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Cracked. Tiny white lines along his knuckles.
“Oliver,” I said sharply. “What happened?”
Grandma says real work toughens skin.”
I muted the call and stared at Nate.
He rubbed his face. “She said she’s paying him. Oliver does want this.”
“She said.”
“She’s strict, not stupid.”
I didn’t argue.
I should have.
On day fourteen, Eleanor drove him home herself.
“Your things are in the trunk,” she said. “He’s all yours.”
Oliver climbed out slowly.
He didn’t look at me at first.
“How was it?” I asked, forcing cheer into my voice.
“Did you—”
“Can we go inside?” he interrupted.
Inside, he took off his coat, his boots, then sat at the table and stared at nothing. I poured him cocoa. Set it in front of him.
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