Page 10 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)
NINE
nathaniel
Standing in the shadowed hallway outside Olivia’s classroom, I watch her.
She’s flustered, caught off guard. And yet, she doesn’t flee. I see the flush in her cheeks, the uncertainty in her gaze, and a sense of satisfaction threads through me. She feels something, even if she’s not ready to admit it yet.
The silence between us stretches, thick with tension, until—a sound breaks it.
Her stomach growls.
She shifts where she stands, clearly embarrassed.
“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 threading gently 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 designed for 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.
She adjusts her pen and straightens the spine of her notebook, her fingers brushing along the edges with quiet precision. Her focus, however slight, feels as familiar to me as my own pulse by now.
She’s tried so hard to evade me this past week, and I’ve felt every inch of that distance like a thread pulled too tight.
“I’ve missed us working together,” I say, keeping my voice low. But I know she hears the undertone. I’ve missed you.
She glances up, those wide eyes slightly wary, but there’s something else there too. Relief, maybe. Or even a trace of warmth.
“It has been a while, I guess.”
We exchange a few pleasantries, the thin veil of our project stretched between us. But it doesn’t take long before I let the conversation steer itself into deeper waters.
My voice softens, my tone more deliberate. “You know, I want to understand more…about what you mentioned earlier.”
Her gaze lifts, questioning, so I continue, careful and steady. “You said you don’t think what’s happening between us is…‘ realistic ’?”
She hesitates, her gaze dropping as her fingers twist her pen absently. “Maybe it’s a little silly,” she begins, her voice faltering. “But it’s hard not to feel… Well, to feel like I’m out of my depth with someone like you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice gentle, encouraging. I lean in slightly, watching her, letting her feel the warmth of my attention.
She exhales slowly, like she’s releasing something she’s been holding onto too tightly.
“Everyone keeps telling me to be careful because guys like you don’t end up with ordinary girls like me.
I don’t come from a family like yours, and…
Well, I don’t even look the part.” Her smile is self-deprecating, almost resigned.
“It’s easy to feel…inadequate. Like I’m playing a role I’m not fit for.
” The words slip out, tinged with frustration and an honest vulnerability she rarely lets anyone see.
Her words strike something deep within me, simmering beneath my skin, awakening a slow, sharp fury I barely contain.
Who , exactly, has filled her head with this archaic bullshit? The idea that anyone could presume to define what I want—especially when it concerns her —is infuriating. I make a mental note to find out exactly who is responsible and ensure they understand the cost of interfering.
But for now, I force the thought aside, focusing instead on the moment—on her vulnerability, laid bare just for me.
I draw a breath, measuring my response. “Olivia,” I say, letting her name hang in the quiet, “you’re anything but ordinary. Your resilience, your dedication—those aren’t things money can buy, or that status can fake.”
I let the words settle, watching her carefully. A faint blush rises to her cheeks. Her shoulders ease. Her gaze lifts. There’s a softness in her now, a quiet trust unfurling between us—and I savor it, aware of how carefully I’ve been setting this moment in motion.
My thumb drags slowly along the edge of my notebook, channeling the tension away as I lean forward, letting my gaze soften. She has to know, without question, that she matters more than any social opinion could dictate.
“There’s far more to you than you realize, Olivia. And I’d like to be the one to show you that.”
The quiet that settles between us is a wordless affirmation of the truth I hadn’t spoken aloud. She doesn’t know how far I’ve already gone for her—and that, more than anything, makes her uncertainty feel like the perfect victory.
The smallest flicker of a smile breaks through her wariness. “I didn’t think you would say something like that.”
“Why not?” I counter, leaning in just enough to close the space between us. “I see you, Olivia. And you don’t owe anyone an apology for being just as you are.”
Her wide eyes meet mine, the vulnerability there striking in its honesty. I feel the air shift, thick with everything we’re not saying.
I can see the weight of her insecurities in her gaze, the uncertainty that gnaws at her despite the walls she put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. She can’t imagine how badly I want to be one to dismantle those walls entirely.
I shift closer, my hand grazing hers as if by accident, though it is anything but.
The tremor that runs through her fingers doesn’t escape me, nor does the hitch in her breath.
She looks torn—caught between the instinct to retreat and the undeniable pull that keeps drawing her forward, inch by inch, right into me.