ISLA’s POV
The sun was now high in the sky, spilling warmth through the windows as Oliver and I set up the Scrabble board on the dining table. It felt oddly domestic, sitting here with him in such a relaxed setting. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done something like this—if we’d ever done it.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes scanning the board as he arranged his letters. His smirk, ever-present, made my nerves prickle. I could already tell he was going to take this way too seriously.
“Ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with confidence as he laid out his tiles neatly on his tray.
I rolled my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
But as the game started, I quickly realized I had underestimated him.
Oliver wasn’t just good at Scrabble—he was great. Words I didn’t
