Page 2 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

TWO

olivia

Quiet chatter fills The Nook, blending with the soft clinking of mugs and the whir of the espresso machine. I wrap my hands around my coffee, feeling the warmth seep into my skin as I look out the window.

Just outside, students drift past in loose clusters, bundled in light scarves and jackets. They carry themselves with a kind of ease—the quiet confidence of people who know their futures are secured. Family wealth. Connections. Safety nets they’ll never have to question.

I don’t have that. Every step I take at Halford demands purpose.

There’s no cushion beneath me, no reassurance that failure won’t set me back in ways I can’t afford.

I’m here on a scholarship, and that means there’s no room for carelessness.

No second chances. While they mingle on the quad, laughing without a thought, I’m always aware of the line I can’t afford to cross.

The contrast never fails to strike me.

In Ashby, life was simpler. People worked because they had to, not to chase something larger.

A steady job, a modest home, a life that didn’t ask for more.

But somewhere along the way, my ambitions slipped past the borders of that small town, driven by the belief that if I could go further, do more—I should.

Now I’m here—surrounded by privilege, standing on ground I fought for.

My parents always called me their “success story,” the one who would go further than they had, achieve something bigger than our humble family business.

That sense of responsibility was what pushed me through late nights of studying and every scholarship application, each one bringing me closer to a dream that felt almost too big for me to claim.

Yet, here I am. At Halford, the place that once seemed so unreachable, with its old stone buildings and sprawling, manicured lawns, threads of privilege woven into every crevice.

I take a slow sip of my coffee, relishing the bitterness, letting it pull me back to the present.

It’s my final year now, and every day feels like the ticking of a clock, a countdown to something I can’t yet fully grasp.

All I know is that I must succeed here. I need to turn my education into something tangible, something that will help my family.

My parents always said that I had to be the one to lift us up, to make things better for my younger brothers.

It’s an unspoken promise I’ve made, one that presses into my shoulders and winds through my thoughts every time I allow myself to think of home.

I’ve always been good at studying, at focusing on goals, and keeping my head down, but Halford pulls at something deeper.

A nagging fear that maybe even the best grades and highest accolades won’t be enough to fill the hollow spaces that have crept up inside of me.

I want to succeed, yes, but there’s something else that I can’t quite name…

An ache to feel understood beyond my accomplishments, to be seen for who I am beneath the layers of imposed ambition.

A burst of laughter echoes from a nearby table. I glance over and see a few classmates, lost in conversation, seemingly carefree and unencumbered by the weight of expectations I carry.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to move through the world like that, to exist without a voice constantly reminding me that I’m supposed to enable a family’s dreams.

I push aside the thought, annoyed at myself for slipping into self-pity.

I need to focus. This project is important, another step toward securing a future where I’ll land a high-paying job, attain financial security for my family, and finally be able to say it was all worth it… That I was worth it.

I glance at the time on my phone. Fifteen minutes until I’m supposed to meet Nathaniel Caldwell, my project partner.

I’ve barely thought about him outside of our work. He’s… fine .

Intelligent, obviously, or he wouldn’t be here. And good-looking, I suppose, though I’ve never let that be a distraction.

Handsome men with sharp minds are a dime a dozen at Halford.

But Nathaniel Caldwell? He’s hard to ignore.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed him before.

From our brief interaction the other day, there was something about him that stuck with me.

Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

A calmness, maybe, or the way he seems so assured, so at ease with the world around him.

It’s hard to imagine him feeling out of place anywhere.

Unlike me.

I shake my head and stand, letting the weight of my thoughts fall away.

As I head for the door, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass—red hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, green eyes bright but tired, shoulders slightly slumped. The look of someone who keeps pushing even when it’s hard.

I straighten my spine and head out, grounding myself in the one thing I can control—getting the work done.

When I get to the library, I find Nathaniel seated at a table near the back. The natural light filters in through tall windows, casting soft shadows over the stacks of books piled beside him. He’s absorbed in his laptop, typing as his gaze flicks across the screen with immense focus.

He looks up as I slide into the seat across from him, his expression shifting from cool concentration to a polite nod of acknowledgment.

“Hi, Nathaniel.” My tone is even, professional. All business.

“Olivia,” he replies, his voice smooth and low, weighing each syllable with a kind of attention I’m unaccustomed to. He gestures toward the laptop. “I’ve started compiling some initial research on emerging tech markets. Thought we could dive into it today and flesh out our angle.”

“Great,” I respond, relieved at his foresight. One less thing to worry about.

He’s efficient and focused, his attention tuned precisely to the task. It’s refreshing. I’ve had my fair share of group projects where I was carrying everything alone.

As he starts outlining his initial ideas, I find myself observing him a little more closely.

There’s a quiet intensity about him that commands attention.

His sharp features are softened by his clear blue eyes, which contrast strikingly with his dark brown hair.

The way he sits, his posture perfectly straight and assured, conveys an ease that seems almost otherworldly here, among a sea of frazzled students bent over laptops and textbooks.

I snap out of it, dropping my gaze back to my notes. It’s ridiculous. He’s just a classmate, nothing more. So why does it feel like he’s something I should be wary of?

“I looked up some potential companies we could analyze for the project,” I say, keeping my tone as even as possible. “I thought we could focus on smaller tech startups entering the healthcare industry, especially with how the market is evolving post-pandemic.”

Nathaniel nods, his eyes meeting mine with an attentiveness that feels like… interest? It’s a little disarming, the way he listens so intently to every word. I’m not used to that. Most people nod along noncommittally, waiting for their turn to speak.

“That’s a solid direction,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “Healthcare tech is volatile enough to make for a compelling analysis.”

I nod, mentally filing away his words. I appreciate his calm focus, how each statement is straightforward and practical. Still, my attention shifts again despite myself.

The way he leans forward when he’s making a point, his hands moving slightly, purposefully, as he gestures to his laptop or notes. The faint, masculine scent of something I can’t quite place—it’s grounding, but in a way that feels oddly personal, even in this academic setting.

His hand brushes mine briefly as we both reach for a reference book, and I pull back quickly, embarrassed. I force myself to focus on the content we’re discussing, though I can feel warmth prickling at the back of my neck, betraying me.

“We’ll need to decide on a country for the market entry strategy,” he says, seemingly unaware of my internal struggle. “Somewhere with enough economic complexity to make this challenging, but accessible enough that we can get quality data.”

“Right,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Maybe one of the Southeast Asian markets? Singapore or Malaysia? They’re good examples of emerging healthcare hubs, and they’re open to tech innovations.”

I catch the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, an approval that feels…gratifying, though I’m not entirely sure why .

His attention returns to his laptop, where he types a few notes before glancing back at me. “Singapore’s an excellent suggestion. Well-researched, innovative, a competitive market.”

The compliment is simple, yet it sends a small thrill through me. I nod and try to keep my voice steady as I say, “Thank you. I try to be thorough.”

“And it shows,” he replies, a brief glint of something warm in his gaze.

I press my hand against my notebook, willing myself to stay focused, to keep this interaction on track. But it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. Being in Nathaniel’s presence is making me question how I’m coming across, whether my own calm is as convincing as his.

There’s something about how he looks at me—the way he seems to absorb every word, every thought I share. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be seen like this more often.

Nathaniel leans forward, pointing at a section in our notes on his laptop. “If we want this entry strategy to work, we’ll need a strong justification for the choice of market,” he says, his voice calm yet compelling.

I nod, trying to focus, but I find him so distracting. The way he seems to slip seamlessly between casual observation and focused analysis, his thoughts like quicksilver, shifting as if he’s already five steps ahead. His intellect isn’t just impressive—it’s spellbinding.

He glances at me, a smile tugging at his lips. “You seem deep in thought,” he remarks, leaning back slightly. “Am I overwhelming you? I’ve been told I can be…a bit much.”

I let out a small laugh, surprised at his self-awareness. “No, not at all. It’s refreshing, honestly.” I adjust my notes, trying to mask the blush warming my cheeks. “Most people avoid looking at the details, but you seem to actually enjoy them.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely interested. “I think the details tell us more than the big picture ever could,” he replies smoothly. “It’s the same with people. The small things, their subtleties… Those reveal the most.”

The way he says it, as though he’s reading between the lines of my own words, makes something flutter in my chest. There’s a pull toward him that I can’t seem to shake. Every glance, every word feels deliberate—like he’s coaxing me closer without even trying. I can’t explain why this unsettles me.

I clear my throat, pushing the feeling aside.

“That’s true. Which is why market adaptability matters,” I reply, steering the conversation back to safer territory. “If we’re looking at Southeast Asia, there’s a different consumer mindset, a different approach to healthcare.”

He listens, a glimmer of approval in his gaze. “That’s an astute insight. Most people would overlook something like that, but you picked up on it right away.”

I feel a sense of pride at his words. I’ve heard praise from professors and classmates before, but something about the way he says it feels…different. I catch myself smiling before I realize it and quickly look down at my notes.

“So,” he continues, effortlessly drawing me back in, “we have a clear direction. That’s a good start.”

I nod, but it’s hard to concentrate when the air between us feels heavier than before. His gaze drifts over me, and for a moment, I feel an almost irresistible pull. He’s so close—close enough that I catch a faint hint of cedar and something warm.

Our eyes meet, and I quickly look away, reminding myself that it’s just a study session, and I can’t afford distractions. But when I chance another glance, he’s watching me with that same unwavering focus, as if he’s reading every thought running through my mind.

“You know, I wasn’t entirely expecting this project to be this…engaging,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on mine a beat longer before moving back to the screen .

I try to keep my own voice steady. “Neither was I. Usually, group projects feel like a chore. But this… Well, it feels like we’re actually building something together. Even if it’s just an academic exercise.”

The words sound simple, but as I say them, I realize it’s true. This does feel different. There’s a sense of partnership here, something balanced, genuine—a rare thing.

Nathaniel tilts his head slightly, and for a moment, I think he’s about to say something significant, something that might disrupt the carefully constructed boundaries I’ve placed between us. But instead, he smiles—an easy, graceful expression that feels both intimate and reserved.

“Well,” he says, closing his laptop with a decisive click, “we make a good team.”

His words settle over me, simple and yet somehow charged with meaning.

We do make a good team, in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. But as he begins gathering his things, I remind myself that this is just a project .

And yet, as we stand to leave, a small part of me wonders if I’m fooling myself.