Chapter 74

Nathan

The tension of the earlier encounter with the waitress was still raw, and I felt a gnawing guilt in my chest as Olivia listlessly picked at her newly served pancakes.

That bitter taste of regret continued to gnaw at me even as we left the diner after finishing our meal. Olivia's subdued demeanor cast a heavy cloud over what should have been an ordinary breakfast.

I knew I had to bring back that spark in her eyes. A cheerful conversation was my ammunition.

“Olivia,” I ventured as I guided the car around the curves in the road, trying to think of something to lighten the mood that we had so carefully cultivated before the incident at breakfast, “do you remember our ‘great expedition’ through the Sullivan forest?”

Her brows knit together in thought for a few moments before her eyes lit up.

“The one where we got lost for hours?” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You were so adamant that we were going in the right direction.”

“And you kept insisting we follow the moss,” I laughed, the tension between us gradually dissolving in the face of our shared past. “Turns out, both of us were wrong.”

We continued to share a good laugh over our past misadventures all the way to the grocery store, the awkward tension from earlier dissipating slowly.

However, there was still that tension there from yesterday. That stolen kiss… And I had a feeling, especially after seeing the look on her face this morning, that she knew about my intimate moments in my room.

I didn’t know if she saw it or only heard it, but it still made me feel incredibly awkward. I hoped that it was neither — but I knew that nothing could be that simple anymore.

Finally, after driving for a little while longer, we arrived back in the center of town where the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the other shops and offices were. I parked by the town square, which was right in the center of everything, and we walked over to the little grocery store.

Entering the brightly lit aisles, a thought struck me. I loved cooking, and Olivia loved eating — it was a perfect combination.

“Hey,” I said, deciding that this was a foolproof plan to cheer her up a little more. “How about you choose the recipe for tonight's dinner, Liv?” I proposed, pushing our cart past rows of canned soups and pasta.

“Really?” she asked, cocking her head as she dumped a couple of boxes of pasta into the cart. “I can choose anything?”

“Anything,” I replied, smiling. “Whatever your heart desires, even if it’s the most expensive food you can think of.”

Olivia’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. I had to admit that I liked it a lot when they turned that color.

She hummed in thought for a few minutes, tapping her fingers on the handle of the cart. “My dad used to make this amazing lamb stew. It was my absolute favorite.”

Mr. Wild’s lamb stew.

I had been fortunate enough to enjoy that savory, tender dish a couple of times at their house when we were kids. The thought of replicating it was both a challenge and a pleasure.

“Your wish is my command,” I told her, heading toward the butcher's counter.

Shopping turned into a fun game as we raced through the aisles, gathering ingredients, and cracking jokes. By the time we headed out, our cart was loaded, and our spirits were high.

As we maneuvered our way through the parking lot, with Olivia pushing the cart and hopping up on the footrest to ride it as it skidded across the pavement, a harsh voice suddenly stopped us in our tracks.

“Ford!” that all-too-familiar voice called, gruff and condescending, across the parking lot.

Olivia, almost frozen by the sudden call, jumped down off of the cart and turned with me in unison to see who it was; although I already knew who it was, and for a moment I wished that I was deaf so that I could continue on my day without noticing his presence.

It was the Alpha from the last major meeting; Mike, the loudest critic of our ‘relationship’. He was leaning nonchalantly against a car, his cold eyes fixed on us.

“Still playing house, Ford?” he sneered, his gaze running dismissively over Olivia.

An instinctive surge of protectiveness washed over me, and without thinking, I slipped my arm around Olivia. Was I doing it for appearances or because I truly wanted to protect her? I wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.

“Good afternoon, Alpha Mike,” I replied politely as he strode up to us. “Enjoying your Saturday so far?”

The large, domineering Alpha stopped a few feet in front of us. I felt Olivia shrink a bit beside me, which only made me want to hold her even more tightly.

“Lamb, eh?” he asked, peering into our cart where the brown paper-wrapped package of fresh meat was peeking out of the bag. The butcher had written its contents in marker on the paper.

“Lamb stew,” Olivia replied. “My dad used to make it all the time.”

At the mention of Gamma Kamran, Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Your father?” he sneered. “Your father, the traitor?”

I felt Olivia tense beside me. I could sense that a storm was brewing between the two of them, and so I decided to stop it before the thunder began.

“We're leaving,” I told him, a hard edge to my voice. “I’ll see you on Monday, Alpha Mike.”

Olivia, visibly unsettled, gave a quick nod, and we continued towards our car. Mike said nothing, but watched the entire time as we packed the grocery into the car and drove off.

As we drove home, I couldn’t shake off Mike’s words.

“Olivia, don’t listen to him,” I muttered, glancing over at her to see that she was staring wistfully out the window with her arms folded across her chest. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was low and stern, which surprised me. I decided not to push any further.

Once home, Olivia and I put the groceries away. It was still early in the day, but I knew that the lamb stew would take a long time to cook, and so we got to work.

The process was therapeutic, and our easy camaraderie made it all the more enjoyable. Soon enough, we were so absorbed in our work that the tension between our forbidden feelings and Mike’s harsh words dissolved almost entirely.

When the stew was done several hours later, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of bay leaves and juicy lamb, I ladled a spoonful into a bowl and handed it to Olivia.

“Here goes,” she said, blowing gently on the stew before taking a small bite.

A moment passed. Then another. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavors. When she finally opened them, they were glistening with tears.

“It's perfect, Nathan,” she managed, her voice thick. “It tastes just like my dad's.”

Her words hit me with a wave of emotions, relief being the strongest. I'd managed to rekindle a cherished memory for her, to give her a taste of home, of familiarity. As I watched her eat, a genuine smile playing on her lips, I couldn’t help but bask in the warmth of the moment.

For the first time that day, the weight of our faux relationship and the harsh whispers of the pack seemed less significant. The looming confrontation with Mike felt manageable. All of that could wait. At that moment, it was just me, Olivia, and the ghost of Mr. Wild's lamb stew.