Twice is not a coincidence
1082 Words
Olivia’s POV
———
Wednesday evenings are usually slow because it’s my resting day.
Except for tonight.
I received an order for a bento cake that was ridiculously priced. $500. I initially told the lady I couldn’t take it because, as I said, Wednesdays are my resting days. But she insisted she would pay double—or even triple.
And I’m not immune to money.
Except the cake in question is for a cat.
A literal cat.
I pull up outside a modern duplex in the quieter part of town, glancing at the cake box resting carefully on the passenger seat. The white frosting is still perfect, the tiny piped paw prints exactly the way the client requested, and the words written across the top read:
Happiest 2nd Birthday, Luna.
Yes.
I drove across town for a cat.
I’ve learned not to question these things. People pay well for them.
I grab the box carefully and walk toward the door before the evening humidity can ruin the icing.
The door swings open before I even knock.
“Oh my God, it’s beautiful!” the woman squeals the second she sees the cake.
Behind her, a grey cat sits on the couch like it personally financed the entire event.
I hand the cake over carefully.
“Please keep it refrigerated until you serve it,” I say automatically. “And don’t let the cat eat the frosting.”
She nods enthusiastically while already pulling out her phone to record a video.
“Can I tag you when I post it?”
“Of course.”
Business is business.
Five minutes later, I’m back in my car checking the time.
6:18 p.m.
Which means I am officially late.
Again.
Tonight there’s a seminar downtown on E-agriculture and digital innovation, and technically I wasn’t even planning to attend.
Well… not until this morning.
One of the organizers reached out last week asking if I could cover the event for my page. I refused at first because, like I said, today is my resting day. But agriculture has always been a passion of mine, so I changed my mind at the last minute.
Besides, it’s also a good opportunity to make new connections.
I am still late, though.
I start the engine and drive toward the conference hall, weaving through early evening traffic while mentally calculating everything I still need to do tonight.
Edit videos.
Reply to client messages.
Finish tomorrow’s catering order.
And somehow also survive Advanced Calculus.
Just thinking about Dr. Dante Nethans makes me groan.
I haven’t recovered from Monday.
The parking lot incident alone should qualify as emotional trauma.
Then he made me stay back after class.
Just thinking about it makes my stomach tighten.
I genuinely thought he was going to destroy my academic future over a parking space.
It was the longest two minutes of my life.
I pull into the conference venue parking lot and quickly check my reflection in the mirror.
My gown is still perfect.
It’s white, long, simple, and elegant—the kind that works for business events without looking like I tried too hard. The fabric hugs my waist and hips before falling straight to my ankles.
Classy.
Clean.
Content-creator appropriate.
I grab my phone and my small notebook before stepping out of the car.
The conference hall is already full when I enter.
People sit in rows listening to a speaker at the front discussing crop monitoring technology.
I pause near the entrance, scanning the room for an empty seat.
Then I feel it.
That strange sensation of being watched.
You know the one.
The instinct that someone’s eyes are on you.
But I’m already late, so I don’t waste time focusing on the feeling.
The seminar is impactful. By the time the speaker finishes and questions begin, the room is already clapping.
I stand when the hosts begin wrapping up the session, preparing to leave as well.
Then I freeze.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
No.
Absolutely not.
Three rows to the side, sitting calmly like he belongs in every room he enters, is Dr. Dante Nethans.
My terrifying, hyper-intelligent, parking-spot-stealing professor.
Of all the places in the city…
How?
My brain short-circuits for a second.
Then panic kicks in.
Did he see me?
Of course he saw me.
I quickly look away like a criminal who has just been spotted by a security camera and walk toward the exit.
Calm.
Normal.
Professional.
What is he even doing here?
This isn’t a university event.
It’s a professional seminar.
Which means—
He’s probably here because he actually belongs here.
Of course he does.
Dr. Dante Nethans is the kind of man who probably belongs everywhere.
I try to escape before he notices me.
I fail.
He has already spotted me and is now walking in my direction.
His eyes are on me.
Heat rushes to my face instantly.
Great.
Just great.
First I fight with him over a parking space.
Then I beg him not to subtract imaginary marks.
And now he sees me attending professional conferences late.
Wonderful.
“Miss Olivia.”
I turn slowly.
And there he is.
Standing beside my chair.
My brain scrambles for a response.
“Professor,” I say quickly, standing up.
For a moment we simply look at each other.
Then his eyes briefly scan my outfit.
Not in an inappropriate way.
More like a calculation.
“You attend agricultural technology conferences now?” he asks.
His tone is neutral, but there’s something underneath it.
Curiosity.
I clear my throat.
“I review events and businesses sometimes,” I explain.
A small pause passes between us.
“I see.”
Silence lingers for a moment before he speaks again.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Same,” I admit.
That earns the faintest shift in his expression.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Then he gestures lightly toward the exit.
“Are you staying for the networking session?”
I glance at the crowd of professionals already exchanging business cards.
Then back at him.
“Honestly?” I say. “I was about to escape.”
Another almost-smile appears on his face.
“Let me walk you.”
And somehow, without fully understanding why—
I do.
Twice is never a coincidence.
This is becoming unusually persistent.
And something tells me that walking beside Dr. Dante Nethans might be the beginning of the most dangerous decision I’ve made all semester.
- Writer
