DRAWN TO LOVE

Chapter 11-12

Olive pov

The cafeteria doors swung open, and I strolled in with the guys I’d just clicked with in class. Our laughter spilled into the room as if we’d been friends for years. I felt easy and unbothered, like someone who belonged wherever I went.

We made our way toward an empty table near the center, sliding into seats as though the place was ours. I leaned back casually, still grinning when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, stranger.”

Brittney. The girl who offered me a seat earlier, which I declined.

She sauntered over with her usual confidence, her strong perfume hitting the air before she even reached our table. She leaned on the back of the chair beside me, flipping her hair over one shoulder, her laugh bubbling too loudly at something one of the guys muttered.

It was then, in the midst of her practiced charm, that I caught sight of Tami. Sitting in the corner with her friend, picking half-heartedly at a tray of fries.

Brittney followed his gaze, ever so briefly, before tilting her head toward him with a knowing smile. She didn’t have to say anything—I could tell she’d noticed.

And so, I smirked, leaning a little closer to Brittney, letting her laughter ring louder in the air. I wasn’t blind to who was watching, and maybe—just maybe—I liked the idea of making her squirm.

⸻

That evening, I pulled into the driveway of our home, the familiar glow of the porch lights cutting through the dusk. The smell of something savory drifted from the kitchen as I stepped inside.

“Welcome back,” his father’s voice came from the study, calm and deep, the kind of tone that carried authority without needing to be raised. My father, James Thomas, was a businessman through and through—the founder of a mid-sized but rapidly growing logistics company that handled everything from shipping routes to warehouse management. People often said he had a way of commanding respect simply by entering a room.

In the living room, my mother, Stella, sat curled on the sofa with a book resting against her lap. She was a lawyer, sharp and composed, though she’d scaled back her hours at the firm to focus more on family. Unlike his father’s relentless drive, she balanced it with warmth and perspective, often reminding him that ambition meant little without compassion.

“Long day?” my mother asked, smiling softly as he leaned down to greet her.

“Something like that,” I muttered.

Dinner passed in easy conversation—my father discussing contracts and expansion plans, my mother teasing about how I’d soon be expected to shoulder some of those responsibilities. I nodded in all the right places, but my mind wasn’t entirely there. Even as I listened, the images from the cafeteria: her laughter, soft and genuine, still echoed in my head, so different from Brittney’s sharp, exaggerated giggles. I remembered how often my gaze had wandered in her direction, and how Jason—who barely even knew me yet—the guy I clicked most with among the guys had picked up on it right away. No matter how I tried to shake it, the thought of her clung to me long into the evening. The way Jason, had seen through me, the guilt of my own confession.

Later, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, realizing that stepping into my father’s company was supposed to be my future. Yet, for the first time in years, that future wasn’t the only thing occupying his thoughts. No matter how I tried to shake it, the thought of her clung to him long into the evening.