Olivia’s smile doesn’t waver. “You’re right. But I’d like to think I’ve been learning to navigate currents bigger than myself. Nathaniel’s taught me that execution matters as much as ideas.”
The words hit me like a live wire. Not because they’re flattering, but because I can tell she means them.
She’s never needed me. That’s one of the many things I love about her. And yet, here in front of everyone, she threads her name through mine—not as ornament, but as choice. A declaration that we stand as equals.
Across the table, my father’s gaze sharpens. “And clearly you’ve been paying attention,” he says, his tone decisive, the kind of remark that carries weight long after it lands. After a pause, he adds, “You’ve a good head for applied work. Perhaps you should extend your stay in New York. Come spend a few days with us at Caldwell Ventures next week, see how we operate in the depths.”
It sounds like an invitation, but everyone at the table knows better. It’s approval. A door that opens to very few people.
My mother’s eyes brighten; she reaches to rest a manicured hand over Olivia’s. “It’ll be a wonderful chance to see how we do things—and a trial run for working with one of us full-time in the future, perhaps?”
I still. Somehow, I hadn’t even considered this possibility.
Since we’ve met, my singular focus has been to convince Olivia to move to Manhattan with me after graduation. Now, Irealize I’ve been thinking too small. Why settle for the same city when we could share the same building? The same mornings.The same life.We already work better together than anyone I know—the project last semester proved it. Our capstone will seal it.
“That’s incredibly kind of you, Mr. Caldwell,” she replies, steady and gracious. “I… I’d be honored.”
My father inclines his head once, approving. “Good. We’ll have my office reach out.” He adds, “And given you’re slated to start at Baxter immediately after graduation, this is the only window you have to test something more tailored to your abilities. I’d hate for you to close a door before seeing where it actually leads.”
To anyone else, Olivia is calm and composed. But I see the small tells—the pulse at her jaw, the napkin twisting between her fingers. She’s already doing the math: classes, projects, deadlines. She’s due back in Boston tomorrow, and she can’t exactly tell my father that.
“Leave it with me,” I murmur. “I’ll speak to the dean.”
Her eyes snap to mine, a protest forming. “You can’t just?—”
“Yes, baby,I can,” I cut in. “Don’t worry about permission, hmm? Just say yes.”
Her shoulders ease. That little line between her eyebrows smooths. She looks up at me, half-smiling. “You really think I can do this?”
“I know you can.” I catch her hand under the table, raising it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “And you will.”
The rest of brunch drifts by easily enough.
Plates are cleared and replaced with dessert, coffee poured while conversation stays civilized. My parents are relaxed, and Olivia—god, she’s radiant. There’s color in her cheeks, laughter in her voice. For a while, I forget the Vanderhoofs are even in the room.
But it wouldn’t be Anne if she didn’t demand her presence be felt.
She leans toward us, her smile gracious, her tone mild. “Mrs. Caldwell—Renée—I just wanted to wish you happy birthday again and thank you for including us in this weekend’s celebrations. It’s been wonderful.”
My mother returns the smile. “That’s sweet of you, Anne. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
My father glances over but says nothing, sipping his coffee.
“I imagine the best part of your birthday must be seeing Nathaniel looking so happy,” Anne goes on. “It’s wonderful to see that light back in him.”
There’s a ripple through the table. Olivia stiffens beside me as I set down my fork, the sound sharp against porcelain.
She continues, feigning thoughtfulness. “I remember after dear Alexander’s passing—those were such hard years for all of us.” Her eyes drift toward my mother with practiced sympathy. “It wasn’t easy, losing him, but it was especially hard on Nate. To lose a bond like that… My heart breaks for him, even now.”
Her words stir up a familiar discomfort—one that comes from being yanked into the past without consent.
Anne shifts her attention to me. “You were so broken,” she says gently. “Seeing you whole again—it’s a gift.”
I don’t miss the way the air around the table shifts—the collective intake of breath when grief is invoked in polite company.
“I suppose I understood a little of what you felt,” she adds. “Alex was precious to me too. He had this way of making everyone feel seen. When he was gone…we were all adrift.” A wistful pause. “I think that’s what makes us kindred spirits, you and I. We understand each other’s grief as no one else can.”
She keeps the social smile in place, which makes the next line sound almost generous. “It’s not easy, you know…to walk withsomeone through that kind of grief. I can only pray that whoever stands beside you next time things get hard knows what it really takes to stay. As I always will for you, Nate.”
