Olivia

Getting ready for a date in the back office of the restaurant is no easy task. The lighting sucks, the space is limited, and my already nervous self is finding every excuse to continue working instead of actually getting ready.

It's not that I'm not excited about taking this step with Nate, I am. I've been thinking about it for a while, ignoring the urges to touch him more than is necessary and pulling my eyes away from their tendency to stay glued to him. He's always been cute. The way his glasses perfectly fit his features adds a bit more flair to his overall appeal.

I've always found comfort in his presence for as long as I can remember. But I've also only felt a friendship before. I never dreamt of crossing those boundaries until recently, when the line has begun to grow hazier. It's manifested itself in a way I don't think either one of us ever expected.

I kind of think that's why it's grown so strong. We nurtured it, gave it water and plenty of light, not taking notice of what was happening right in front of us until a bud sprouted. And now that tiny bud is opening, the brightly lit petals aching to see the light of day.

My guards are anchored in place, digging their roots deeper into the soil with the impending storm. But I don't think with Nate that there will be a storm. I think the waters will remain calm, unphased by life's battles.

I look in the tiny rounded mirror hanging along the wall. It's perfectly placed between a picture of me and Sam in front of the tiny original Snack Shack and the newly remodeled version of The Dock. So much has changed since the time Sam stepped into my life. So much has shifted, bloomed, decayed, morphed into something completely different.

I guess that's the thing about life. We can make a plan, set out a detailed goal for ourselves, but you never truly know where life is going to lead you. You never fully understand the impacts of various roadblocks and traps along the way.

I'm beginning to see that it's how we choose to pick up the pieces and rebuild that defines who we are. It's when we're truly tested and balancing on a fine line of defeat that we discover what we're made of. For some people that's rising above and overcoming while for others...my thoughts drift to the tabloids, to the constant influx of negative light that's shed upon the boy that used to hold my heart. The one that still lingers in my thoughts every night before I fall asleep.

I've moved on. I've created a whole other life for myself. But somehow, he's still the last thing I think about before I close my eyes. He's the first face to peek into my mind when the rest of the world has fallen silent. I don't know if Max will ever truly leave me. I don't know if it's normal to hold onto someone so tightly for so long.

What I do know is that I'm taking another step forward today. I'm going on an actual date. One that is long overdue in so many ways. I take a deep breath, pulling at a soft curl along my shoulder before blowing the hair from my face.

This is it. One step forward. One small step toward something new.

I step out of the office, making my way to the bar. I'm officially off the clock, but I know Jordan is on his own for another hour. Josh will be joining him for the evening crowd. In the meantime, I'm just going to make sure he's good. And no, I'm not avoiding my date, I'm just doing my civil duty as part owner and manager of this place. That's all.

"Well, shit, Wyatt," Jordan's voice flies across the bar as I step out. "You look hot as hell. You got a steamy date tonight?" He's teasing, I know he is. Problem is, I do actually have a date.

My normal comeback falls to the side as I look down at the dress I'm wearing. I slide my eyes back up to Jordan. "You really think so?" I question slowly, unsure if I'm pulling this off.

"Shit." He steps forward, the playful smirk now dropping. "You really do have a date, don't you?"

I nod slowly, looking back down at the dress I chose. Maybe it's too much. Maybe I should have gone with jeans like I usually do. And the hair? Adding the waves was over the top. Definitely trying too hard, especially combined with the thin layer of eyeliner I added. Yep, I'm a fool.

"You look beautiful," his voice is low, his eyes locked directly on mine. "And I'm glad to finally see you getting back out there. After everything, after...I'm just happy for you, Wyatt."

My breath catches without permission, the crystal blues consuming me. Jordan has only fallen serious a handful of times. He's usually playful, cocky, and so damn flirty. But he does have a sincere side, one that only comes out when he's being truthful. The first time I saw that side of him was when I needed it the most. And it's here again, just when I need it.

"Thank you." I nod. Nothing else needs to be said. He knows what this moment means to me and his honesty has given me more than enough to get me through the next fifteen minutes before Nate gets here.

"I actually need to grab a few more things from the back. I know technically you're not working right now, but–"

"I can cover," I cut him off. We're in that awkward hour between lunch and dinner, and we've yet to gather a crowd. Mondays are slow. It's the exact reason I chose it for our date. It's the easiest night to step away.

"You sure? I'll just be a sec."

"Jordan, I'm sure. Nate won't be here for a bit. You're good."

He nods, already making his way to the back. "Okay, I'll be quick."

His swiftness makes me smile. I think he's actually a little excited for me. I think I'm a little excited too. It's been so long since I've let myself get back out there. I never thought I'd find someone to have me feeling this way, like it's actually safe to put myself out there. I thought I closed that part of me off.

"Can I get a vanilla shake?"

His voice pierces me, floods my entire system and renders me completely still. The room is silent, the sound of his voice still dancing across my eardrums as I decipher if what I heard was actually real.

When Max first left, I heard him a lot. I saw him in every small diner, every coffee shop, every musician who played on the corner. I felt him too. I felt him when I lay alone at night, the tears still falling for the boy who ran. I felt his embrace whenever I was nervous about starting something new. I felt the warmth of his breath along my neck when I wrote in my journal.

But it was never really him. Over time, those feelings faded, slowly disappeared. They pop up every once in a while. It's usually when I least expect it, when I think I'm good, moving on. That's when a reminder of him, of what we had, comes rushing back.

This feels different, though. This feels real.

I take a breath, centering myself back into reality before I slowly turn to face the voice. My eyes find him, pulled to him as if he's the only thing in this restaurant. He's got a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. But it does nothing to distract from who it is that's sitting in front of me.

He's got tattoos along his arms now. A few designs trailing over the same flexes of muscle that were there all of those years ago. And as he fiddles with his fingers, they seem to dance along his forearms. God, why does he still look so good?

I take a step forward, tying a spare apron around my waist, keeping my hands busy and my thoughts distracted. Instinct takes over, the words falling from my mouth on autopilot. "Are you sure you don't want a different flavor? Any other flavor?" I ask, letting the faintest smirk reveal itself.

His lips begin to curl up, a smile pulling across his face and I nearly collapse to the floor. There's a fire raging inside of me, one I haven't felt in a long time. I just can't seem to figure out if it's anger or lust. Maybe it's an even mixture of the two, but it shouldn't be. It should all be a sense of rage. Problem is, I don't think it is.

"Vanilla is a staple flavor, you know? The base of all other shakes. It's like The Godfather of milkshakes," he challenges, and his smile widens as he sits a bit straighter, giving me the same defense he always has for his shake of choice.

I take another confident step forward, resting my hands on the counter in front of me. "It's the base for a reason, it's plain and needs additional flavors added to actually be considered a choice."

That smile of his turns to a laugh as he begins to shake his head. There's an indescribable flutter that sails across my chest, a distant memory of what used to be. A sense of pain is left in its wake as the realization of what is replaces it.

"Well I'll be damned, if it isn't Max–"

"Hey," Max interrupts, his eyes shooting behind me, his head slightly dropping as Jordan saunters up beside me. "It's Jordan, right?"

Jordan gives me a sly smile before checking my hip with his. "Yeah, man. And you're–"

"Yes," Max jumps back in. "I am. And I'd actually like to keep it quiet that I'm here. At least as long as I can."

"Oh, yeah, got it. I won't say a thing. You want a drink? First one's on me." Jordan gestures to the bar behind us.

I watch as Max's eyes scale the wall of liquor. He hesitates, scanning the various options before his eyes fall to mine. He holds them there, the familiar and comforting swirl of brown radiates across my chest. I'm completely lost on how he can still do that with one look. "I'm good. Liv actually has my order."

My heart decides to skip when my name falls from his lips, and I quickly adjust the back of my apron, finding any form of distraction. "I do," I manage to choke out.

"Oh, right." Jordan nods. "Well, next time you come in, your drink is on me. That bareass stunt you pulled was legendary. I definitely owe you a drink for that shit."

I can feel Max's eyes land on me, but I can't pull my gaze from the counter. I can't see the look on his face right now. I don't want to know if there's pride in who he's become or guilt. My heart's not equipped for either of those realities right now.

"Yeah," I hear Max finally respond. "Next time."

I slowly pull myself from the counter, turning slightly before looking back. "One vanilla shake, coming up."

I take my time in the back, watching the steady swirl of white spin around the blender. It's an all too vivid representation of my insides at the moment. Why the hell is he here? Is he back? Is he visiting? And why now? Why come to the restaurant and order a damn vanilla shake like absolutely nothing has changed?

And more importantly, why the hell is my heart beating at a pace that makes it feel so goddamn alive?

The blender comes to a stop, the plain, bland liquid filling a tall glass. I watch as the whipped cream is added on top, the same shade of white topping it off. A bright red cherry is plopped on top, adding the only ounce of excitement to his routine shake of choice.

As the milkshake is slid my way, I take a breath, reaching out a shaky hand before letting my shoulders rise and fall. I close my eyes for another moment, reining in every ounce of conflicting emotion attempting to pull me apart.

Bury it, Olivia. Shut it down, bring him his shake, and move on.

Move on.

My eyes slowly roll open as I let another breath encase me before I return to the bar. Jordan is now making a drink at the other end, Max's eyes are on the TV screen. That is until I step into view, then they're glued back on me, stealing the very breath I've been coaching myself to steady.

I ignore the urge to run. Push down the emotional demons that want to come out to play. I place a mask across my face and offer a friendly smile as I slide his shake his way.

My heart is suddenly plastered against my chest, frozen in place as a bright tingle slides up my arm. His hand is in mine, stopping me from pulling away. There's a flurry of warning bells blasting across my head, screaming at me to pull back. But there's a whole other system working overtime in my body to hold him, to leap over this counter and feel more of him.

"You got a tattoo," he says now, his fingers gliding across the small heart on my wrist. The tiny action sends another flutter to my stomach.

His eyes slowly trail back up to me as I nod. I swallow the giant lump in my throat as I force the words to the surface. "So did you," I respond, ignoring the attention of the added ink to my body.

He nods, a slight smile surfacing. "I did. Do you like them?" His smile turns to a smirk, the same one he wears when he puts on that playful coat of confidence. The one that sometimes has me rolling my eyes, the one that usually has me squeezing my thighs together.

I ignore the urge of the latter and shrug my shoulders. "I mean, I haven't really looked at them. But if you like them, that's all that matters, right?"

He nods slowly. "Right."

His eyes stay on mine, watching, staring, anchoring me to this moment with him. They're the same shade of brown, that intoxicating swirl already pulling me back in. He's always had that look. The one that makes me feel...everything.

When the warmth of his hand melts into mine, I realize he's still touching me. I shift slightly, letting the logical pieces of my somewhat functioning brain to take over. As I slide my hand from his, he grips it tighter, shifting his fingers to my ring finger. He holds it there, his eyes dropping as he slides them past my vacant finger.

The simple act has my heart aching again. I know what's running through his head, what fact he's acknowledging right now. I also know that finger has remained empty because of him. Because of the lingering pain and damage he's brought upon my heart. I'm not blaming him. I'm not saying he's destroyed me. I've just experienced too much loss, too many broken promises, to trust someone enough to let them in again.

When his hand finally falls from mine, our gazes stay locked. The acknowledgment of my unmarried status lingers between us. I don't need to check his finger to know where his life has led him. I don't know how many tabloids are true, but if even a quarter of them carry even the slightest sense of honesty, I know exactly where life has led him.

"Hey," another voice echoes across the silent walls, filling the space with a shock of energy that causes me to literally leap in place. My eyes fly over to meet Nate's as he approaches the counter, coming up at Max's side. "You ready?"

My eyes flicker to Max as he drops his head, taking a sip of his milkshake. I rub my hands against my dress, pushing a smile across my face as I take a step to the side, planting myself in front of Nate. "Yeah, I'm ready."

He pauses for a moment, his gaze trailing my body before coming back to my eyes. There's a sparkle to them, a glow to his cheeks as he smiles. "You look beautiful."

A slight warmth fills my face as I let my hair fall in front of my eyes. "Thank you," I murmur.

"Oh perfect," Jordan's voice fills the void as he comes up beside me. "I didn't miss it."

My eyes flash to his as his devious smirk pulls at his lips.

"Miss what?" Nate asks as my heart begins pounding in its cage.

"The talk." Jordan rubs his hands together. I shift my glance over to Max. He's looking up at Nate now, a questioning look on his face, as if he's sliding together the pieces of a puzzle.

"The talk?" Nate questions.

"Yeah," Jordan says with a way too excited nod. "Sam's all tied up with paperwork, so I thought I'd take over. Let's see..." he begins to tap his finger to his chin as I roll my eyes. "Okay, have her back by midnight and no funny business," he points a finger at Nate. "And you hurt her, I hurt you."

Oh wow. I hope he never has a daughter. This is really hard to witness, which is exactly why a laugh tumbles from my lips.

Jordan snaps his head toward me. "That wasn't supposed to be funny. It was supposed to be intimidating."

"Yeah?" I laugh, unable to contain myself. "I'm not so sure Sam would approve."

"What? What am I missing?" he asks. As Nate begins to join in the laughter, Jordan's chest begins to puff out. He turns his attention from me, his eyes falling to Max. "Max, you got the Sam talk, I'm sure. Tell me, what did I miss?"

All laughter falls to the floor. Every single person has been cased in ice, unable to move. Nate's eyes have dropped to the man sitting at the bar, cap pulled low over his eyes. Jordan is still idiotically waiting for a response while my eyes are flying between Max and Nate's, waiting for someone to say something.

Max is the first one to move, his body shifting slightly as he lifts his head. "I think you just about nailed it. Except for the look. Sam had a look. One that didn't even warrant the need for words. I just knew."

Jordan nods, "Damn... the dad look. Yeah, I don't think I'll master that until I actually have a girl of my own. There's no messing with a dad look."

Max smiles, shaking his head. My eyes fall back to Nate though. He's still looking down at Max.

"Max?" he finally questions, his eyes finding mine before falling back down.

Max shifts again, turning to face Nate before he stands from his seat and reaches out a hand. He takes one more moment before he speaks, "Yeah man. It's Nick, right?"

Nate reaches out a hand, shaking Max's briefly before they both drop them to their sides. "Actually, it's Nate."

Max's eyes pull together, shifting to me before turning back to Nate. "Theater guy, right?"

Nate returns the look of confusion, the two of them just staring at one another. "I'm sorry?"

"Theater guy," Max repeats. "Junior year. You're the guy that bolted from the stage during auditions?"

"Oh shit," Jordan inhales, sliding his fist to his mouth. My elbow finds Jordan's side as my gaze stays locked on the scene in front of me.

Nate straightens out, standing a bit taller as my chest begins to tighten. "Yeah, that was me."

"Shit, my bad. I thought your name was Nick."

Their stare remains intact. I feel like I'm back in the Wild West, and honestly, I just want to slowly withdraw myself back to the kitchen and disappear.

I'm a fumbling mess of nerves and uncertainty. The way my heart has so easily fallen back into rhythm with Max, the way it just slid itself into the past has my head spinning. After everything, after every tear, every night alone wondering what I did wrong, and that damn thing in my chest is ready to just forget it all.

Well, I've got news for you, heart. It doesn't work that way. The brain steers this ship, and the brain has a way of holding onto things. A way of sending little bolts of shock to the thudding thing in my chest.

I slowly reach for my apron, untying the back and stepping out from the bar before I come up along Nate's side.

I have a date tonight. A date I am excited to go on. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I slide my arm into Nate's, looking only at him until his eyes finally release Max's and fall to mine. Their light shade is so different from the one I got lost in earlier. They're still soft, safe.

"I think we should get going, don't you?"

He keeps his attention on me, ignoring the ghost standing in front of us.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Yeah, let's go."

His hand slides down my arm, his fingers lacing between mine as he leads me out of the restaurant.

Tonight is about Nate.