Chapter 6 – Ellie
The house smells like cilantro and simmering chicken the moment I walk in — my dad’s Tuesday soup. He always makes it, no matter how busy he is, no matter how tired he gets. It’s the one routine that never changes, even when everything else in our lives has.
“Sweet pea,” Dad calls from the kitchen, stirring the pot with that old wooden spoon he refuses to replace. “How was your second day?”
“It was… better,” I breathe out, the words soft and tired.
No. It wasn’t.
I felt like a fool after what happened yesterday. Every time I thought about it — about Tyler, about Oliver stepping in, about the way my voice barely worked — my stomach twisted all over again.
I didn’t see Oliver on campus today.
And I don’t know if that made things easier… or worse.
Something in me shifted. Instead of thinking of Oliver as the jerk, I see him differently. Softer. Somehow.
My dad always told me some people deserved second chances, but he also said to be careful who we give them to.
Maybe Oliver isn’t bad at all. Maybe he’s just shy. Just like Gage said.
But… what if he is a jerk? Would a jerk act the way he did yesterday? Would a jerk step in like that — not for attention, not to show off, but because he genuinely thought I needed help?
I don’t know.
And the not knowing sits heavy in my chest.
“What’s on your mind, sweet pea?” Dad asks, his voice soft and wondering.
“N-nothing, Dad,” I say quickly, eyes dropping to the floor. I can feel him trying to read me, and I’m not ready for that.
“Did something happen?” he asks, worry slipping into his tone.
“Just girl stuff, Dad.” I wave a hand vaguely. “Do you really want to talk about someone being on their period?”
He freezes.
“Food’s ready,” he blurts, immediately changing the subject with a nervous smile.
I almost laugh. Almost.
“I love you, Daddy.” I smile at him as I hand him the bowls.
“I love you more, sweet pea,” he says in that warm, steady voice that always makes me feel safe. Then he squints at me, like something just clicked. “But don’t you need to go to work?”
“Crap. I mean—yes. Shoot, I’m running late.” I start inhaling the soup like it’s a race.
“Hurry. Get ready. I’ll start the car. I’ll take you.” Dad turns off the stove and rushes for the keys, already halfway to the door.
By the time Dad pulls up to the café, my heart is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with being late.
“Have a good shift, sweet pea,” he says, leaning over to kiss my forehead like he’s done since I was little.
“Thanks, Daddy.” I squeeze his hand before stepping out.
The moment I close the door, the warm smell of roasted coffee and vanilla hits me — familiar, comforting, grounding. The café windows glow softly against the late-afternoon light, and for a second, I just stand there, breathing it in.
I push the door open.
The bell above it jingles, and Gage looks up from behind the counter.
“There she is!” he says with a grin. “Thought you weren’t gonna make it.”
“I’m here,” I say, a little breathless. “Barely.”
He laughs. “Rough day?”
You have no idea.
I just smile instead and tie my apron around my waist. The café is busy enough to keep my hands moving but quiet enough that my mind keeps drifting back to yesterday.
To Oliver.
To the way he stepped in without hesitation. To the way his voice sounded when he said my name. To the way I didn’t see him today — and how that bothered me more than it should.
“Earth to Ellie,” Gage says, waving a hand in front of my face.
I blink. “Sorry. Just… tired.”
He gives me a look — the kind that says he doesn’t believe me but won’t push.
I grab a rag and start wiping down the counter, trying to focus on anything other than the flutter in my chest.
But it’s useless.
Because every time the door opens, I look up.
And every time, it’s not him.
“Is Oliver working tonight?”
The words leave my mouth before my brain even catches up.
Crap. Did I seriously ask that out loud?
Gage pauses mid-wipe, eyebrows lifting just enough to say oh?
“No. He works tomorrow,” he says slowly — and then gives me that look. The one that says he knows exactly what’s going on.
Yup. I said that out loud.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I force a tiny, awkward smile, pretending I’m not dying inside while my brain screams at me for asking something so obvious, so suspicious, so… revealing.
I turn back to the counter, wiping the same spot three times just to avoid eye contact.
Why did I ask that? Why did I care? Why does it matter if he’s here or not?
But I already know the answer.
And that’s the part that scares me the most.
“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” Gage says, nervous but enthusiastic as always.
I freeze.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Gage never starts conversations like that unless it’s something big — or something embarrassing — or something he thinks I “deserve to know,” which is usually even worse.
I swallow. “O-okay… what is it?”
He glances around the café like he’s checking if anyone’s listening, then leans a little closer over the counter.
“It’s about Oliver.”
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
Of course it is.
I grip the rag in my hand a little too tightly. “What about him?”
Gage hesitates — actually hesitates — which only makes my pulse pick up.
“He… uh… said something yesterday. After you left.”
My breath catches.
Said something?
About me?
To who?
Why?
Gage rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but… I think you should know.”
For goodness’ sake… just tell me
“What is it?” I hesitate, wondering whether it’s good or bad.
Gage exhales, then leans in a little.
“Oliver… he um—he told me he wanted to get to know you better.” He pauses, watching my face. “He really likes you, you know.”
My heart stops.
Actually stops.
For a second, I forget how to breathe. The rag slips a little in my hand, and I have to tighten my grip so I don’t drop it.
“He… what?” I manage, though it comes out more like a breath than a word.
Gage nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. He was… nervous. Really nervous. But he meant it.”
My cheeks warm instantly. My stomach flips. My brain short-circuits.
Oliver. Likes me.
The same Oliver I thought hated me. The same Oliver who couldn’t even look at me without turning red. The same Oliver who stepped in yesterday like it was instinct.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why… why would he say that?”
Gage shrugs, but his eyes soften. “Maybe because it’s true.”
I look down at the counter, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.
All I know is that something warm blooms in my chest — slow, quiet, impossible to ignore.
“I um… thank you for telling me,” I say, glancing at Gage with a soft smile. I’m trying so hard not to seem desperate, not to let the warmth blooming in my chest show on my face.
But Gage sees everything.
He grins, like he’s genuinely happy for me. “Yeah, of course. I figured you’d want to know.”
I nod, even though my thoughts are spinning so fast I can barely keep up with them. My fingers fidget with the rag in my hands, twisting it, untwisting it, anything to keep myself grounded.
Oliver likes me.
The words echo in my mind, soft and unbelievable.
I swallow, my heart fluttering in a way I can’t control.
Trust him. Trust that Oliver meant it. Trust that yesterday wasn’t just some moment I imagined.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
“Thank you.” I whisper.
My hands are still trembling a little when Gage walks away, leaving me alone behind the counter. The café hums softly around me — the espresso machine, quiet conversations, the clink of mugs — but everything feels distant, muted.
All I can hear is my heartbeat.
By the time we close, my nerves are a tangled mess.
I clock out, and step outside while I’m waiting for my dad to pick me up.
The sky is dark, the streetlights buzzing faintly, and for a moment, I just stand there, hugging my phone in both hands.
Should I text him?
Should I wait?
I take a shaky breath and unlock my phone. The work app icon sits there, glowing softly, like it’s waiting for me.
My thumb hovers over it.
Just do it, Ellie. Before you overthink yourself into a coma.
I tap the app open.
Oliver’s name is right there — his profile picture, his status, the little green dot that says he’s online.
My stomach flips so hard I almost drop the phone.
I click on his name.
The empty chat stares back at me, a blank space that suddenly feels too big, too quiet, too full of possibility.
I type:
“Hey… I just wanted to say I appreciate what you did yesterday.”
Too formal.
Delete.
I try again.
Me: Hi. I hope you’re having a good night. And… thank you. For yesterday.
I stare at it for a long moment, and before I can talk myself out of it, I hit send.
My breath catches.
And now all I can do is wait.
As I turn off my phone, rethinking if I should have texted him or not, my phone rings.
A notification through the work app.
It’s Oliver.
Oliver: Hey Ellie, of course, if you need anything, I’m here.
Me : Thank you. It means a lot.
Oliver: I’ll do it again. Anytime. Just let me know and I’ll be there.
I stare at his message for a full five seconds before my brain remembers how to function.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Me: Thank you, again.
Oliver: I’m glad you texted me.
My stomach flips so hard I have to sit down on the curb.
Me: You are?
OLIVER: Yeah. I… wanted to talk to you. I just didn’t know if I should.
ME: You can. If you want to.
There’s a beat.
Then.
Oliver: I want to.
Oliver: There’s actually something I want to tell you…
Me: I know. Gage told me.
Oliver: Oh… are you mad?
God no. I’m happy.
ME: Of course not.
Oliver: I’m glad then.
Oliver: I’m sorry if this is too early. But, would you like to go on a date?
My heart is beating so fast.
My cheeks burn.
Am I blushing?
Me: I would love to.
Oliver: Great. How about 6:00 pm. At The Lantern House?
Me: Sounds good. I’ll see you then.
Oliver: Can’t wait.
Friday can’t come fast enough.