17. Athena #2
Nathan washes his hands too, then he reaches for a bowl and starts moving with competent ease.
He doesn’t need to ask where everything is for long.
He finds the whisk, he finds the pan, he turns on the stove and adjusts the heat with a surgeon’s precision that makes me want to mock him, then he catches my eye and his mouth twitches.
“Don’t start,” he says quietly.
I lift a brow. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Ivy climbs onto a stool at the counter and watches him work like he’s a cooking show. Nathan cracks eggs cleanly, then mixes batter with practiced motion, then slices strawberries while Ivy narrates her opinions on fruit.
“Strawberry is best,” she informs him.
Nathan nods. “Strong stance,” he replies, and Ivy grins.
I lean against the doorway and watch the scene, then I feel something shift in my chest that catches me off guard. Nathan looks comfortable in my kitchen, and Ivy looks comfortable watching him, and the familiarity of it makes my throat tighten.
This is what I built without him. This is also what I wanted, on the days I let myself want it.
Nathan flips the first pancake with easy confidence, then he slides it onto a plate and cuts it into smaller pieces without being asked. He sets the plate in front of Ivy, adds strawberries on top, then he drizzles a small amount of syrup with careful restraint.
Ivy takes one bite and her eyes widen.
“Mom,” she says with her mouth full. “This is good.”
I walk over and set Ivy’s lunch bag beside her, then I pour myself coffee and take a small sip that tastes like routine.
Nathan sets a second plate down in front of me, then he pauses like he’s waiting for permission to occupy space beside us.
I gesture toward the chair across from Ivy. “Sit,” I say.
Nathan sits.
He eats slowly, watching Ivy more than he watches his plate, and Ivy keeps talking like she’s decided he’s allowed to exist. She asks him what his favorite animal is, if he likes pizza, if he knows how to draw a rabbit.
Nathan answers each one without condescension, and he doesn’t try to charm her with big promises. He stays in the lane of simple, steady presence, and the restraint makes my chest ache.
At one point Ivy drops her fork, and Nathan reaches down to pick it up automatically, washes it, then holds it out to her without making a big deal of it.
“Thank you,” Ivy says, with a smile that makes my heart break and sing at the same time.
“You’re welcome,” Nathan replies.
Ivy studies him for a beat. “You have the same eyes as me.”
My hand stills on my coffee mug. Nathan’s gaze moves to me, then back to Ivy, and his voice stays calm. “You noticed.”
Ivy nods, serious. “Mom says my daddy has eyes like mine.”
Nathan’s hands rest on the table, and his voice stays gentle. “Your mom is smart.”
Ivy brightens. “Yes,” she says, pleased, then she takes another bite like she solved something.
The clock moves too fast after that.
Ivy finishes breakfast, then I guide her into her shoes and jacket while she chatters about pancakes and strawberries. Nathan washes dishes without being asked, sleeves rolled, hands moving with the same competence he uses in a hospital, and the domestic normalcy of it makes my chest feel tight.
When the bus arrives, Ivy grabs her backpack and runs toward the door, then she stops and looks back at Nathan as if she’s remembering something important.
Nathan steps into the hallway, careful, and he holds himself at a respectful distance. “I’ll walk you,” he says, then he looks at me for confirmation.
I nod once.
We go outside together, and the morning air feels cool against my face. Ivy trots ahead then slows so Nathan can match her pace. He doesn’t take her hand without permission. He simply walks beside her and lets her chatter.
At the bus stop, Ivy swings her backpack strap and looks up at him again, then her voice drops into something quieter. “Are you here to be my dad?”
My breath catches, and I look away toward the street on instinct, giving them a sliver of privacy without abandoning the moment.
Nathan’s voice stays low, and I can’t hear every word, yet I hear enough.
“I’m here,” he calmly says.
The bus doors fold open and Ivy climbs the steps, then she turns and waves at both of us with a grin that looks like it belongs on a postcard. The doors close, the bus pulls away, and the street settles back into quiet.
Nathan watches the bus until it turns the corner, then he turns back toward me with a careful expression.
I lean against the building wall and fold my arms, trying to look composed. “What did you say?”
Nathan steps closer, then stops at a polite distance, as if he’s still honoring the boundaries I set last night. “I told her I’m here to help and support her mommy,” he says. “I told her we’re going to see where things go from there.”
I stare at him. He didn’t claim her, lie, or promise her a fantasy.
He gave her something real. I nod slowly. My eyes sting again, and I hate myself for being this easy to move. “Thank you,” I say, and my voice comes out quiet.
Nathan’s gaze holds mine. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
I swallow, then gesture toward the door. “Come back in. I need to finish my coffee.”
Nathan follows me inside, and he moves through my apartment like he’s memorizing it without touching anything he hasn’t earned. He sits at the kitchen table again while I refill my mug, and the quiet between us feels different now.
Nathan rubs a hand over the back of his neck, then he looks at me with that focused attention that makes it hard to hide. “Do you want to talk?”
I lift a brow. “About what?”
Nathan’s voice stays calm, and his eyes don’t flinch away. “About what made you run.”
My fingers curl around the coffee mug like it’s an anchor. I look at him across the table and feel the old fear stirring, the one that still knows names and threats and photographs.
Nathan keeps his hands on the table, open, still. “You don’t have to answer right now,” he adds. “You can tell me to wait.”
I stare at him and hear Ivy’s voice in my head, cheerful and trusting, and I feel the weight of six years pressing against my ribs.
I set my mug down carefully then meet his gaze. “Alright,” I say quietly. “You want the truth?”
Nathan’s eyes glint, and his voice drops. “Yes. I do.”