My mother blinks, clearly thrown off by his response, but she recovers quickly. “Oh!” She laughs loudly. “Of course. Take your time!”
“No,” Nathaniel says, his voice final. “We’ll order now. I’ll have the double cheeseburger. And Olivia will have pancakes—both chocolate chip and blueberry.”
I glance at him, surprised but touched by the gesture.
My mother’s smile flickers. “That’s a lot for a girl your size, don’t you think? Pancakes are heavy, Olivia.” She laughs again, the sound grating. “Maybe get the salad instead. You won’t look good next to such an eligible bachelor like Nathaniel if you put on any more weight.”
The words sting, and I look down at the table, willing myself not to react. I should be used to it by now.
Nathaniel’s voice slices through the moment like a blade. “Olivia is perfect as she is.” He states it so calmly that it sends a chill down my spine. “If she wants pancakes, she’ll have pancakes. And if she wants the entire menu, she’ll have that too.” His tone darkens, the underlying malice unmistakable. “But she won’t be receiving commentary on her choices—or her appearance.”
My mother’s smile freezes, the edges of it fraying as Nathaniel’s words land with precision.
“I beg your pardon?” she stammers.
“There’s nothing to pardon,” he replies evenly, though the sharpness in his gaze doesn’t soften. “Olivia’s well-being is my priority, and I won’t tolerate anyone—family or otherwise—undermining that.”
His hand finds mine beneath the table, his fingers curling gently but firmly around mine. “Do I make myself clear?” he asks, his eyes never leaving hers.
My mother swallows, her forced smile wavering. “Of course,” she agrees quickly, stepping back. “I’ll get your order started.”
As she retreats, I turn to Nathaniel, my heart twisting with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. He squeezes my hand, his expression softening as his attention returns to me.
“You deserve better,” he murmurs, just for me, and I don’t know whether to smile or cry.
When my mother returns with our food, the fanfare is conspicuously absent. She sets the plates down with a clipped smile, her movements brisk and businesslike, before retreating to the kitchen without lingering.
Nathaniel doesn’t spare her a glance. His focus is on me as he slides my plate closer, his eyes softening as I pick up my fork.
“Enjoy your pancakes,” he says simply, the affection in his voice making my heart gallop.
I take a bite of the chocolate chip first, the sweetness melting on my tongue, and hum appreciatively.
His lips quirk into a smile before he turns his attention to his own plate. I watch as he takes his first bite of the double cheeseburger, his brow lifting slightly in surprise.
“This is…good,” he says, almost reluctantly, as if the diner’s humble fare had no right to impress him.
I laugh, warmth blooming in my chest. “I told you,” I say, gesturing toward his plate. “It’s not all bad here.”
He nods, taking another bite, and for a moment, the tension between us dissolves into something easy. As I alternate between the chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes, I find myself smiling more freely, savoring not just the food but the comfort of his presence.
When I push my plate toward him with the remaining pancakes, he raises a brow.
“Are you sure?” he asks, though his fork is already poised.
I nod. “I’m full,” I reply, watching as he polishes off the rest with the same enthusiasm he’d shown for his burger. There’s something oddly satisfying about seeing him enjoy it, as though this small indulgence is a rare glimpse into a side of him no one else gets to see.
I lean back, my gaze drifting to the empty plates between us. There’s always been a struggle in my mind—choosing between chocolate chip or blueberry, practicality or indulgence, independence or vulnerability. But Nathaniel, with his steady presence and unwavering devotion, makes me wonder if perhaps I really don’t have to choose.
Maybe, with him, I can have it all.
The thought is sweet, but also unsettling.
Suddenly, the front door swings open with a chime, and three unfamiliar faces step inside.
They look…professional.
A woman in a crisp white blouse and tailored slacks leads the group, holding a clipboard. Behind her, a younger man carries what looks like a toolkit, and an older gentleman with silver-streaked hair nods politely at my mother as she emerges from the kitchen.
