He glances at me. “Sleep okay after I left you?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t push. “Good,” he says. “We can have a slow morning before we head to my parents’ tonight. You’ll like the desserts my mother picked out.”
I don’t respond and his hand settles more firmly at my back, a silent catch, like he knows I’m drifting.
The kitchen comes into view, set with intention: pancakes stacked high, berries in a glass bowl, peonies in a vase—the exact shade he knows I love.
On any other morning, I would tease him for overdoing it before leaning in to kiss and thank him. But today, I stand there, unable to step into the scene he’s crafted.
He pulls out my chair and bends to press his lips along my jaw as I sit. “Baby, these turned out so good. You have to enjoy them while they’re hot.”
I pick up my fork, but my hand wavers. My appetite never falters when it comes to pancakes—least of allhis—yet I can’t muster anything close to hunger. I set the fork back down.
Nathaniel stills. Every part of him goes sharply attentive, that hyper-focused wiring of his locking onto me with precision.
“Olivia.” My name carries a warning he hasn’t yet given voice to.
I lift my gaze, try again for a reassuring smile, and feel it fall apart halfway. “I’m okay,” I say, though even I can hear the strain in my voice. “Just not fully awake yet.”
He studies me with an intensity that feels like fingertips tracing the inside of my mind.
“No,” he surmises. “Something’s wrong.”
I shake my head and drop my eyes, adjusting the hem of my shirt just to give my hands something to do.
He doesn’t let it go. “Talk to me, baby.”
“I—I’m not… I’m not sure how to say it.” I swallow once, then again, fighting the rise of emotion I’m not ready to show him.
Nathaniel moves closer, sliding an arm along the back of my chair. “Take your time,” he coaxes. “I’m right here.”
I nod, though the motion feels disconnected from the rest of me. My hands shift to grip the edge of the table. “I received some news this morning.”
“Regarding?”
“I’ll get into that. But first, I need to tell you something. A few days ago…” I pause, gathering myself. “I got a call from Castor & Wyatt.”
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.
“They said someone dropped out,” I continue. “I was next on the waitlist, so they offered me the role.”
All I get is a slight lift of his brow, as if he’s prompting me to go on. It’s almost as if he’s already heard this part.
“I…I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what to do yet,” I admit. “I only decided yesterday that I would turn them down.”
This time, emotion flickers across his expression—a spark of satisfaction, unmistakable before he smooths it away.
“But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“They rescinded it this morning. Said it was an internal error.”
Nathaniel nods. “That happens sometimes. These things aren’t always as organized as they seem.”
“I thought—I thought that was the worst of it.” My stomach twists so sharply it nearly doubles me over. “But I got an email from Baxter too.”
