Chapter 14 Olivia #2
There’s a pause, then the sound of clattering dishes and a gruff voice. “Huh? Yeah, give me a minute.”
I wince at the tone. Nathaniel doesn’t react, his expression as cool as ever. He leads me to a booth near the window, his movements unhurried.
When my father finally emerges, wiping his hands on a towel, he approaches Nathaniel and extends a hand, offering a curt, “Ronald Bennett.” His eyes flick to me, then back to Nathaniel. “You’re Olivia’s…?”
“Boyfriend,” Nathaniel answers without missing a beat, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
My father’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks back at me. The unspoken question in his expression is clear, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he nods once, muttering something about orders piling up, and retreats to the kitchen.
The interaction leaves a heavy weight in the air, one I’m not sure how to process. I sink into the booth, suddenly feeling very small.
I’m not sure why I expected more from him. He’s spent my whole life looking past me. Feeling stung by the same old disinterest makes me feel foolish.
Nathaniel slides in beside me, his arm resting lightly along the back of the booth. His presence is grounding, even as my thoughts swirl.
My mother returns with menus and an overly cheery smile. “Olivia, you must tell Nathaniel what’s good here,” she prompts. She lingers just a moment too long before turning and heading back toward the counter.
I sigh, my fingers brushing the edge of the laminated menu.
It feels strange being here like this—sitting in a booth at my family’s diner with Nathaniel of all people. Everything about him feels out of place here, from his tailored coat to the way his mere presence seems to draw attention without him even trying.
I never forget how different our backgrounds are, but on Halford’s campus the contrast is less stark because everyone there performs some version of belonging.
Here, however, the dissimilarity is impossible to ignore.
And while Nathaniel seems unfazed, I can’t help but wonder if he still sees us fitting together the way he swears we do, now that he’s seeing the life I grew up in from the inside.
“Hey,” Nathaniel says softly as his hand covers mine, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re tense.”
I offer a sheepish smile. “It’s just…a lot,” I admit, my eyes darting toward the kitchen where my parents are.
“I’ve got you now,” he says simply, his fingers brushing mine. “Focus on what you want to eat.”
I can’t help but smile at that, his words coaxing a small laugh from me. “Okay,” I say. “What are you getting?”
“That depends.” His lips curve into a grin. “What are you getting?”
“Take a guess,” I tease, grateful for the momentary lightness.
He tilts his head, pretending to consider. “A BLT?”
I roll my eyes, my smile widening. “You know it’s pancakes. Any time of day.”
“Always? Is it because of this place?”
I pause, the question pulling me into a memory before I can stop it.
I glance back down at the menu, my finger tracing an invisible pattern along the edge as I answer.
“Yeah… I guess. They remind me of peaceful mornings here before the diner opened. I’d sit at the counter while my parents cooked breakfast. Sometimes they’d let me add chocolate chips or blueberries to the batter…
Those were the only times it wasn’t so chaotic, you know? ”
I don’t say the rest, though it weighs heavily in my mind. Pancakes are more than a favorite food. They’re a reminder of fleeting moments of connection, of affection. Moments that were so rare they induced a longing for something I never had consistently.
“Olivia—” Nathaniel starts, his voice gentle.
“Are you two ready to order?” My mother’s voice cuts in sharply.
I flinch at the interruption, but Nathaniel straightens immediately, his expression cooling into something sharp and unreadable. “We were talking,” he says, his tone polite on the surface but edged with unmistakable displeasure.
My mother blinks, clearly thrown off by his response, but she recovers quickly. “Oh!” She laughs loudly. “Of course. Take your time!”
“No,” Nathaniel says, his voice final. “We’ll order now. I’ll have the double cheeseburger. And Olivia will have pancakes—both chocolate chip and blueberry.”
I glance at him, surprised but touched by the gesture.
My mother’s smile flickers. “That’s a lot for a girl your size, don’t you think? Pancakes are heavy, Olivia.” She laughs again, the sound grating. “Maybe get the salad instead. You won’t look good next to such an eligible bachelor like Nathaniel if you put on any more weight.”
The words sting, and I look down at the table, willing myself not to react. I should be used to it by now.
Nathaniel’s voice slices through the moment like a blade.
“Olivia is perfect as she is.” He states it so calmly that it sends a chill down my spine.
“If she wants pancakes, she’ll have pancakes.
And if she wants the entire menu, she’ll have that too.
” His tone darkens, the underlying malice unmistakable.
“But she won’t be receiving commentary on her choices—or her appearance. ”
My mother’s smile freezes, the edges of it fraying as Nathaniel’s words land with precision.
“I beg your pardon?” she stammers.
“There’s nothing to pardon,” he replies evenly, though the sharpness in his gaze doesn’t soften. “Olivia’s well-being is my priority, and I won’t tolerate anyone—family or otherwise—undermining that.”
His hand finds mine beneath the table, his fingers curling gently but firmly around mine. “Do I make myself clear?” he asks, his eyes never leaving hers.
My mother swallows, her forced smile wavering. “Of course,” she agrees quickly, stepping back. “I’ll get your order started.”
As she retreats, I turn to Nathaniel, my heart twisting with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. He squeezes my hand, his expression softening as his attention returns to me.
“You deserve better,” he murmurs, just for me, and I don’t know whether to smile or cry.
When my mother returns with our food, the fanfare is conspicuously absent. She sets the plates down with a clipped smile, her movements brisk and businesslike, before retreating to the kitchen without lingering.
Nathaniel doesn’t spare her a glance. His focus is on me as he slides my plate closer, his eyes softening as I pick up my fork.
“Enjoy your pancakes,” he says simply, the affection in his voice making my heart gallop.
I take a bite of the chocolate chip first, the sweetness melting on my tongue, and hum appreciatively.
His lips quirk into a smile before he turns his attention to his own plate. I watch as he takes his first bite of the double cheeseburger, his brow lifting slightly in surprise.
“This is…good,” he says, almost reluctantly, as if the diner’s humble fare had no right to impress him.
I laugh, warmth blooming in my chest. “I told you,” I say, gesturing toward his plate. “It’s not all bad here.”
He nods, taking another bite, and for a moment, the tension between us dissolves into something easy. As I alternate between the chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes, I find myself smiling more freely, savoring not just the food but the comfort of his presence.
When I push my plate toward him with the remaining pancakes, he raises a brow.
“Are you sure?” he asks, though his fork is already poised.
I nod. “I’m full,” I reply, watching as he polishes off the rest with the same enthusiasm he’d shown for his burger. There’s something oddly satisfying about seeing him enjoy it, as though this small indulgence is a rare glimpse into a side of him no one else gets to see.
I lean back, my gaze drifting to the empty plates between us.
There’s always been a struggle in my mind—choosing between chocolate chip or blueberry, practicality or indulgence, independence or vulnerability.
But Nathaniel, with his steady presence and unwavering devotion, makes me wonder if perhaps I really don’t have to choose.
Maybe, with him, I can have it all.
The thought is sweet, but also unsettling.
Suddenly, the front door swings open with a chime, and three unfamiliar faces step inside.
They look…professional.
A woman in a crisp white blouse and tailored slacks leads the group, holding a clipboard. Behind her, a younger man carries what looks like a toolkit, and an older gentleman with silver-streaked hair nods politely at my mother as she emerges from the kitchen.
Her smile stretches wide as she rushes toward them, her voice shrill with forced cheer. “Well, hello there! How can I help you?”
The woman steps forward with a tight smile. “We’re here on behalf of Mr. Caldwell,” she says with an air of authority. “He’s arranged for additional staff to assist with the operations here for the week.”
For a moment, my mother freezes, her eyes darting toward Nathaniel, who is calmly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
“Oh!” she exclaims, recovering quickly. “Yes, of course. That’s wonderful! Come in, come in!” She gestures toward the diner with exaggerated hospitality. “Let me show you around!”
As the new staff begin to disperse under my mother’s overly attentive guidance, my father emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. His gaze sweeps over the newcomers, brows creasing in confusion.
“What’s all this?” he asks, his tone more gruff than curious.
“It’s all thanks to Nathaniel,” my mother answers quickly, her voice unnaturally high. “He’s been so generous, insisting on hiring staff to help us out this week. Isn’t that something, Ron?”
My father’s eyes narrow as they flick to Nathaniel, who rises from the booth with his usual unhurried grace.
“We spoke about this arrangement earlier,” Nathaniel explains calmly. “I promised Olivia a break, and this is me following through.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then my father clears his throat. “Right, well, I suppose that’s…helpful.” His words are careful now, searching for the correct ratio of gratitude to self-respect.
My mother, however, has no such restraint. “Oh, it’s more than helpful,” she gushes. “It’s so generous of you, Nathaniel. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for your kindness.”
Nathaniel turns his gaze toward her. “There’s no need for repayment. This is for Olivia.”
Her smile wavers, but she quickly masks it with another burst of enthusiasm. “Of course, of course. Olivia deserves it.”
I want to disappear. The way my parents act around Nathaniel—my mother’s unrelenting eagerness, my father’s strained attempts at politeness—is humiliating.
I’m starting to think this was a mistake.
I don’t even know why I let myself hope they might show up differently just because Nathaniel is here. They’ve never given me a reason to believe they were capable of better, least of all for my sake. And yet the disappointment sits heavy anyway, familiar as breathing.
Nathaniel, on the other hand, remains perfectly composed. If anything, he seems to revel in the control he exudes, his presence commanding in a way that makes even my parents tread lightly. His arm finds its way around my shoulders as he stands, pulling me gently to my feet.
He guides me with an ease that feels both natural and deliberate, his hand never leaving me as we approach the register. My mother bustles behind the counter, pulling out the slip with an energy that borders on giddy.
“That’ll be $24.85,” she says, her voice sugary sweet.
Nathaniel takes out his wallet without a word, sliding a sleek black card across the counter. My mother’s eyes zero in on the card, and her smile stretches impossibly wider, though her hands tremble slightly as she processes the payment.
When she hands him the receipt to sign, he scribbles his name quickly before reaching into his wallet again. He pulls out a few crisp hundred-dollar bills and places them on the counter casually.
“Oh, that’s… Nathaniel, this is too much,” my mother stammers, her gaze darting between the cash and his face.
“It’s not,” he says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. His tone leaves no room for argument.
He turns to me then, his expression softening as he places his hand lightly at the small of my back. “Let’s go,” he says so gently it almost unravels me.
As we step outside, the cool air hits my skin, a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the diner. I look up at Nathaniel, wondering how he can be so unbothered in the face of such transparent greed.
“They’ll be fine without you for a while,” he says quietly.
And for the first time since arriving in Ashby, I believe him.