Chapter 16 Olivia
SIXTEEN
olivia
The car is quiet as we pull away from the diner, the low hum of the engine filling the space between us. I stare out the window, watching the sparse houses of Ashby dissolve into a blur of trees. My chest feels heavy, every breath strained under the weight of my parents’ words.
Nathaniel stood up for me, as he always does, his calm voice sharp enough to cut through my father’s clipped dismissals and my mother’s syrupy manipulation. Yet instead of feeling empowered, I feel raw, as if their comments have sunk deeper than before.
Beside me, Nathaniel reaches over, his hand brushing mine lightly before he speaks. “Olivia,” he says softly, threading through the silence. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you want. Tonight is yours.”
I turn to him, blinking away the sting behind my eyes. “What do you mean?”
His lips curve into the faintest smile, though his focus remains on the road. “Whatever you want. Dinner in another city, a walk somewhere quiet, something you’ve always wanted to do. Name it.”
The offer catches me off guard. He always has this way of being both commanding and gentle, as if he can reach places I didn’t realize I was keeping hidden.
“I don’t know…” I trail off, my cheeks flushing as I struggle to think of something.
“You don’t have to decide right away. But think about it. You deserve something just for you, Olivia. No expectations, no strings.”
The sincerity in his tone tugs at something deep inside me. I hesitate, then admit, “There is one place…”
Nathaniel’s eyes flick to me briefly, his interest sharpening. “Go on.”
“It’s silly,” I say quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. “There’s this ice cream parlor in the next town over. I went once when I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to go back but never got the chance.”
His hand tightens on the wheel. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
I blink at him. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupts gently but firmly, his tone allowing no argument. “Tell me where it is.”
“It’s called Sweet Retreat,” I murmur, and for the first time in days, I feel a flicker of excitement.
The town comes into view just as the sun dips low on the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange.
The streets are lined with small, independently owned businesses, their cheerful signs and colorful awnings evoking a sense of nostalgia.
Sweet Retreat is nestled on the main street, its vintage signage glowing warmly in the soft light.
Nathaniel parks the car, and as we step out, the scent of waffle cones and sugar wafts through the air. My heart flutters in anticipation.
As we step inside the shop, I’m immediately struck by how charming it is. Pastel tiles line the walls, a smiling employee stands behind a glass counter with rows of brightly colored ice cream tub, and a family sits at one of the small tables, children giggling as they dig into oversized cones.
I hesitate in the doorway, overwhelmed by how simple yet perfect it all feels. Nathaniel’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me inside.
“What are you getting?” he asks, his gaze soft as it lingers on me.
I hesitate, studying the colorful display behind the glass counter. “I’m not sure yet,” I admit, biting my lip. “There are too many options.” I turn to him, a smile tugging at my lips. “What if we get a few scoops to share? That way, we can try more flavors.”
His expression softens, a fond, indulgent look that sends warmth blooming in my chest.
“That sounds like the best idea,” he says, his tone laced with affection.
Then, as if unable to resist, he steps closer, wrapping his arms around me. Pressing a kiss to the crown of my head, he murmurs, “God, I love you so fucking much, my sweet girl.”
Heat floods my cheeks, my breath catching at his sudden declaration. I duck my head, trying to compose myself as my heart races wildly. “Nate…” I whisper, but the smile playing on my lips betrays me.
I turn to the employee, my voice faltering slightly as I order. “Three scoops, please. Lavender honey, salted caramel pretzel, and…” I hesitate. “Roasted pistachio. In a waffle bowl.” I pick it over the vanilla fig before I can overthink it.
“To share,” Nathaniel adds, his arm still loosely around my waist as he hands over his card.
The employee smiles brightly as she prepares our order, but all I can focus on is the steady presence of Nathaniel beside me and the way his words still echo in my mind.
With our order in hand, Nathaniel leads me to a small table by the window, the light from outside casting a golden glow over his features. I can’t help but smile.
For once, I’m not thinking about what my parents will say or the burden of their expectations. In this moment, sitting here with Nathaniel, I feel free.
I dip my spoon into the swirl of lavender honey and salted caramel pretzel, the creamy texture melting on my tongue. It’s just as delicious as I remember, maybe even better.
But it isn’t just the ice cream that makes me smile. Across from me, Nathaniel takes a scoop of his own, his expression softening into one of genuine surprise and pleasure.
“It’s good,” he admits, his voice tinged with amusement, as if he didn’t expect to enjoy something so simple.
“Good?” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re having a religious experience.”
His lips curve into a smirk, but his gaze remains on me, intent and unwavering. “Maybe I am.”
The words set off a swarm of butterflies in my belly, but I hide it by taking another spoonful of ice cream.
Nathaniel is always so composed, unfaltering in his control of the world around him.
But here he is, indulging in something humble and unassuming, not because it fits into some grand plan, but because he knows it matters to me.
The thought leaves a tender ache in my chest—he isn’t just sharing this moment with me; he’s showing me a part of himself he rarely lets anyone see.
I set my spoon down, the sweetness of the ice cream still lingering on my tongue. Nathaniel’s gaze bores into me, steady and curious. “Why didn’t you ever come here with your family?”
The question catches me off guard. I shift in my seat, forcing a small smile. “Oh… We just didn’t really go out for things like this.”
His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing as if sensing there’s more to the story. “Not even for a special occasion? A birthday?”
I pick at the edge of my napkin. “My mom…wasn’t big on sweets,” I admit lightly, trying to keep my tone breezy. “She always thought they were, you know, unnecessary indulgences.”
Nathaniel tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. “Unnecessary?” he presses. “Ice cream is practically a childhood staple.”
I laugh nervously, waving a hand as though to dismiss it.
“Yeah, well…she didn’t think I needed it.
She always thought I was too chubby.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret them.
I shrug, forcing another laugh to fill the awkward pause. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal.”
His jaw locks, the softness in his eyes replaced by a steely edge. “Not a big deal?” he repeats, his voice low and measured.
I look down at the table. “It’s fine,” I insist. “Sweets aren’t exactly good for you anyway.”
“Olivia.” His tone is sharper now, commanding my attention. I glance up to find his gaze intense, his expression hard with something that looks dangerously close to anger. “That’s not fine,” he says firmly.
I bite my lip, unsure how to respond, but the way he looks at me—with such fierce determination, as though he can rewrite my past if he tries hard enough—leaves me feeling strangely exposed.
Not wanting to dwell on it further, I quickly deflect.
“The one time I came here was with a friend’s family,” I say, the memory bubbling to the surface.
“I was about nine, and it was during a sleepover. Her parents took us here after dinner, and I remember being completely overwhelmed by all the flavors.” I smile, the nostalgia softening the edges of my voice.
“I chose bubblegum because it was my favorite color. Spent the whole car ride home trying to keep it from dripping down my wrist.”
I pause, the memory bright but tinged with something heavier. “It was one of the happiest moments I’d had in a long time, but I also felt so guilty. Like I’d done something wrong by enjoying it.”
Nathaniel’s gaze remains fixed on me, his blue eyes impossibly soft. “And what did you do with that guilt?”
My smile turns wistful. “I learned to savor the happy moments when they came. Even if they didn’t last, even if they felt fleeting. It was better to have them than to let them slip away entirely.”
The silence between us stretches, but it isn’t uncomfortable. When Nathaniel finally speaks, his voice is quiet, threaded with something deeper. “You’re extraordinary, Olivia.”
I blush furiously, glancing down to our nearly empty waffle bowl, unsure of how to respond. But before I can gather my thoughts, Nathaniel sets his spoon down with purpose.
“You had a dilemma earlier,” he says, his tone shifting to something lighter but still intentional.
I blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“When we were ordering,” he clarifies. “You were torn between the roasted pistachio and the vanilla fig.”
My eyes widen. I didn’t realize he noticed.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, though the warmth in my voice betrays the words.
He stands, making his way to the counter without another word. I watch, baffled and a little amused, as he returns moments later with a single scoop of vanilla fig in a small cup.
“Here,” he says, placing it in front of me and holding out a spoon. “You should have anything you want.”
I stare at him, overwhelmed by how he never misses even the smallest details. Taking the spoon, I pause for a moment before trying the new flavor. The sweetness of the vanilla paired with the subtle earthiness of the figs is perfect.