His lips curve into a smirk, but his gaze remains on me, intent and unwavering. “Maybe I am.”
The words set off a swarm of butterflies in my belly, but I hide it by taking another spoonful of ice cream.
Nathaniel is always so composed, unfaltering in his control of the world around him. But here he is, indulging in something humble and unassuming, not because it fits into some grand plan, but because he knows it matters to me. The thought leaves a tender ache in my chest—he isn’t just sharing this moment with me; he’s showing me a part of himself he rarely lets anyone see.
I set my spoon down, the sweetness of the ice cream still lingering on my tongue. Nathaniel’s gaze bores into me, steady and curious. “Why didn’t you ever come here with your family?”
The question catches me off guard. I shift in my seat, forcing a small smile. “Oh… We just didn’t really go out for things like this.”
His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing as if sensing there’s more to the story. “Not even for a special occasion? A birthday?”
I pick at the edge of my napkin. “My mom…wasn’t big on sweets,” I admit lightly, trying to keep my tone breezy. “She always thought they were, you know, unnecessary indulgences.”
Nathaniel tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. “Unnecessary?” he presses. “Ice cream is practically a childhood staple.”
I laugh nervously, waving a hand as though to dismiss it. “Yeah, well…she didn’t think I needed it. She always thought I was too chubby.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret them. I shrug, forcing another laugh to fill the awkward pause. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal.”
His jaw locks, the softness in his eyes replaced by a steely edge. “Not a big deal?” he repeats, his voice low and measured.
I look down at the table. “It’s fine,” I insist. “Sweets aren’t exactly good for you anyway.”
“Olivia.” His tone is sharper now, commanding my attention. I glance up to find his gaze intense, his expression hard with something that looks dangerously close to anger. “That’s notfine,” he says firmly.
I bite my lip, unsure how to respond, but the way he looks at me—with such fierce determination, as though he can rewrite my past if he tries hard enough—leaves me feeling strangely exposed.
Not wanting to dwell on it further, I quickly deflect. “The one time I came here was with a friend’s family,” I say, thememory bubbling to the surface. “I was about nine, and it was during a sleepover. Her parents took us here after dinner, and I remember being completely overwhelmed by all the flavors.” I smile, the nostalgia softening the edges of my voice. “I chose bubblegum because it was my favorite color. Spent the whole car ride home trying to keep it from dripping down my wrist.”
I pause, the memory bright but tinged with something heavier. “It was one of the happiest moments I’d had in a long time, but I also felt so guilty. Like I’d done something wrong by enjoying it.”
Nathaniel’s gaze remains fixed on me, his blue eyes impossibly soft. “And what did you do with that guilt?”
My smile turns wistful. “I learned to savor the happy moments when they came. Even if they didn’t last, even if they felt fleeting. It was better to have them than to let them slip away entirely.”
The silence between us stretches, but it isn’t uncomfortable. When Nathaniel finally speaks, his voice is quiet, threaded with something deeper. “You’re extraordinary, Olivia.”
I blush furiously, glancing down to our nearly empty waffle bowl, unsure of how to respond. But before I can gather my thoughts, Nathaniel sets his spoon down with purpose.
“You had a dilemma earlier,” he says, his tone shifting to something lighter but still intentional.
I blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“When we were ordering,” he clarifies. “You were torn between the roasted pistachio and the vanilla fig.”
My eyes widen. I didn’t realize he noticed.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, though the warmth in my voice betrays the words.
He stands, making his way to the counter without another word. I watch, baffled and a little amused, as he returns moments later with a single scoop of vanilla fig in a small cup.
“Here,” he says, placing it in front of me and holding out a spoon. “You should have anything you want.”
I stare at him, overwhelmed by how he never misses even the smallest details. Taking the spoon, I pause for a moment before trying the new flavor. The sweetness of the vanilla paired with the subtle earthiness of the figs is perfect.
“See?” Nathaniel leans closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “With me, you’ll never have to choose.”
Something in my chest loosens at that. I take another bite, savoring the taste. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”
His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “That’s the plan.”
