Page 9 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

EIGHT

olivia

The courtyard bustles with groups of students chatting, their laughter blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.

I spot Landon waving from one of the shaded tables, his familiar, easy grin framed by his tousled, dirty blond hair that looks sun-streaked even on an overcast day. His brown eyes catch mine—warm and familiar—and a pang of nostalgia tugs at my chest as I walk over.

There was a time when we were inseparable, our friendship building effortlessly over shared study sessions, late-night pizza runs, and countless conversations about our dreams and ambitions.

But now, as I approach, an unspoken distance seems to have crept between us.

He smiles as I sit down, but there’s a slight edge to his expression.

“Finally, a sighting of the elusive Olivia Bennett.” Landon teases, nudging my shoulder as I sit down. His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t quite place.

I let out a soft laugh, though his words settle uneasily in my chest. “I know, it’s been a crazy semester. Between projects and, you know…everything else.”

Landon raises an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite. “Yeah, I get it. Too busy with new friends to make time for your old ones.”

“You know that’s not it, Landon. We’re just…on different tracks now. Finance for you, management for me. It was bound to happen.”

“Right,” he says slowly, mulling it over. “I guess that’s the downside of being ambitious, huh? It pulls people in different directions.”

I glance away, choosing my next words carefully. “I mean, yeah, I guess. But, you’ll always be a big part of my life here.”

“Will I?”

His words hang heavy between us. I haven’t given much thought to how distant we’ve become lately, too wrapped up in my own world to notice. But now, with Landon here, looking at me like that, I feel strangely detached.

Part of me feels like I’m looking at a photograph—something that once felt real, but is now just a memory frozen in time.

I smile, but it feels thin. “I’m still here, Landon. I promise.”

I settle into my seat across from him and reach for the sandwich he’s already ordered for me. My usual: turkey on rye with extra pickles. The small gesture says more than words ever could—a quiet nod to our shared history, the countless lunches we’ve shared over the years.

He leans back, studying me.

“So,” he started, pausing just long enough to make it seem casual, “Carolyn mentioned you’ve been…spending a lot more time with Nathaniel Caldwell?”

His tone is light, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that betrays him.

I laugh, brushing it off. “Yeah, all of you seem to forget that we’re working on that project together.”

“Oh, I know that,” he says quickly, his gaze steady. “But since when do project partners exchange forehead kisses?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I hate how the whole thing is suddenly under a microscope.

“It was just…a friendly gesture,” I say with a shrug, like that explains away a moment that left my stomach fluttering for hours.

Landon’s jaw tightens, a rare display of frustration. “Liv, guys like Caldwell don’t do ‘friendly.’ Especially not with girls like you.”

I stiffen. “Girls like me?”

“You know what I mean,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Olivia, I’m just trying to look out for you. People like him… They live in their own worlds. And I don’t think you’d fit in that easily.”

His words sting, though I tell myself they shouldn’t.

“I’m not trying to ‘fit in’ anywhere, Landon. Besides, he’s not some mythical creature. He’s just…Nathaniel.”

“ Just Nathaniel,” he says, shaking his head, disbelief flashing across his face. “His family, his background—like Tyler and Sophie said—they’re… Caldwell-rich . That comes with expectations, lifestyles. People like him don’t end up with people like us. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I set my sandwich down and cross my arms.

“ People like us? ” I repeat, anger sparking beneath the hurt. “So because I’m not born into wealth, I’m not good enough? Is that it?”

He exhales, shifting uncomfortably.

“That’s not what I’m saying… He’s just not going to want the same things you do, Olivia.”

“And what exactly are those things?” I challenge, my voice sharper now. “Look, Landon, I appreciate you caring, but this is my life. My choices. And I don’t have to explain them to you or anyone else.”

A tense silence settles between us, thick and unresolved. I watch as he searches for something to say, frustration flickering across his face.

“Fine,” he says quietly, sounding more defeated than angry. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

I gather my things, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Landon. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to figure it out myself.”

Without another word, I turn and walk away, a strange mix of anger and doubt churning within me as his words echo in my mind.

The library has become my refuge again. The hushed quiet, the endless rows of books, and the soft hum of lights overhead are soothing in their familiarity, as if I can somehow vanish into the solitude here.

I’ve convinced myself that retreating is the logical thing to do—a way to refocus on the path I’ve set for myself long before Nathaniel Caldwell walked into my life.

After all, academics has always been my priority.

A way out and a way up. I can’t afford distractions—not now, not with so much at stake.

But he’s not making it easy.

At first, Nathaniel’s texts appeared sporadically—quick questions or notes about our project that were easy to answer directly.

“ I ’ ll send you the latest draft tonight” or “ We can discuss revisions online,” I’d reply, keeping each response brisk and professional, with no openings for anything more.

I tell myself he probably doesn’t mind; after all, he must be just as busy and focused on his own plans.

But as the days slip by, his messages have shifted in frequency and tone, breaking through the cold professionalism I’ve been trying to maintain.

NATHANIEL

Just checking in on the project timeline. Everything going okay on your end?

Still, a simple question, I can answer with a one-word response. “Yes.”

But he wouldn’t leave it there. Instead, his messages have started veering beyond the strict confines of our project, small comments that feel more intimate, like fragments of a conversation I’m not ready to engage in.

NATHANIEL

I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t overwork yourself.

Are you doing all right? You’ve been quieter than usual.

Each message feels like a gentle knock on a door I can’t bring myself to open. Still, he waits on the other side. Persistent.

NATHANIEL

Olivia, you don’t need to carry it all alone, you know.

Let me know if you need a break. I mean it.

They aren’t outright demands, but the invitation is clear. He wants me to let him in, to get closer, when all I want is to pull back. I don’t know how to respond without breaking the wall I’ve built, so I’ve left most of them unanswered.

Yet, every time my phone buzzes, there’s a familiar tug, a spark of something within me. I stare at his name, hesitate, then close the screen before I type anything impulsive.

Eventually, he tries a different angle—logical, expected.

NATHANIEL

We should meet soon to go over the latest section. Let me know when you’re available this week.

It’s a fair request. Sensible. But instead of agreeing, I tell him I need to stay laser-focused and will just share my notes with him online.

I’ve mastered the art of restraint, but each dismissed message leaves an emptiness that grows sharper, colder. It isn’t just the absence of Nathaniel’s presence that leaves me hollow; it’s the absence of how he makes me feel .

Eventually, the texts come with an insistence that’s impossible to ignore:

NATHANIEL

We can work around your schedule, but I’m here when you’re ready to talk, Olivia.

I shut my phone off then, unable to confront the quiet comfort in his words.

His kindness feels almost like a threat—probing at the part of me that wants to lean into that comfort. To believe him. To say, yes. Please.

But I don’t. I can’t. Letting him in would make it harder to keep my balance, and I’m already walking a tightrope.

So, I spend hours tucked away in my dorm room, fighting the urge to reach out. The silence feels safe, if a little suffocating.

In these moments, I feel the steady creep of self-doubt settling in, intertwining with the words my friends have echoed about Nathaniel’s world, his background, the glaring differences between us.

I can’t escape the persistent whisper that I am just a passing curiosity to him—a brief distraction. This won’t last for long.

And yet, memories of our recent conversations and that almost reverent way he looked at me surface, a fragile thread of warmth that I find myself clinging to against my better judgment.

I can’t shake the feeling that, for just a moment, he’d seen me, really seen me , in a way that scares me even more than my growing attraction to him.

Every time my resolve wavers, I remind myself of the risks—the potential distractions, the doubts his world stirs in mine.

I’ve kept my head down, my replies curt, and the lines of connection meticulously frayed—piece by careful piece, though a persistent ache remains in the spaces he was beginning to fill.

But it was naive of me to think that I could avoid him forever, or that a man like Nathaniel Caldwell would give up easily on anything he set his mind on.

The halls were still clearing out after my last class when I felt his presence—a tangible shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Just knowing he’s there is enough to stop me in my tracks—like I’m already caught in his web.

“Olivia.”

His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that tells me this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.

I turn slowly, gathering the composure I’ve managed to scrape together over the last few days. But the second our eyes meet, my defenses crumble. There’s no anger in his expression, no judgment—only a calm resolve, and something that looks like disappointment. Somehow, that’s worse.

“Hi, Nathaniel.” My voice comes out softer than I intend, almost apologetic.

He takes a step closer, eliminating the distance between us, his gaze unyielding. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” There’s no accusation in his tone, but it lands like one anyway .

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I’ve just…been busy with classes. You know how it is.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a skeptical smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you’re dedicated to your studies, Olivia. But that’s not the whole story, is it?”

I swallow, looking away, feeling the heat of his attention burning into me. “It’s complicated,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leans in and his hand rests lightly on my shoulder, his thumb barely brushing the skin above my collarbone. And just like that, my pulse spikes.

“Then let’s untangle it. Talk to me, Olivia.”

I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Nathaniel, I… I don’t think this—whatever this is—between us is realistic.”

He tilts his head, a crease forming between his brows. “Oh? And why is that?”

I struggle to put my thoughts into words, the insecurities I’ve kept buried suddenly clawing their way to the surface. “You’re…well, you. And I’m just…me. I don’t think I would fit in your world, not in a way that matters.”

Silence falls between us, thick and charged. His expression softens, his eyes harboring a shadow of understanding that makes me feel exposed, as though he can see past every wall I’ve tried to build.

“Is that what you really believe?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with something deeper that sends a shiver down my spine.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

He reaches up, fingertips brushing against my cheek in a gesture so tender it makes my heart ache.

“Olivia,” he says, his tone firm but gentle, “you’re not just anyone to me, and I’m not going to let you walk away so easily.”

I want to believe him, to sink into the seeming sincerity of his words, but doubt clung to me, stubborn and unrelenting. “It’s just… Everyone keeps saying that people like you don’t end up with…people like me.”

His jaw tightens and his eyes darken, frustration and something more possessive flashing across his face.

“Then they don’t know you as well as they think.

They don’t get to decide what you’re worth—or who you belong with.

” He exhales slowly, like he’s reining something in.

“You’ve let other people’s opinions sink in so deep, you don’t even question them anymore.

But I see you, Olivia. And I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. ”

I hesitate, searching his face, trying to find cracks in his sincerity, but there are none. He is calm, grounded, and the unwavering intensity in his gaze disarming me completely.

“What are you saying?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

He leans in closer, pressing his forehead to mine, his words a soft promise that sends warmth flooding through me. “I’m saying this isn’t some fleeting infatuation. You matter to me. And I’ll find ways to prove it—however long it takes.”

A shiver courses through me, his words wrapping around my heart and leaving me breathless, caught between exhilaration and fear.

He pulls back and searches my face, as if he’s expecting me to pull away. But I can’t.

“I won’t let you slip away, Olivia,” he murmurs, the quiet conviction in his voice sinking into me, each word deliberate and edged with a confidence that both comforts and unsettles me. “Not when all I want is to draw you closer.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come, caught in the maelstrom of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. All I can do is nod, my heart racing as I hold his gaze, my thoughts spiraling into a chaotic tangle of both longing and doubt.

And as I stand there, held captive by the intensity of his promise, I realize that whatever this is—it’s far from over.