They finished their meal without another word, at least, not about the bacon. The bill came, Kafka paid without hesitation, and Olivia remained quiet, eyes down, lips pink from chewing and blushing alike.
She didn't even argue when he said they were walking the rest of the way, saying that the lingerie shop was just nearby, and the day was too nice to waste on scooters. So now, they walked side by side.
The town was nothing special, tree-lined sidewalks, cracked pavement, the lazy bustle of late morning foot traffic, but Kafka couldn't help noticing, again, how every pair of eyes was quietly, unconsciously magnetized to his mother walking beside him.
Olivia didn't try to draw attention, but she didn't need to. Men with coffee cups paused mid-sip to glance over the rim. Women turned their heads, whispering to each other. Even children stared up with wide-eyed confusion like they'd caught sight of something ethereal.
And the dogs? They were the worst offenders.
