Olivia's POV
Dinner was quiet.
We sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and the steady drum of rain outside.
Maxwell ate silently. His eyes kept drifting to me, then away, then back again, like he couldn't help himself.
I took my time, eating slowly, occasionally licking sauce from my fork in a way that I absolutely knew was driving him crazy.
Every time I did it, his jaw would tighten and his grip on his fork would become just a little more tighter.
It was delicious. And not just the pasta.
"This is good," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Really good. Thank you for cooking."
"You helped," I pointed out.
"Barely. You did all the real work."
Another silence fell.
Then Maxwell cleared his throat.
"I've been thinking," he said carefully. "About what you said earlier. About needing time and space."
My heart rate picked up, but I kept my expression neutral.
"And?"
