His lips curve into the faintest smile, though his focus remains on the road. “Whatever you want. Dinner in another city, a walk somewhere quiet, something you’ve always wanted to do. Name it.”
The offer catches me off guard. He always has this way of being both commanding and gentle, as if he can reach places I didn’t realize I was keeping hidden.
“I don’t know…” I trail off, my cheeks flushing as I struggle to think of something.
“You don’t have to decide right away. But think about it. You deserve something just for you, Olivia. No expectations, no strings.”
The sincerity in his tone tugs at something deep inside me. I hesitate, then admit, “There is one place…”
Nathaniel’s eyes flick to me briefly, his interest sharpening. “Go on.”
“It’s silly,” I say quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. “There’s this ice cream parlor in the next town over. I went once when I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to go back but never got the chance.”
His hand tightens on the wheel. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
I blink at him. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he interrupts gently but firmly, his tone allowing no argument. “Tell me where it is.”
“It’s called Sweet Retreat,” I murmur, and for the first time in days, I feel a flicker of excitement.
The town comesinto view just as the sun dips low on the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. The streets are lined with small, independently owned businesses, their cheerful signs and colorful awnings evoking a sense of nostalgia. Sweet Retreat is nestled on the main street, its vintage signage glowing warmly in the soft light.
Nathaniel parks the car, and as we step out, the scent of waffle cones and sugar wafts through the air. My heart flutters in anticipation.
As we step inside the shop, I’m immediately struck by how charming it is. Pastel tiles line the walls, a smiling employee stands behind a glass counter with rows of brightly colored ice cream tub, and a family sits at one of the small tables, children giggling as they dig into oversized cones.
I hesitate in the doorway, overwhelmed by how simple yet perfect it all feels. Nathaniel’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me inside.
“What are you getting?” he asks, his gaze soft as it lingers on me.
I hesitate, studying the colorful display behind the glass counter. “I’m not sure yet,” I admit, biting my lip. “There are too many options.” I turn to him, a smile tugging at my lips. “What if we get a few scoops to share? That way, we can try more flavors.”
His expression softens, a fond, indulgent look that sends warmth blooming in my chest.
“That sounds like the best idea,” he says, his tone laced with affection.
Then, as if unable to resist, he steps closer, wrapping his arms around me. Pressing a kiss to the crown of my head, he murmurs, “God, I love you so fucking much, my sweet girl.”
Heat floods my cheeks, my breath catching at his sudden declaration. I duck my head, trying to compose myself as my heart races wildly. “Nate…” I whisper, but the smile playing on my lips betrays me.
I turn to the employee, my voice faltering slightly as I order. “Three scoops, please. Lavender honey, salted caramel pretzel, and…” I hesitate. “Roasted pistachio. In a waffle bowl.” I pick it over the vanilla fig before I can overthink it.
“To share,” Nathaniel adds, his arm still loosely around my waist as he hands over his card.
The employee smiles brightly as she prepares our order, but all I can focus on is the steady presence of Nathaniel beside me and the way his words still echo in my mind.
With our order in hand, Nathaniel leads me to a small table by the window, the light from outside casting a golden glow over his features. I can’t help but smile.
For once, I’m not thinking about what my parents will say or the burden of their expectations. In this moment, sitting here with Nathaniel, I feel free.
I dip my spoon into the swirl of lavender honey and salted caramel pretzel, the creamy texture melting on my tongue. It’s just as delicious as I remember, maybe even better.
But it isn’t just the ice cream that makes me smile. Across from me, Nathaniel takes a scoop of his own, his expression softening into one of genuine surprise and pleasure.
“It’s good,” he admits, his voice tinged with amusement, as if he didn’t expect to enjoy something so simple.
“Good?” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re having a religious experience.”
