RICKMAS 2024

A few days later, Sinclair realized he’d forgotten a crucial piece of information regarding his impending date with Olivia: her number. Too preoccupied riding the high of her yes, Sinclair didn’t consider the logistics until a rare moment of quiet in his office. 

“You bloody fool,” he muttered to himself, acutely aware that the possibility of said date happening slipped away with every passing hour. His door opened, Amy peeking her head in to inform him of his next meeting in ten minutes.

Amy!

She was an expert in dating. Maybe she’d have an answer. So he recounted the series of events that led him to this moment, much to his assistant’s amusement. After congratulating him on taking this first step, Amy instructed him how to remedy the situation. Ask whoever introduced them for her number. A simple task in theory. Following a successful meeting with a happy client, Sinclair dug out his phone.

His thumb hovered over John’s number, hesitating. Every excuse in his mind for why he shouldn’t do this flit through his mind, it’d take time out of John’s busy day, it might be an improper use of connections, maybe Olivia had changed her mind, but none of them stuck. To be fair, John was the reason for Sinclair’s predicament to begin with.

“Sinclair, what a surprise,” John answered, the roar of aircraft sounding the background. “Everything alright?”

“Hey, John,” Sinclair started, his voice casual but laced with underlying nerves. “Not a bad time, it?”

There was a pause on the other end. “I’m watching a joint exercise. Why?”

“Sounds interesting,” Sinclair chuckled, pacing nervously behind his desk. “I won’t keep you, but I was wondering, erm could you get Olivia’s number for me?”

“What?” John yelled over the roar of a nearby aircraft. Startled, Sinclair jerked the phone from his ear, still able to hear John. “Speak up, man! I’ve got six planes overhead.”

“Olivia’s. Number,” Sinclair annuciated, smiling apologetically at Amy in the hallway. “Please.”

“You didn’t get it at the party?”

“I forgot. Short of waiting just outside the gate on the off chance I see her, I have no way to get in contact! What if she’s changed her mind?”

“Relax, mate. I’ll handle it,” John replied, the humor evident in his tone. “I’ll ask her when she lands.”

A smile curved Sinclair’s features. “She’s flying right now?”

“Oh yeah, she’s making her final approach.”

There was something oddly meditative about flying. Up in the air, Olivia was alone with her thoughts, manipulating the controls as if they were an extension of her body. Nobody to bother her except Air Traffic Control’s check ins and fellow pilots.

It gave her time to think. In the skies above Oklahoma, Olivia decided her marriage was over. Ironic now in the skies over the UK she wondered if Sinclair had changed his mind. Should she risk asking for an audience with the base commander? Would that be too weird? Shaking herself back to the present, she initiated her descent, bouncing along as the plane landed. Her crew waited for her to disembark and efficiently got to work.

A couple salutes caught her attention, odd given they were customarily given prior to takeoff. Unless somebody higher up on the food chain was present.

Shit.

It didn’t take long to discover who from above graced them with their presence. Her boss, Major Prescott, and the base commander, who just so happened to be Sinclair’s friend.

Snapping to a quick salute, Olivia attempted to continue on her way to no avail. She endured the maddening small talk until her boss was dismissed. Fortunately, the base commander’s easy grin and relaxed demeanor immediately tipped her off that he wasn’t there for anything official.

“Sir,” she greeted, arching an eyebrow. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Just dropping by,” he said smoothly. “Wanted to observed you guys, figured I’d say hello while I was here.”

Olivia almost asked about Sinclair, the question regarding his whereabouts sat on the tip of her tongue. But she and this man weren’t friends and this wasn’t the time or place. 

“Sinclair asked me to deliver this to you,” he murmured, discretely slipping a folded note into her hand. “He’s a good man, but a tad forgetful. Please don’t hold it against him.”

Her eyes flicked down to the paper, then back to him, a strange relief flooding her veins. “I guess that would make it easier.”

“His other idea was to wait outside the gate in hopes of catching you.”

“He wouldn’t drive all this way to do that,” Olivia scoffed.

“Oh, but he would.” A wry grin tugged his features. “As I said, he’s a good man. Regardless of what you decide, all I ask is you treat him kindly.”

Sinclair stood in front of his wardrobe, debating which shirt struck the right balance between “I’m an interesting person” and “I swear I’m not trying too hard.” Eventually, he settled on a navy button-up. It brought out his eyes (or so he’d been told) and wasn’t so formal that it screamed “date.”

He’d spent the better part of the afternoon second-guessing himself. Dinner felt too heavy, a movie too impersonal, and anything too adventurous seemed like a gamble. Bar trivia, though? That was the sweet spot. It wasn’t overly intimate, and it gave them something to focus on if conversation lagged.

Not that he expected it to. Olivia intrigued him, and he found himself wanting to know more about her. Still, there was always that lingering fear of awkward silences. Yes, even he wasn’t immune. Trivia felt like a safeguard, a way to ease into things without pressure.

He arrived early, mostly because punctuality was a nervous habit. He claimed a small table near the trivia host and ordered a pint of ale, using the wait time to rehearse a mental checklist of conversation topics. Cars? Maybe. Her time in the military? Probably. She flew plans for god’s sake! M&Ms? He chuckled to himself at the memory of their last conversation. Somehow, they’d ended up debating whether peanut M&Ms were superior to plain ones. He’d lost, of course, but her playful confidence had been worth the defeat.

When Olivia walked in, Sinclair felt his breath hitch slightly. She was dressed casually, jeans and a fitted leather jacket, but the simplicity suited her. She spotted him and smiled, her confidence radiating even in a crowded room.

“You made it,” Sinclair said, standing to greet her.

“Of course,” Olivia replied, her voice warm. “I wasn’t going to miss out on watching the trivia master in action.”

He laughed, gesturing for her to sit. “Prepare to be dazzled, then.”

They ordered drinks—an ale for him and a whiskey sour for her—and eased into conversation while the trivia host prepared the first round. There was a moment, just before the questions began, where Sinclair worried they’d run out of things to say, but Olivia’s natural ease kept the flow steady.

“So, trivia,” she said, eyeing him over her glass. “Is this your go-to first date plan, or am I just lucky?”

“Lucky,” he admitted. “I thought it’d be a good way to avoid, you know…” he motioned between them. “…awkward silences.”

“Smart man,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Though you should know, I’m here to win.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sinclair teased, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll try to keep up.”

The first round kicked off, and they quickly fell into a rhythm. They made a surpassingly formidable team.

“Capital of Botswana?” the host asked.

Olivia didn’t hesitate. “Gaborone.”

Sinclair blinked. “How in the world did you know that?”

“Jeopardy!” she answered smugly, sipping her drink.

As the game progressed, Sinclair found himself relaxing, the initial tension melting away. Trivia gave them an excuse to lean closer, whisper answers, and laugh at the occasional wrong guess.

By the end of the night, they’d not only won the game but earned a free round of drinks for their efforts.

“To victory,” Olivia said, raising her glass.

“To the best trivia partner I’ve ever had,” Sinclair replied, clinking his glass against hers.

Their conversation drifted into more personal territory as the evening wore on. Sinclair shared snippets about his love of cars, and Olivia recounted a particularly chaotic deployment involving a missing shipment of toilet paper.

“So, do you do this a lot?” she asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Trivia?”

“No,” she smiled faintly. “Dates.”

Sinclair hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Truth is, I’ve been taking things slow since my divorce. Needed time to figure myself out, I guess.”

“I hear that,” Olivia laughed sadly, swirling her glass. “David and I were married for a while. He helped push me to become an officer, but we just… weren’t good for each other. It happens.”

Sinclair nodded. “Natalie and I were good at pretending everything was fine until it wasn’t. Then, well…” He trailed off, giving her a rueful smile. “It’s not my favorite subject.”

“Mine either,” Olivia commiserated, meeting his eyes. “But I think it’s okay to take things slow.”

Sinclair smiled warmly, his hand brushing hers. “Slow sounds perfect.”

As they left the bar, Sinclair couldn’t help but feel the night had gone better than he’d dared to hope. Trivia had been a good idea, but Olivia herself had made it great. For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what might come next.

Despite his initial hesitance, Sinclair found dates with Olivia became easier to plan. It helped they made their own fun everywhere they went. And a part of Sinclair loved experiencing London through her eyes.

Their dates became a mix of spontaneity and charm, each one as unpredictable as the last. They spent an afternoon at a retro arcade, where Olivia’s competitive streak resurfaced during a heated game of air hockey, leaving Sinclair mockingly devastated by her victory. 

Another time, Olivia surprised him with tickets to a classic car show. Sinclair walked around like an excited puppy, telling her about the various models down to the intricate details. At one point he stopped and retreated into himself, apologizing for his prattling. It was then Olivia learned of the damage Natalie inflicted on Sinclair’s psyche.

“Sinclair, never apologize for being you.” She grabbed his face, her gaze boring into his. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

He glowed the rest of the day, practically vibrating with excitement when Olivia geeked out over a classic motorcycle. And when they parted ways for the evening, Sinclair kissed her for the first time.

An ill-fated cooking class ended over takeout another date. Another lazy Sunday, Sinclair joined Olivia at the base gym, where he quickly discovered he wasn’t as fit as he thought followed by a brief tour, Olivia even pointing out her plane from a distance. Each date carried its own quirks, but the common thread was their laughter, easy banter, and a growing sense of connection that felt as effortless as breathing.

They enjoyed the farmer’s market, sampling different cheeses on a clear Saturday morning. That night they took advantage of the clear sky and stargazed bundled up under a blanket together. A simple date. The way she looked in the moonlight stirred a foreign feeling. Too soon.

Three months later, Sinclair extended an invitation to Olivia to spend the weekend at his home in the countryside. The fresh air and sprawling fields immediately put her at ease, and she found herself enjoying the slower pace. Though the fact Sinclair was more well off than she expected threw her off balance.

Lifting her sunglasses, Olivia whistled in amazement. “Damn, Sinclair. You royalty or something?”

“Oh, no,” Sinclair chuckled bashfully, retrieving her duffle bag from the backseat of her car, always a gentleman. “I’m fortunate to be born into generational wealth.”

“Did you go to fancy boarding school?” Olivia teased, squeezing his arm affectionately. “No wait, did you have to wear a tie and cute little blazer?”

“I did,” he smirked as he unlocked the door. “Though nothing as fancy as your graduation from officer school. How did you get your shoes so shiny?” 

“Spit and fear,” Olivia snorted, following him in. Despite its size, it was a well-balanced mix of old-world charm and a touch of modern practically, just enough clutter present to suggest it was well-loved and not simply curated for aesthetic purposes. Photos of the Bryant family throughout the ages lined the halls. Olivia snuck a peek into Sinclair’s office as they passed, noticing a massive bookcase crammed with books of every size and a partially solved Rubix cube on the desk.

The agreement had been mutual, practical even. As they made their way to the guest room, Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Both had quietly acknowledged the need to keep things slow, comfortable, and neither were quite ready to share a bed. Though it’d been a nice surprise to wake up on the couch as Sinclair stroked her back quietly laughing she’d fallen asleep during a movie and only drooled on his shoulder a little.

“Separate rooms, right?” she’d asked, hands resting on her hips as she surveyed the quaint guest bedroom he’d prepared for her. The walls were painted in a soothing beige and a soft looking quilted bedspread fretted her. Sinclair deposited her overnight bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. They exchanged a brief, awkward smile, both keenly aware of the current that always seemed to hum between them, but neither willing to test its strength. It was safer this way, smarter.

“Absolutely,” Sinclair agreed, nodding far too quickly, though he wasn’t quite sure whether he was reassuring her or himself. “I’m an excellent host.”

As they stood in the doorway of the guest room, Olivia hesitated, feeling the need to explain.

“Thanks for this. I know it’s… an odd request considering we’re spending a weekend together.”

Sinclair, leaning casually against the doorframe, gave her his full attention. He reached out, gently tipping her chin up with his fingers so she’d meet his gaze. His honey colored eyes were warm, his expression so tender it made her chest tighten.

“Olivia,” he said in that hypnotically deep voice. “It’s not a race. We’ve got all the time in the world. No need to rush.”

For a moment, the weight of her worries lifted, replaced by a quiet sense of security she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then, his lips curved into a goofy grin, announcing his next grand plan. “Now, that said… what do you fancy for supper? I can whip up a mean spaghetti bolognese, or and I’m just throwing this out there, we could raid the pantry and pretend we’re on The Great British Bake Off.”

“Spaghetti sounds perfect.”

“Excellent choice,” he declared, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll warn you now. I tend to make a mess in the kitchen. Prepare yourself.”

With a wink, he left her to settle in, leaving Olivia smiling after him, marveling at how easily he made her feel at home.

Over breakfast the next morning, Sinclair felt comfortably settled sharing his space once again. It was a big step for him too. Olivia sipped her coffee while scanning the newspaper he’d left on the counter in a halo of sunlight. He marveled at how easily she fit into the quiet serenity of his home.

“I’ll need to book an oil change soon,” he remarked, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Olivia glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Why? We can do it ourselves.”

“You know how?” 

“My dad made sure I knew how to take care of my car before I left home.” She puffed up proudly. “And there’s the whole prior airframe mechanic thing. Come on. You’ll thank me later.”

“You and I?” Sinclair asked, chuckling. “What makes you think I’m capable?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied with a playful grin. “You’ve got me. Besides, it’s not rocket science, and I bet you’ll enjoy it.”

And so, an hour later, Sinclair found himself outside in his garage watching Olivia with mild trepidation as she rolled up her sleeves like a seasoned pro. Despite the whole “separate rooms” agreement and their cautious pacing, there was an undeniable intimacy in moments like this—tinkering with something as mundane as an oil change.

The activity proved to be a masterclass in teamwork and humor. Olivia handled most of the technical parts with Sinclair acting as an overly enthusiastic assistant, hanging her every word. When Sinclair accidentally tipped the oil pan and splattered his shoes, Olivia burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking as she handed him a rag.

“Keep this up and you’ll graduate to tire rotations in no time.”

By the time they finished, her hands and arms were streaked with oil, and Sinclair’s grin was ear to ear though he didn’t escape completely unscathed. Streaks of grease found its way to his face and his shirt was an undeniable casualty in their battle, but his sense of accomplishment soared. Olivia stood beside him, enjoying his evident excitement.

“We did it!” Sinclair cheered, his voice warm with pride as he pulled her into a bearhug, heedless of the oil smudging both of them.

“Now we’re both a mess,” she protested half-heartedly, though her laughter softened the words.

“Messy, but victorious,” he countered, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. Before she knew it, Sinclair leaned down and kissed her. The kiss quickly deepened, and Olivia’s hands, still a little greasy, slipped up the chest of his ruined shirt.

They paused, the overcharged energy shifting into something quieter. Then, almost as if by mutual agreement, they pulled back, a silent reminder of their earlier decision to take things slow.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Sinclair murmured after a moment. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but safer.

“There’s a shower upstairs right?” Olivia asked, clearing her throat and stepping toward the house.

Sinclair nodded, trailing after her, a faint smile on his face. The words he nearly blurted out, how much he adored her, how she’d become the brightest part of his life, burned in his throat even now. He might’ve agreed to their boundaries, but moments like this made him wonder just how long he could keep the heartfelt confession to himself.