It Was Always You

The Date

…Olive’s POV…

The moment my phone buzzed, I was halfway through folding laundry and mentally preparing to take a long shower and maybe even shave my legs—emphasis on maybe. The message was from Lucas:

“How about 3 instead of 7”

I stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed me. It was 2:30. My hair was still damp from the midday heat, and my face had the telltale flush of a long day on the farm, not exactly “romantic first date” material.

Thirty minutes. I had thirty damn minutes.

I launched into motion like a woman possessed, shoving the laundry into a basket and sprinting into the bathroom. Quick shower, I wasn’t sure what I was going to wear so I went ahead and did a quick leg shave, careful to keep my hair dry. Washing it wasn’t an option. Dry shampoo. A quick curl to control the messy look I’d been sporting all day. Not perfect, but close enough. Makeup was a whirlwind: a swipe of concealer, blush, mascara, and a lip stain I hadn’t touched since I moved in. I stared into the mirror for five seconds and gave myself a quick pep talk.

“Don’t be weird. Just be you. Or, like, the cooler version of you. Who wears lipstick.”

My closet mocked me. I tore through dresses, jeans, and every single top that was suddenly too wrinkled, too revealing, or too something.

Eventually, I found it. A breezy sundress I’d bought months ago, back when I still cared about looking good for anything other than a family dinner or a funeral. It was soft and fitted at the waist, with little buttons down the front and a neckline that made my collarbones look like a feature instead of a flaw.

I caught my reflection just before heading to the door—flushed cheeks, tousled hair, wide eyes full of nerves. For a second, I wondered if he’d see through it. If he’d know how much I wanted this to go right. How long it had been since something had felt like this. But then I heard the doorbell and shoved all of that down, hard. I wasn’t going to let fear ruin this.

My breath caught. I rushed down the hallway barefoot, practically leaping into my sandals by the door.

When I opened it, there he was. Lucas.

Button-down, sleeves rolled just above the elbow, jeans that were perfectly tailored to his frame, and that damn smile.

“Wow,” he said, the word falling out of him like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“You’re early,” I teased, trying to slow my pulse and not stare at the way his jaw flexed when he smiled.

“You’re beautiful.”

I froze. Just for a beat. Then I managed a breath and grabbed my purse. Keep it together, Olive. You can’t drag him in and kiss him senseless yet.

“Thank you, Luke. Let’s go,” I said, slipping past him before I did something impulsive like press him against the wall and undo those perfect little buttons.

We walked to the truck in comfortable silence, the thick summer air buzzing with unspoken tension. As he opened the door for me, he finally broke it.

“Owen thinks I’m taking you to town to pick up some new work clothes and your bee suit. So, if anyone asks, you know the story.”

I laughed as I buckled in. “Clever. A date AND some new clothes?”

Lucas chuckled, pulling onto the road. “It was easier this way. He tends to ask less questions if it sounds work-related.”

“Well, I’m flattered you used your one work excuse on me.”

“You’re not an excuse, Olive.” He glanced over at me, and something in his gaze warmed me from the inside out. “I wanted today to be something you’d remember.”

I swallowed hard and looked out the window, trying not to melt right there in the seat.

We walked around town first. Lucas led me through a few shops on Main Street, and I ended up grabbing some new clothes. Some for work, some for what would hopefully be more dates. After picking up the new suit, somehow we ended up in a cute little store that sold antique tea cups and handmade candles. He picked out a little yellow cup with a lemon print, saying it “felt like her.” I don’t even know what that meant, but I carried it around the rest of the day like it was made of gold.

Then came the theatre.

It was a small historic building, all weathered brick and gold-painted trim. The marquee spelled out A Midsummer Night’s Dream in looping letters.

“I didn’t know you liked Shakespeare,” I said, watching the crowd file in.

“I don’t.” He held out my ticket. “But you do.”

We found our seats in the balcony, and I didn’t realize how tightly I was wound until his arm slipped around my shoulders halfway through Act I.

I was enthralled by the play—the lights, the colors, the way the actors danced across the stage with lines I’d memorized in college—but I was just as aware of the steady rise and fall of Lucas’s chest beside me. His thumb traced lazy circles over the bare part of my upper arm, and it sent shivers down my spine.

And then there was dinner.

It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall Mexican place tucked off the square, all twinkle lights and loud music.

He ordered my favorite dish without needing to ask, and I stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“How did you—?”

“You always ordered it at that place near campus when we used to study together. You’d mix the salsa into the rice before touching anything else on your plate.”

I blinked. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

He gave a small shrug, looking almost shy. “I don’t think I have ever been able to forget much about you.”

I should have felt uncomfortable with how quickly things were moving—how easily he saw me. But it didn’t feel fast. It felt overdue. Like we’d both waited long enough and were finally catching up to where we were always supposed to be.

That hit so much harder than I had expected.

Because in all my years with Tyler, we never went to the theatre. He said it was boring, said it wasn’t his thing. And why would he take me to a restaurant when I could just cook something? Mexican food was “too messy,” he used to complain. He wouldn’t have remembered the salsa or the rice or the lemon tea cup or the way I melted during Act III. Actually, I had never dated any guy who made me feel half as seen and understood as Lucas did in one night.

Because Lucas? He noticed everything.

I stared at him across the table, unsure of how to express what I was feeling in that moment without breaking down into some overly emotional puddle of a mess.

So instead I just smiled. “This might be the best date I’ve ever had.”

He leaned in, eyes locked on mine. “Good. Because it’s only the first one.”

I laughed and sipped my drink, trying to stay grounded, trying not to let the weight of what this could become crush me with hope.

But deep down, I already knew: this was going to be different. He was different. And no matter how scared I was.

I was already in it.