Page 11 of His To Unravel
The campus isquiet in the early evening, with the soft murmur of voices and the shuffle of footsteps weaving through the fading light. I wait outside Olivia’s dorm, leaning casually against the brick facade.
When she emerges, her eyes find mine and she smiles shyly.
“Hi,” she greets quietly.
“Hello, Olivia. Ready to go?” I ask, keeping my tone light, though everything inside me sharpens with the anticipation of her answer.
She nods and visibly relaxes, comfortable and curious. That’s what I want.
I fall into step beside her, resisting the urge to close the distance between us entirely.
I decided to take her to the diner for our first outing—casual enough to make her feel at ease but intentional enough to show I’ve been listening, picking up on her passing mention of her love for breakfast food.
The small details are invisible threads that bind people together—easily overlooked yet impossible to untangle once pulled taut.
The diner is dimly lit, the scent of coffee and maple syrup lingering in the air as I guide her to a booth.
She slides into the seat across from me, relaxing as she glances around, a flicker of appreciation lighting up her eyes. It’s another small victory, but one that’s almost thrilling in its simplicity. Like watching a fortress slowly lower its gates.
When the waitress comes around, Olivia doesn’t hesitate to order pancakes, her eyes bright with an excitement that she tries to temper. I order the same, watching her out of the corner of my eye, cataloging every detail.
She laughs softly when I match her order, her gaze meeting mine. “Didn’t peg you as a breakfast-for-dinner kind of guy.”
I smile, leaning back just slightly. “Sometimes the right thing at the wrong time is exactly what we need.”
She tilts her head, considering my words, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes.
The conversation flows easily, as planned, moving seamlessly from classes and professors to small personal preferences—favorite coffee flavors, preferred study spots on campus, even her favorite childhood books.
Each compliment I offer is met with surprise, then pleasure, her face lighting up in a way that pulls me in deeper, stirs something fierce in me.
She’s never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment—unguarded, a little uncertain, the faintest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks.
She laughs at a light remark I make about how she appears to be “perfect” in everything she does, though the way she falters just slightly tells me I’ve struck a nerve. The moment is a slight crack in her otherwise composed demeanor, and I file it away to revisit later.
“You remember quite a bit,” she says at one point, her gaze dropping to the napkin she’s absently folding betweenher fingers.
I shrug. “It’s hard to forget the details that matter.”
Her head lifts, our eyes meeting, and the silence between us stretches, the tension thickening enough that I see her take a quick breath. A small act, yet telling.
She clears her throat, looking away. “Thank you…for tonight. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Then let’s make a habit of it,” I reply smoothly, watching as she weighs my words, that trace of hesitance still present in her eyes.
She doesn’t pull back though.
If anything, I can see her wrestling with her own instincts, torn between caution and the comfort that’s been quietly building between us. And then she smiles. Loosens. Just a little more.
Exactly as I intended.
The cool night breeze welcomes us as we leave the diner, and Olivia’s soft laugh hangs in the air, light as autumn mist. I offer her my arm and without second thought, she slips her hand around it. Each second of contact sends a spark of satisfaction up my spine.
“It’s strange,” I start as we cross the cobbled paths, veering toward one of Halford’s oldest sections. “I’ve been here for years, yet sometimes I feel like I’m only just beginning to appreciate this place.” She tilts her head, intrigued, so I continue, “My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all went here. They told me endless stories about campus traditions and secret spots. But those were just secondhand memories until I began discovering them myself.”
Her eyes are wide, listening intently. “Your family is part of Halford’s legacy,” she says, glancing around as if seeing everything anew.
I catch her gaze and hold it. “I want to show you some of those places. A few of my own favorites, too.” Her lips curve up, a barely-there smile that stirs something within my chest.
