Ebony & Ivory [H.S]

Forty-Two

"But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby"

"Thanks again for letting me stay," I say, turning back around to face Ollie. "You have no idea how much you're helping me out."

Staying here at Ollies has helped more than he realises. It's been so beneficial staying here, as truthfully, it helps me avoid Alfie more effectively. There's just no way that I can inform him of my new condition, as I know how he'll respond. He'll be disappointed mostly that it isn't his - despite how desperately I want for it to be. However, the issue is not solely his disappointment, but his actions following. I know who he is as a person. He's the kind of guy who would stand up, and take on the responsibility. He would vow to be there for both me and the baby, despite not being obligated.

Unfortunately for him, (and me), I'm the stubborn kind of person who is undeniably unable to accept such generosity. I'd much rather go through this myself, without having to involve others in my growing list of responsibilities.

"I can't deny the very few chances I get to see my former partner in crime," he replies back as he plumps up the cushions on the sofa. "Speaking of, when are you going to bite the bullet and come back to Bullett. See what I did there?" he confirms, referring to his cheesy pun.

"Received," I answer, my tone suggesting how done I am with puns for the day. "Loud and clear."

Ollie probably knows more than anyone how much of an anti morning person I am, having worked with me for years. Thankfully, he doesn't seem at all bothered by my lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh good," he replies, checking his reflection in a spoon. "So are you meeting with his sister today?" he checks, appearing quite nervous on my behalf.

"I am," I smile. "Though I don't know why you're cringing. I genuinely like seeing her," I explain, hoping he realises by now that I'm okay with it. "Her and I are great friends, regardless of how things ended with Harry and I."

"I know, but it's his sister," he frets, pouring me a glass of juice from the pitcher. "Here honey, you might need this," he offers, handing me a glass.

"Thank you," I reply, without thinking. Taking a sip, I'm thrown back by the strong alcoholic taste, and subtly spit it back out.

Fück.