed from her skin, she reopened her eyes in search of him and felt a weak, breathless smile twitch at her lips. She took her other hand and curled it about his cheek before leaning in to him, sliding her lips softly against his before leaning back and nodding, her whisper lifting from her lips like a little torrid secret only to be whispered between two people. It wasn’t a secret, though, not anymore. She was sure of it. Surer than anything.

“I love you too.” She promised. “And I didn’t really think I’d ever get to say that again, that’s for sure.”

She turned her hand over and draped her knuckles across his cheek fondly before leaning in again to kiss him soundly, affectionately, wantonly. Everything. She filled that kiss with everything and she found her hands at the buckle of his belt of their own accord. The tension in the room had been as thick as the flour in the dough. She’d seen it. Felt it. She needed it. Needed him.

“Can I convince you to let me distract you some more?”

Somehow, Oliver almost wanted to laugh at her comments. If it weren't for him, she would not have had that fear at all. But, similarly, without his decision to stop and address her, they could still have been in their standoff. Perhaps the desire to laugh came from the fact that, not six or so hours ago, they had been avoiding each other like professionals, but now were so wrapped up in each other that the food had been forgotten and that Lemon could have been destroying Oliver's coat since he had set it to the side upon entering. He couldn't have cared less. Not now.

A groan rumbled up from his throat as she kissed him again, and Oliver laughed outright when she asked the question, replying with the only thing he could come up with in the moment: "God, yes."

It would take him some time, he supposed, to get used to the sudden switch Alice seemed to go through in moments like those. He only had one - well, two, now - experiences with it, so he wasn't sure he was actually qualified to judge. Regardless, though, he put the thought aside, determined to try and test the theory later.

Instead, the hand on Alice's back turned them towards the counter, oblivious once again to the flour that rested there, prepared to coat them right up with one misstep. His lips captured hers again, hardly even giving her a moment to notice that his hand had slipped under her shirt to grasp at her side. A breath later, his tongue swiped over her lower lip, begging for entry, and Oliver let his hips press against hers without truly thinking about it. He wasn't sure anything at all was going through his head just then. As he had pointed out, she was just too skilled at diverting his attention. Why else had a great deal of his writing turned to rubbish when he was up late and she was sat in bed watching him? All he had wanted was to turn round and climb into bed with her. But that would have just been far too obvious, wouldn't it? Now, though, he didn't really have to worry about it. At last, not to that extent.

He didn't feel like he had to worry about anything, really, since all that seemed to matter was covering absolutely every inch of Alice's collarbone with lingering kisses. Oliver's attempts at investigating further were thwarted, of course, by the shirt that she still wore, so he paused his attentions, letting his cheek press against hers as he searched for enough air to steady himself. Both hands were teasing at the hem of her shirt, pushing it upwards as his palms spread warmth through the skin beneath.

"Alice," he breathed, his voice a notch lower than it had been even a moment before. "I need you."

Should he have picked her up and carried her off to wherever the hell her room was? Probably. But he didn't bother. He backed off enough to help her off with her shirt, then crouched down to tickle at her stomach with kisses as his hands ran up and down the sides of her legs. Oliver looked up, his gaze almost solely lust and adoration. His fingers toyed with the waistline of her work pants, and he chuckled lowly, the sound hardly there.

"I think, babe, that you've got to start wearing skirts more."

It was all a little bit stifling, the tension in the room turned up and the feeling that the flame that had been rumbling within her, flickering with need, was going to be ousted resolutely was one that set her trembling with want against him. His very touch was sending her skin into a sizzling mess. She couldn’t find herself caring a whit about the fact that it was either on the floury kitchen island or on the floor she’d washed that morning before work that this was going to happen. Merlin, she just didn’t care. She needed him as much as he needed her and if any interruption came now she knew that she would explode – most particularly if it was the dog.

The sense of rising anticipation welled within her as he slid lower and she watched him, her gaze filled in equal parts with the same maddening lust and affection but the slight tinge of a woman trying to get him to hurry up. Come on, she wanted to try and communicate to him. She couldn’t wait much longer. But, alas, she had to and in this case she didn’t mind because what came out of his mouth was ridiculously unsexy and what came out of hers was equally as mood-killing because barrels of laughter left her chest, along with two mildly adorable snorts that made her clap her hand to her mouth.

“You dolt,” she admonished, unbuttoning her trousers. She’d gone for a rather sensible suit that morning, she’d felt. Had she known she’d be in the throes of sleeping with her boss’s son in the afternoon, she’d have definitely worn a skirt. That was a must, naturally. The suit was new, in her defence. He’d picked the wrong day, really, because any other time it would have been a skirt. As it was, what was interesting was not what was on the outside but what lay underneath.
She’d gone for a rather sensible suit that morning, she’d felt. Had she known she’d be in the throes of sleeping with her boss’s son in the afternoon, she’d have definitely worn a skirt. That was a must, naturally. The suit was new, in her defence. He’d picked the wrong day, really, because any other time it would have been a skirt or a dress. As it was, what was interesting was not what was on the outside but what lay underneath.

She continued to laugh, shaking her head as she unbuttoned her blouse. She abandoned it over the top of the island and batted him out of the way. She unzipped her trousers and then, wiggling her eyebrows in an equally ridiculous fashion, she shed herself of her trousers, letting that join the blouse much to the surprise of Lemon who was covered in them on her way back to the sofa. She gave a confused whine but nothing of the like caught Alice’s ear then because, left in the plum coloured underwear she’d mindlessly plucked from the drawer that morning, she curled herself back around Ollie, lifting her lips to his as she set herself down onto his lap.

“I’ll make sure to wear a skirt next time, Mr Connolly,” she purred in his ear as she trailed kisses up his jaw before nipping at his lobe with her teeth. “But I should think… given how I’ll have to focus so hard,” she wiggled in his lap, “on making sure I wear the skirt … I might just forget these,” she drew his hand across the lacy band of her knickers and she smiled into his cheek as she drew her lips back down to his neck. “What a pity that would be, wouldn’t it? Wandering around all day - waiting for you to come and ... well, we'll have to see about the 'and', won't we?"