"Boring?" Harper repeats. "I don't think so. I think stable reliable men are very attractive." Her tone is casual as she walks beside him along the sidewalk. Once they were far enough away from the office building, she took Olivers hand and his fingers immediately intertwined with hers, his grip firm and warm. The simple physical connection sent a jolt of electricity through his system, and he squeezed her hand gently in response. "Attractive, huh?" he murmured, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good to know I am doing something right besides running a successful corporation." He adjusted his stride to match hers more closely, their sides brushing together as they navigated the quiet city streets. The familiar noise of distant traffic and occasional pedestrians created a sense of anonymity that emboldened him. "You know," he continued conversationally, "This is the first time I have held hands with someone in public since I was a teenager. Feels… different." His thumb traced small circles over her knuckles absently while his blue eyes scanned ahead for the sandwich shop, they had discussed earlier.
"Different how?" Harper asked. The sandwich shop came into view. The shop was between a boutique and a spectacle shop. The shop interior was clearly visible through the large rectangular windows and double glass doors, framed in dark grey and surrounded by muted beige walls. Above the doorway was a "Henko's" sign in large, white, three-dimensional letters with dark outlines. Outside, there is a small patio seating area enclosed by black metal railing, including several black metal tables and matching chairs, arranged neatly for customers to sit and eat outdoor. One of the tables is shaded by a black umbrella featuring Henko's logo. "Different in a good way," Oliver clarifies as they walked towards the shops entrance and he held the door open for Harper, his free hand still clasped firmly with hers. "It has been years since I have felt this… light. Like I am not constantly carrying the weight of everyone's expectations on my shoulders."
Inside the shop, the atmosphere was casual and inviting– wooden tables, colourful chalkboard menus, and the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air. As they entered a female employee at the front desk–facing the register with a phoned held between her shoulder and ear– smiled warmly at Oliver and Harper. She is wearing a light denim shirt under a beige apron and has dark hair neatly tied up in a bun. "Eee will be weeth you een a meenute. Please, take a seet," she said with Spanish accent. Oliver guided Harper toward an empty booth in the corer, releasing her hand only long enough to slide onto the bench opposite her. "Here works better," he explained with a wink, watching as she settled into her seat. "From this vantage point, I can admire how beautiful you look when you are concentrating on deciding which sandwich combination catches your fancy." He picked up a menu but kept his blue eyes fixed on her instead of studying the options.
Harper blushed lightly at his comment about her being beautiful and she picked up one of the menus as well. "When I was in high school, whenever I held a boy's hand, it was always sweaty and slippery. But yours isn't. So, I guess I agree with you, it is different in a good way," she says while she scans the menu. Oliver lets out a soft chuckle at her comparison, his grip on her hand loosening slightly as he leaned back against the booth cushions. "Sweaty and slippers– that is a specific complaint for high school boys." His thumb brushed over the back of her hand affectionately. "I suppose I should be grateful for my age and its accompanying dry skin. Though I can't promise my palms won't get clammy if you keep looking at me like that." Harper laughed lightly. "Just don't hold it against me if I let go them," she said playfully. "So, what are you leaning toward? Something with avocado and extra pickles to match my refined tastes? Or are you going to surprise me with something completely unexpected?"
The waitress approached their table just then; her pen poised over her notepad. "Can ee get you somethin' to dreenk while you deh-seed?" the waitress asked. "Just a soda for me and a toasted cheese sandwich, please," Harper ordered confidently. Oliver raised an eyebrow at her simple order, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "A toasted cheese sandwich? Bold choice. I approve of your commitment to classic simplicity." He turned to the waitress with practiced ease. "I will have a black coffee and the ham and cheese on white grain. And could you bring us some of those potato ships too?" the waitress nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen counter. Oliver leaned forward slightly across the table, his elbows resting on the polished wood surface. His gaze remained fixed on her as he spoke. "You know," he began conversationally, "This is much better that sitting through Knox's rants about fabric weights. My ears were starting to bleed." His thumb traced lazy circles against the back of her hand still resting on the table between them.
"Honestly, I am starting to think Mr. Knox does that on purpose just to annoy you. He always discusses interesting fashion trends with me," Harper says casually. "And yes, I like the classics," she adds with a meaningful smile. Oliver's expression shifted to one of amused realization at her theory about Knox's motives. A low chuckle escaped him. "On purpose? You might be onto something there," he conceded thoughtfully. "The man lives for drama– whether it is arguing over thread counts or staging entire fashion shows just to get my attention." Oliver closed the menu in front of him and moved it to the side. "And classic is good," he added approvingly. "There is something honest about choosing what works without needing bells and whistles. It takes confidence." The waitress returned with their food, sliding the two plates onto the table alongside napkins and condiments. The steam rising from Harper's toasted cheese sandwich filled the air with a comforting aroma while Oliver's ham and cheese looked heartily substantial.