18. Nora
CHAPTER 18
NORA
T he sizzle of garlic hitting the hot pan is music to my ears, and I smile. My fingers work deftly, chopping tomatoes for the puttanesca sauce — a recipe I’ve perfected over countless solo dinners that are about to become a thing of the past.
Tonight isn’t just any dinner; it’s Oliver’s first time eating at my place since we started dating. This isn’t just my boss or my old college friend coming over. This is Oliver, the man that I’m falling head over heels for. It’s… a lot.
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my culinary reverie. “Hey, Mom!” I chirp into the speaker, tucking it between my shoulder and ear as I keep stirring.
“Hi, darling! Just wanted to check in. How’s the new job treating you?” Her voice is always a mix of concern and curiosity, the lifelong habit of a mother hen who hasn’t quite realized her chick knows how to fly.
“Job’s fantastic, Mom. Oliver’s been great.” I’ve been leaning on the “boss” part to keep things professional — at least for their ears. It’s too soon to spill all the details, especially when those details could stir up a whole pot of drama before it’s ready to be served. My parents remember Oliver from college, and they’re happy that I’ve reconnected with him, but they don’t yet know we’re dating.
“That’s wonderful, sweetie. And how’s your love life? Any developments?” There’s that hopeful lilt in her voice that says, I’m asking casually, but I really want grandkids.
“Actually…” I hesitate, glancing at the front door as if Oliver might burst through it at any moment and spill my secrets. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“Really? Anyone we know?” She’s fishing now, and I can almost see the gleam in her eyes like she’s caught the scent of a good gossip.
“Um, just someone I met through work.” Technically true, but also technically a landmine. The last thing I need is for them to connect the dots back to Oliver, not when everything is still so fragile and fresh.
“Well, I hope you’ll tell us more when you’re ready.”
“Of course, Mom. Hey, I should go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie. Have a good night.”
“You, too.” I end the call, the untold truth pressing down on me. But that will have to wait. Right now, there’s dinner to finish and a night to look forward to — a night with Oliver that promises to taste of new beginnings and shared dreams.
With a final stir of the sauce, I turn the burner off and take a moment to breathe in the aroma. It’s perfect. Just like this moment feels — full of potential and the sweet anticipation that comes from being on the cusp of something truly wonderful.
With perfect timing, there’s a knock on the door. Taking off my apron, I hang it up and hustle across the small apartment that I speed-cleaned right after getting home from work.
I swing the door open, and my heart does this little somersault thing. Oliver stands there, every inch the dashing CEO in his crisp suit that probably costs more than my rent. But when he smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, stepping aside to let him in.
“Hi,” he replies, and then we’re in each other’s arms, sharing a kiss that’s usually enough to set off fireworks in my chest.
Tonight, though, there’s a flicker of something else behind his lips — a tremor, maybe? A shadow?
“Everything okay?” I murmur against his cheek, my hands finding their familiar place at the small of his back.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s a hesitation that wasn’t there yesterday. “Yeah, just tired. Work stuff.”
“Of course.” I nod, leading him to the kitchen, where the table is set for two.
The scent of garlic and rosemary fills the air as we sit down across from each other. It’s cozy in here, our knees almost touching under the table, surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight. But as I serve the chicken piccata, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s miles away.
He picks up his fork and pokes at his food, his gaze distant. “Nora, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I set my own fork down, my stomach clenching. “What’s wrong?”
Oliver takes a deep breath, and suddenly he looks so much younger, like a lost kid rather than the confident man I know him to be. “My father has cancer. I just found out today.”
My heart sinks. “Oh, Oliver, I’m so sorry.” I reach for his hand, squeezing it tight.
He nods, looking down at our intertwined fingers. “Thanks. He’s not… We haven’t been close. You know that.”
I do know. The snippets of childhood stories he’s shared have always painted a picture of strained silences and colder holidays. But the full canvas of his past? That’s still a mystery to me.
“Are you going to see him?” I ask gently, knowing that this isn’t just about a trip; it’s about facing demons he thought he left behind years ago.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “I’m flying out first thing in the morning. I have to.”
“Of course,” I say softly, my mind already racing ahead, wondering how I can support him through this.
Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You show up, even when it’s hard. Especially then.
The silence between us becomes a living thing, filling the small kitchen with its weight until Oliver reaches across the table, his hand over mine. His touch sends a jolt through me, grounding and electric all at once.
“Come with me,” he says suddenly, and I can tell it’s a plea even before his eyes meet mine, earnest and a little scared.
“Really?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
It’s not just an invitation; it’s a door to the part of his life he’s kept under lock and key.
“Yeah.” He gives a half-smile. “I don’t want to do this alone, Nora.”
And just like that, my decision is made. “Okay. I’ll come.”
My response is firm, the words woven with the unspoken promise that I’m here for whatever he needs.
His relief is palpable, but there’s a hesitation in his smile, a flicker of concern that mirrors my own. Everyone at work will notice when neither one of us is there tomorrow.
We both know what this means; stepping out of town together raises questions we’ve carefully avoided at the office. The murmurs about our relationship, still a secret kept close to our chests, will only grow louder in our absence.
But as I watch him, the man who’s been my friend, my boss, and now something so much more, I can’t bring myself to care about the wagging tongues and raised eyebrows. This isn’t about optics or office politics; it’s about being there for the person I love.
“Are you sure?” I ask. Because it’s one thing to face whispers behind your back, and it’s another to invite them.
“Absolutely.” His voice carries a certainty that makes me believe him, makes me believe in us.
“Okay,” I say again, because what else is there to say? We’re crossing into uncharted territory, but with Oliver, I feel fearless.
As he clears the plates, I let my mind wander to the upcoming trip. I have no illusions about the challenge ahead; going home is never simple, and for Oliver, it’s a dive into deep waters. I catch myself worrying if I’ll be enough — if my presence can offer any real solace against the history and hurt that awaits him.
But then I look at him, see the determination set in his jaw, the way he seems to stand taller now that he’s not facing this alone, and something inside me settles. I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I won’t always say the right thing or make the perfect choices. But none of that matters. What matters is that I’m committed to trying and to being the support he needs in whatever form that takes.
“Hey.” His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Thank you for saying yes.”
“I want to go,” I reply because that’s the truth of it.
No matter how hard this trip might be for him — or for us — I’d rather weather any storm by his side than take shelter on my own.