Chapter 3: Breaking the Ice

After we returned, Natalie slipped right back into her ice queen role. It was almost funny how fast she switched from warm to distant the moment we stepped into the office.

But I noticed the little things. She’d refill the coffee pot and leave an extra mug on my desk. Sometimes there’d be a note, sometimes just a shy smile across the room.

Fruit or snacks would show up on my desk—an apple, a packet of almonds, once a cupcake with blue frosting. Her texts popped up with that signature iPhone ding, sometimes just a meme, sometimes a heart emoji that made my chest tighten.

I’d text back, “Thanks for the treats.” She’d reply with a wink or a tiny pink heart.

Very good—just like this. Let it simmer, slow and low, then strike at the right moment.

A few days later, even though no one else noticed, we were already flirting in private. Our texts grew playful—inside jokes, silly memes, the stuff couples do when they think no one’s watching.

One evening, I saw her working late, her desk lamp glowing in the dark office. So I found an excuse to stay, too, pretending to fuss over a spreadsheet.

By eight, she finally finished. She peeked in, her face relaxing when she saw it was just me. With no one else around, she let her guard down.

“Why are you still here?”

“Waiting for someone.”

The air shifted. She paused, a little guilty and shy. “Waiting for who?”

“Uh, I remember—someone still owes me dinner.”

She laughed, her big eyes glaring at me in mock annoyance. “Let’s go. No time like the present. What do you want to eat?”

We headed out. I reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. Her fingers laced with mine, and that was it—no more guessing, just go.

At dinner, I handed her a gift, beautifully wrapped. I’d spent my lunch hour picking it out and tying the bow just right.

“For you. Can’t let you treat me for nothing.”

She opened it—the book that got ruined on the train. I’d found the same edition and tucked in a note from the author I found online.

Natalie wasn’t materialistic. I figured this would mean more. Her eyes sparkled with a light I’d never seen before. She blinked, holding back tears, fingers lingering on the cover.

She admitted plenty of guys had given her gifts, but she always returned them. She didn’t want to owe anyone. But this was different—because none of them knew what she really wanted. She smiled for real, not the practiced office smile.

I asked, “Is this what you want?”

She stared at the book for a while, then slipped it in her bag. “Thank you. I really like it.”

What happened next was simple. We talked, we laughed. The world faded away.

She opened up about her past. Her voice was low, a little shaky, like she hadn’t told this story in years.

Her father died early. Her mother remarried, then passed away when Natalie started middle school. She bounced between homes, never really belonging.

As a child, she lived with her stepdad, always cautious and scared. She described nights spent listening for footsteps in the hallway, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She said she learned early not to trust the quiet. That’s when trouble always showed up.

That’s why she didn’t let people get close. She said it matter-of-fact, but I could see the pain behind her eyes.

After hearing her story, I finally understood her. It was like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

She really had suffered. Even I felt sorry for her. I reached across the table, squeezing her hand. She didn’t pull away.

But someone like this, once won over, would be loyal for life. I knew it.

So I said, all that’s in the past. From now on, with me here, I won’t let you be hurt again.

Her breathing quickened. Her eyes darted from mine to the window and back.

I could almost hear her heartbeat. In the quiet of that little diner, everything else faded.

She didn’t speak, but the hand in mine didn’t pull away. That was answer enough.

I wasn’t in a hurry. I’d let her fully accept it, and tell her about the money later—didn’t want to seem too calculating. I wanted her trust first.

Walking home, we ran into a couple of college kids, half-drunk and loud, lingering outside the Chevron on 8th Street. They whistled and called out for the pretty lady to stay. Their words were slurred, ugly.

I held her hand tight, told her not to look back. She tensed beside me, every muscle on alert.

A blond drunk came over, tried to grab her. I pulled her behind me, feeling anger flash hot and sharp. The punks shoved me. I shoved back, and one stumbled.

I kicked him down, then dragged Natalie and ran for it, heart hammering as we sprinted down the block.

We collapsed against the brick of her apartment building, gasping and laughing in disbelief. For a second, it felt like we could outrun anything.

After a long moment, we looked at each other and burst out laughing. The tension broke, and we were just two kids in the city, alive and wild.

I said, “I told you, I won’t let you be hurt again.”

She hugged me and kissed me, long and hard. That night, I didn’t go home. And we naturally became a couple.

I thought I’d finally won. But the real game was just getting started.