Page 24 of His To Unravel
“Olivia,” I murmur. “Have you eaten today?”
She hesitates, looking down at her hands, a slight frown pinching her brow. “I was going to grab something later. I’ve been really busy,” she explains.
Of course she has. I’ve watched her for weeks and never once seen her pause for so much as a snack.
I soften, adopting a gentler tone. “So you haven’t,” I say, watching her carefully. Her avoidance is answer enough. “Come on.”
Before she can object, I reach for her hand, fingers threadinggently but firmly with hers. Her palm is warm, her grip tentative, but she doesn’t pull away.
Her steps falter slightly before matching mine, her gaze flicking to our joined hands with a mixture of surprise and something akin to affection. Her quiet, almost shy compliance stirs something deep within me. Something fierce and possessive.
As we step into the courtyard, the scent of seafood hangs in the air. I lead her toward a small food truck, one popular among Halford students.
The chalkboard menu features New England classics: lobster rolls, clam chowder, fried oyster tacos. Without asking her preference, I order a lobster roll for each of us, then guide her to a shaded bench beneath the branches of an ancient oak tree. The casual setting contrasts with the tension between us, but I find it comforting.
As Olivia takes the lobster roll, she casts a quick glance my way, as if to gauge my mood, perhaps expecting me to make some comment on her appetite. Instead, I lean back, observing her as she takes her first bite, a look of delight softening her expression.
“Do you skip meals often?” I ask casually, though I don’t feel nearly as casual as I sound.
She shrugs, looking away. “I get caught up sometimes.” A beat passes, and then she laughs, a little self-conscious. “I could probably stand to skip a few meals anyway.”
I’m surprised by the casual cruelty of her words, and the amusement I felt vanishes instantly. My response is immediate, my voice low and direct. “Don’t do that.”
She glances up, visibly startled by my sudden intensity. “What? I was just joking.”
“It’s not a joke,” I reply, meeting her gaze directly. “You’re beautiful, Olivia. Just as you are.”
The blush that rises to her cheeks is immediate, and for a moment, she’s speechless, clearly unused to this kind of attention.I catch a glimpse of uncertainty in her green eyes, the part of her that doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t retreat. In fact, she shifts a little closer, her expression tempered by something like wonder.
For a few minutes, we eat in comfortable silence, the tension easing. But beneath it all, I can sense her hesitation, her lingering doubts. She doesn’t see herself as I see her, doesn’t yet realize the lengths I’m willing to go to prove she’s worth every effort.
As Olivia finishes her last bite, she straightens, glancing around as if searching for an escape. Her gaze flicks toward her phone, and with a quick breath, she mumbles, “I, uh…should probably head to my next class.”
“Your next class?” I ask, arching an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “I know your schedule by heart, Olivia. You don’t have any more classes today.”
She gapes at me, her blush deepening. “Oh.”
It pleases me, seeing her tangled in the trap I’ve set.
Her confidence wavers, just for a moment, before she shrugs, attempting to brush it off. “I guess I got the days mixed up…”
“Understandable,” I say smoothly, nodding, keeping my tone easy. “But since we’re both free, I’d say it’s high time we resume our project. Don’t you think?”
I let the suggestion hover, my words layered with just enough insistence to make refusal feel almost impossible.
She hesitates, her gaze flitting toward the campus paths as though considering another escape. But I can see the excuses dying on her tongue as she turns them over in her mind, and eventually her eyes return to mine, resigned but with a glimmer of intrigue.
“You did avoid me all week, after all,” I remind her, injecting a subtle, teasing edge to my voice. “You owe me.”
She sighs, a reluctant smile breaking through her defenses. “Fine. But only because I don’t want you to hold it over me.”
I chuckle, rising from my seat. “I’d never do such a thing. I just want to make up for lost time.”
The library seems designedfor moments like this—private alcoves nestled into the heart of its architecture, narrow halls winding into secluded, private spaces where light barely intruded.
This corner especially is perfect. Far from the main entrance, rarely visited by students, it’s lined with shelves of forgotten reference books and softly lit. The high-backed chairs offer a natural barrier from wandering eyes, and even the ambient noise of the library seems to stop here, suspending us in a quiet intimacy.
As we settle into this secluded section, I watch Olivia—each small movement leaving an imprint on my mind.
