Results May Vary

by Badgersprite

Author's Notes: Oh em effing gee? Not a one-shot?! No! I'm actually doing a series, you guys! YAY! It's nothing too serious. I wanted to have some fun with this; make people laugh. But there are poignant and angsty moments ahead – you know, there are issues going on in the Otalia world, and I can't leave them unresolved. But the core of the story is Olivia and Natalia overcoming the obstacles that are stopping them from becoming a couple, usually in their own quirky kind of way (and maybe with a kick in the ass from Doris and the Jellybean), as well as going through some of the little things in life we all have happen to us. If I'm slow to update it's because I'm busy at school; my trial exams start soon after I go back. And I may kind of abandon the timeline somewhere down the road because I'm insane like that. Yes, I know I'm crazy. That's my excuse for everything. Just bear with me.

Chapter One

Natalia never normally drinks coffee. It doesn't agree with her. It makes her jumpy. Well, more so than usual, since she'll freely admit to being innately skittish. It's not a good mix. She learned the hard way, years ago, when looking for a quick boost of energy before a long nightshift, that an extra stimulant sprinting through her system is the last thing she needs.

It always led to disaster when she was younger, usually in the form of exceptionally klutzy days at work. She still remembers it with painful precision; startling at the sudden loud outbursts of customers, fumbling precariously stacked plates (she may have stopped waitressing, but the sound of shattering porcelain still haunts her; bringing back bad memories like a trigger for a PTSD episode) and returning home to sleepless nights spent nursing stress headaches, followed by suffering for her insomnia the next day. It hadn't been long before she came to the conclusion that caffeine induces chaos, so, even now, she avoids it like the plague.

Except for today. Because Olivia, on the other hand, is without a doubt a coffee person. She's not a coffee snob, per se, but she's sophisticated enough to know that venti means twenty and chuckle under her breath at the amusing irony displayed by those ‘freakin' pretentious hipsters for whom Starbucks is merely a fashion statement to accentuate their trendy Bohemian farce' – her words. So, naturally, after finally escaping from a morning meeting that ran into lunch, she brought Natalia to this secluded café, where they could enjoy each other's company without fear of interruption.

Perhaps Natalia could be sitting here under the marquee, contentedly listening to the smooth strains of soft jazz wafting through on the fresh summer breeze without breaking her coffee drought, but doing that would be inexcusably rude. Enjoying the benefits of their lovely space without purchasing anything? That sounds a little like stealing. Besides, she empathises with the staff, remembering all too well what it was like to earn a living on tips. That guilt had to be assuaged.

So she ordered a latte when they arrived, purely to be polite. Natalia never planned on actually drinking it, intending merely to nurse the cup throughout her comfortable repartee with Olivia, until the coffee grew cold. However, she had forgotten to take into account the fact that her hands are restless, and, lo and behold, they've found a way to occupy themselves. What initially started out as the occasional courtesy sip has gradually become an increasingly frequent occurrence, an unconscious accompaniment to the relaxed, free-flowing rhythm of light-hearted banter (which some might rightly perceive as coy flirtation), getting lost in the warmth of each other's presence, a sense heightened by the tantalising aroma of an exquisite, exotic blend wafting through air between them.

“I thought we were never going to get out of there.” Olivia all but sighs, revelling in the rejuvenating flavour of the double shot espresso as it flows through her lips. Her smirking eyes stare across the table, twinkling mischievously as they watch Natalia, incessantly fiddling with the paper cup, as she has been ever since they sat down. “Can we institute a new employment policy? Anybody who keeps talking when the orchestra starts playing them off gets fired on the spot.” She suggests, amid vague, cursory hand gestures that only punctuate her natural penchant for comedy.

A lyrical laugh floats affectionately through the atmosphere; a warm, mirthful bubble reserved only for two. “Somehow, I don't think that qualifies as a fair dismissal.” Natalia replies, her fingernails unconsciously flicking back and forth over the edge of the plastic lid, generating a quiet sound. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she's kind of nervous.

Far from being annoying, Olivia is thoroughly enjoying the way she can't sit still, firstly because it's incomparably cute, and, secondly, because she knows she's the source of Natalia's shyness, which is a welcome boost to her already voluminous ego. They haven't said as much, but they both see this for what it is; a date. And, when the appropriate level of adorable anxiety is being exhibited, that's usually a good sign that any shadow of the flimsy pretence that they've come here as nothing more than friends has vanished into thin air as readily as the steam dissipating over her coffee cup. Such an opportunity is not to be squandered.

“Did you cancel my two o'clock?” Olivia asks with a delightfully devious inflexion in her voice. If this is indeed a date, then she needs to be sure she has enough time available to do it justice. They can't head back so soon.

“Mmm.” Natalia raises a finger, signalling that she needs to pause for a moment to swallow the sip of coffee she's just taken. Once that's out of the way, she replies, “Don't worry. I figured you'd need some downtime after that disaster. Unfortunately, I had to push everything back an hour to keep everybody happy,” she offers an apologetic smile and a small shrug before continuing, “But, until then, your schedule is clear.”

“Works for me.” Olivia can't quite keep the grin from her lips. Her mind is already concocting schemes to make the most of this potentially romantic afternoon. One can never accuse Olivia freakin' Spencer of being innocent, but at least her hidden agendas are in pursuit of good instead of evil these days. “You're a lifesaver, you know that?”

“No, I'm...I'm really not.” She chuckles as she shakes her head, fingers running through her long, wavy locks, brushing some stray strands back behind her ear. “I'm just an amateur rescue enthusiast.” Natalia remarks, brightly, her radiant smile glowing in the midday sun.

“You should go pro.” Olivia responds without missing a beat, encouragingly raising her cup. “Just as long as I don't lose my miracle worker to the competition.” She stipulates, not wanting to instil her with any sudden wanderlust.

“Oh, you're at no risk of that.” Natalia dismisses the notion with a wave of her hand. “I'm staying put.” She assures her, signifying that as her final answer by firmly tapping the table with her index finger. She knows she's at no risk of breaking that promise; the concept of going off on ‘adventures' has never had any great appeal to her. No, she's definitely had her fill of thrills in her life for the time being. And this little spell of peace and quiet certainly isn't going unappreciated. “I'm very comfortable in my position here. I've grown accustomed to the cushiness. And, besides, I...” she trails off with a hesitant, shy shrug, deciding that she can't bring herself to say what she had mind. It's too uncouth.

Unfortunately, her partner doesn't suffer from that problem, having abandoned the tattered remains of her internal filter a long time ago, and, when she sees an opening, she can't help but go for it. “You enjoy my ample benefits?” Olivia offers with a suggestive, self-satisfied quirk of her lips.

Bashfully, the younger woman glances down, miraculously managing not to blush. “Uh, something to that effect.” She admits, coyly keeping her eyes away from her partner's salacious stare, and, instead, watching her fingernails trace amorphous patterns on the lid of her coffee cup. Yup, without a doubt, this is a date, and, frankly, she's not surprised in the slightest. They've been doing this same song and dance around the issue of their relationship for several weeks now, getting bolder by the day. There's no question in their hearts or minds that they're a couple, and dating is what couples do. Besides, bringing her out to this quaint little café isn't exactly the most subtle advance Olivia's made so far. But she'll have to do better than that to get a rise out of her. After all, Natalia doesn't want to make this too easy for her. “The pay packet sure helps.” She says with a shrug, casually consuming another mouthful, playing innocent to her companion's intentions.

“Ha. I knew you only wanted me for my money.” Olivia playfully quips with an accusatory tilt of her finger, feigning a suspicious expression, scrupulously eyeing her up. “I'm onto your shenanigans. Admit it.”

Natalia raises her hands in defeat, unable to muster even the remotest shred of guilt from her innocent features. “You caught me fair and square.” She confesses, though no jury in the world would convict her, since she makes the least convincing criminal imaginable. Even the care bears look more sinister by comparison. “I meant to tell you sooner, but, you know...stuff kept happening, and I guess I just forgot about it. My bad.”

“Well, you were too good to be true, anyway.” Olivia smirks through a thin veil of steam, both women unsuccessfully concealing their laughter behind their coffee cups. “Hey. Come here. You're all...foamy.” She points out a moment later as she shifts her chair closer, reaching across the shrinking gap, her thumb tenderly brushing Natalia's lips, gathering the small smidge of cream from the corner of her mouth.

“Am-am I? I'm, uh, foaming at the mouth?” asks Natalia, through a sudden fluctuation in her pulse that has nothing to do with any sort of embarrassment. Not at all; any of that is immediately eclipsed by the gentle sensation of Olivia's thumb caressing the contours of her lower lip, and an expanding awareness of their proximity.

“It's hard to tell.” Her hand descends slightly, fingers curling beneath her chin. “But I can think of a way to find out.” Olivia remarks with a fascinating flicker in her eyes that leaves no shroud of doubt surrounding her meaning.

Natalia's cheeks flush with warmth, and she instinctively takes another sip of her latte to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She has to avert her gaze to collect herself. Honestly, that smouldering look Olivia's giving her must be illegal. For heaven's sake, she could use her eyes to spot weld. She could burn a hole in the Sun! And it doesn't help that her less-than-subtle insinuations are so hard to resist. But why is she still so nervous? It's not like she's never thought about it before. Her fingers are quivering in the cold breeze as she hesitates, frozen, unable to form the words, unsure what she wants to say.

Abruptly, a ringtone disturbs the silence, startling them from the sanctity of their shared bubble. Reflexively, both women reach for their purses. Unsurprisingly, it's Olivia's cell phone buzzing away, and she retrieves it with the full intent of dismissing the ill-timed interruption, and then perhaps taking the batteries out of her phone just to spite the machine for sabotaging her seduction. However, just as her thumb hovers over the red ‘end call' button, those plans stop dead in their tracks. “...Shit.” She huffs, recognising the name on screen. “It's Andy.” She mutters under her breath, glancing across the table, meeting Natalia's curious gaze. She can't hang up on him. She has to take this call.

Natalia immediately knows who she's talking about; Andy the ad guy. A man who Olivia says has all the personality of a slowly eroding cliff face – the sort of guy who finds a pet rock to be too much excitement. Despite that, he can run a heck of marketing campaign. They need him, and vice versa. “Go ahead. Take it.” She ushers Olivia on, understanding the importance of the call, and not the least bit offended that she has to answer it. Besides, it might give her the breathing space she needs to bring her heartbeat back down to a normal level, but she isn't about to make that motive obvious.

Olivia hesitates, gritting her teeth and releasing a soft sigh, reluctant to subject herself to the imminent conversation, but she has no choice. “Andy! Hi. How're you doing?” she brightly chirps into the phone, the insincerity of her excessively wide smile made plain by the tangible contempt glinting in her eyes as she wanders off for a little privacy.

Her sudden outburst attracts glances from nearby tables, watching her walk by. Soft giggles erupt from Natalia before she can stifle them, and she averts her gaze, lifting her cup, hoping the drink might serve to make her look inconspicuous, and help her avoid their passing attention. Instead, when she raises it, she pauses, and takes a second glance, noticing for the first time the shadow that denotes the coffee within, now hovering almost two thirds of the way down the cup. It takes a moment to eliminate the thought that aliens stealthily abducted her latte, which leaves only one logical answer to the disappearance – she's been drinking it, though she can't for the life of her remember doing it.

Well, that explains the anxiety. Her expression falls, the lingering flavour of the latte on her tongue seeming to laugh at her so-called ‘intermittent sips'. Apparently, she isn't pacing herself as well as she thought. Oh dear. She's going to pay for this later. She remembers the ill-effects of caffeine all too well. Still, she can hardly make matters any worse for herself. It seems like a waste not to finish it now. She's never been one to simply throw away money, anyway.

Great. She sighs and slumps down, resting her head in her hand, pursing her lips as she stares contemptuously at her newfound nemesis, pushing it back and forth between her fingers. Lord knows she has no luck, but now it's official; she's cursed. Honestly, she has the all the good fortune of a professional mirror shatterer on Friday the thirteenth.

Still, maybe it won't be as bad as last time. At least she knows what to expect. And, who can say? It could have been a fluke back then. Perhaps she isn't going to get so highly strung off of her latte today. Knock on wood.

“Why so serious?” Olivia abruptly asks, tilting her head curiously to examine her features. The sudden arrival at her side unceremoniously snaps Natalia from her daze, catching her by surprise, making her jump. But her shock is soon replaced by the rather frustrating realisation that any hope of remaining relaxed and calm has swiftly flown out the window. No, she definitely cannot drink coffee. “What?” the hotelier prompts her as she reclaims her seat, unable to disguise the chuckle that her partner's adorable overreaction elicits.

“Uh, noth-nothing.” She hastily replies, shaking her head as she picks at the lip of the paper cup. “It's nothing.”

The fast-spoken response provokes a sceptical raise of the eyebrow. “You sure?” she asks, wholly unconvinced, as if giving her the chance to retract her answer and fess up to what's really on her mind. Natalia can only offer a small, sheepish shrug. It's not anything worth hiding, but she can't very well monopolise the conversation to talk about her caffeine sensitivities. Besides, if she says she doesn't like coffee, Olivia might misconstrue that as a signal that she's coming on too strong, and needs to back off. In truth, that's the last thing she wants. Ugh. Women are complicated.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just...wasn't expecting you back so fast. That was...that was quick.” Natalia observes with an inquiring quirk of her eyes that seems to ask, ‘What did you do to get rid of him?' Apart from stealthily changing the subject, her suspicion is well-founded. After all, if there's anyone who knows every trick in the book, she's looking at her.

“Hey, I was good.” Olivia insists, though it is of little avail. There's some quality about her; something innately incriminating that automatically makes people suspect she's up to something sinister. In all sincerity, a guy climbing over a security fence wearing a ski-mask and carrying a crowbar wouldn't look half as guilty as she does, even though she's been on her best behaviour lately. “I just told him that I'm at a high-powered business lunch with a colleague.” She casually explains, placing her phone back in her purse. “Nothing bad. I promise.” Despite her protestations of innocence, Natalia smirks at her, shaking her head and stifling a soft snort of laughter. “What? What's wrong with that?”

“High powered business lunch?” Natalia echoes her excuse, pointedly glancing at their surroundings before fixing her partner with an amused expression. “Really?” Olivia simply shrugs, unable to see what she's getting at. Apparently, she can't find the obvious fault in the information she fed Andy – or else, she considers it true enough to satisfy her standards. “I hate to burst your bubble, but that's still a lie.” She announces, poking a finger at her partner.

“It's not a lie. It's a half-truth.” Olivia counters, steadfastly qualifying the important distinction between the two, as well as resting her defence on it. “I did not say anything that isn't technically true.”

“How so?” Natalia looks at her almost incredulously, idly swirling the coffee at the bottom of her cup. “Calling this a high-powered business lunch sounds pretty far-fetched to me.” She playfully asserts, making it clear that she isn't going to be so easily persuaded, but, nonetheless, she is curious to see how she'll talk her way out of this.

“Well, you are my colleague, aren't you?” Olivia begins, earning a somewhat reluctant nod of concession from Natalia. “And we are having lunch – a lunch from our business.” She clarifies, in a leap of logic which is a little more dubious, but still so far so good. “And we're having coffee. Caffeine is high-powered. There you go. It makes perfect sense!” She concludes, gesturing emphatically as she finishes laying out her argument, as if it should be self-explanatory. “If he misinterpreted that, it's his own fault.” She insists with conviction, claiming no responsibility for leading him astray.

Natalia can't help the smile that spreads across her lips. “You've got it all figured out, don't you?” she remarks, affectionately, not buying her defence for a second, but impressed by her resourcefulness in mustering it.

“Yes. I do. Thank you for noticing.” Olivia replies triumphantly, sending a charming wink across the table.

“Anytime.” She says softly, unable to think of anything wittier, her mind momentarily melting into mush. The effect Olivia's stare has on her causes her to avert her gaze, but, instead of collecting herself, she finds her thoughts focusing on the...increasingly intimate direction this afternoon was taking before the phone call interrupted them. This date is definitely going somewhere. She's not sure where, and, in truth, she doesn't really care, as long as they get there.

They both want to take the next step – arguably the first step – in their new relationship. But wanting and doing are two different things, at least for Natalia. And thinking about it...makes her nervous, in ways both pleasant and not. It's this same anxiety that's kept them in stasis as a couple for so long, slamming on the brakes whenever they started to move.

But not today. Not today. Not today. Today, she's going to be brave, and calm, and smooth, and recklessly caffeinated. Yes; there's no time like the present. Carpe diem. Quitters never win. A bird in the hand is worth two I's in team! Wait, that last one sounds off...

“Do you want to get out of here?” Olivia cunningly inquires, with an enchantingly roguish twinkle in her eyes, insinuating possibilities to come with only the slightest shift in her expression. After all, it isn't a proper date until she gets her alone.

For a second, Natalia can't quite distinguish her words amidst the deafening mantra of clichéd slogans in her head, but that patented stare tells her all she needs to know about her partner's plans for today. “Yeah. That sounds good.” She says, somewhat breathily, collecting her belongings, as well as her bearings, as Olivia signals for the waiter to bring their bill, an efficient ordeal, until the cheque actually arrives. “Is there a problem?” she asks, settling down in her seat again when she notices the strange way the usually unflappable hotelier is peering at the price tag, adjusting the distance, back and forth. “Did they charge us for something we didn't order?”

“No. Nothing like that. I've got this.” Olivia assures her, a little distractedly, rubbing her eyes, before simply withdrawing her credit card to cover the cost, bringing the issue to an end. “Come on. I've got an idea.”

“Uh oh. Should I be scared?” Natalia asks in jest, falling into step behind her.

* * *

The park is practically empty at this hour of the day. It's too late for the lunch crowd. Most locals are either at work or wrapping up their domestic duties, preparing to pick up the kids after school and the like. There's only the occasional thoroughfare with the odd person passing across town on foot, but they're no bother. However, one can always count on finding life in the preserved landscape, providing one knows where to look.

“Careful.” Natalia advises with an air of amusement, standing guard next to Olivia's discarded heels as she watches her partner indulge her seemingly spontaneous impulse to descend the bank to the river's edge, where the local ducks have gathered, eagerly awaiting whatever scrumptious morsel she's come to offer them. “It looks pretty slippery. You don't want to fall in.” She cautions, straying from the path and wandering a little closer, endeavouring to keep her in sight, though it isn't in her nature to follow her to the water.

“Oh, stop being such a wimp.” Olivia replies, dismissively waving her hand, breaking off a cracker to feed to Springfield's frequently spoiled animal residents. There's an approving quack and a flap of wings as the birds compete to catch the biscuits out of mid-air. “Take your shoes off and get down here.”

Her command elicits a chuckle. “No, I'm fine, thanks.” Natalia declines, content to remain on land and nurse her coffee cup, though it's long since grown cold in her hands, losing its comforting warmth while the latte dwindled down to a layer of undrinkable dregs at the bottom. Maybe she should have thrown the essentially empty vessel away by now, but she can't bring herself to, not after her fidgety fingers have fallen into a rhythm. She finds toying with it quite a soothing activity, like popping bubble wrap. It serves to expel some of her nervous energy – a natural predisposition made worse by the sudden influx of caffeine – and distract herself from the endless stream of thoughts running on a conveyor belt through her mind. She processes too much as it is. A mounting sense of restlessness certainly doesn't seem as if it's going to help.

Green eyes glance up at her strangely, as if in disbelief, blinking as the seconds pass. “I don't get you sometimes.” She remarks with an exaggerated sigh and a shake of her head, turning her attention back to the birds.

“Don't get what?” she laughs, defensively opening up her arms to indicate that she isn't doing anything. Little does she realise that her inaction is precisely the paradox that Olivia cannot appear to reconcile.
“How you can resist those faces!” She says, standing aside to indicate the vaguely confused expressions of her feathered friends who, unable to comprehend the human's behaviour, are more interested in the crumbs of food still floating in the river. Natalia can't stem the doting smile that unfolds across her features as she absorbs the adorable scene – the way Olivia lights up with a kind of childlike wonder so rarely seen in her eyes. It's funny; she doesn't live up to her villainous reputation at all in real life, and yet somehow the mythology still survives. Nobody would believe it if she told them what she was really like. Who could imagine that the infamous wicked witch of the Midwest is out in the park having fun with the ducks? Of course, it's no secret to those select few who truly know her that she has a soft spot for animals. She definitely prefers them to people, perhaps because animals provide an unconditional love that people so often don't; love she craves.

Stepping towards the edge of the bank, Natalia shrugs, a gesture returned by her rippling reflection in the water, and she lingers there, thoughtfully, quietly contemplating something in the distant corners of her consciousness, staring almost wistfully across the river, remembering similar scenes from a different time – a happier place. The gentle air beneath the cooling, grey clouds grows silent, but for the bubbling brook, and the sound of beaks greedily gobbling up their generous snacks. “Our ducks are cuter.” She belatedly replies, her softly spoken response nearly going unnoticed amid the peaceful ambience. Satisfied with her answer, but a little uneasy, she casts her eyes towards Olivia. “Don't you think?”

Olivia pauses for a moment, her thoughts echoing Natalia's, understanding the unspoken implications of her seemingly simple words. “Yeah. I guess you're right.” She says, smiling fondly at the magical memories of her all too short stay at the farmhouse – their own private slice of paradise. “These guys are all...pudgy.” She observes, bending over and holding out a cracker, letting a self-assured duck take it out of her fingers.

“Mhmm. That's because people like you won't stop feeding them.” Natalia points out, matter-of-factly, wagging a finger at her partner, in a very ineffectual and insincere chastisement.

“People like me?” Olivia softly scoffs as she stands up, appearing quite indignant at that remark. “What? People with hearts, you mean?” she retorts, smugly raising an eyebrow and briefly glancing over her shoulder, as if issuing a challenge, before returning her gaze to the river with an audible, tuneful hum.

“Hey. I have a heart.” Natalia playfully pouts, but, she gets no response. Evidently, Olivia is pretending to ignore her. She bites her lower lip and stares down at her hands, shifting back and forth between her feet, unable to stand still with the caffeine-induced undercurrent of frenetic energy coursing through her system. She sighs quietly, running a finger around the bottom of her cup, trying to stay relaxed. It'll be fine, as long as she doesn't say something incredibly stupid. “It's just sworn to you, is all.” She says, barely above a mumble, before internally criging. She didn't just say that.

Abruptly, there's a laugh. She looks up to see her partner drop one hand onto her hip and lift the other to the bridge of her nose as she slowly shakes her head, chuckling under her breath. Oh Lord. She did, didn't she? She said it. By the time Olivia turns around and fixes her with a mischievous smirk, Natalia's bright red blush of embarrassment has already spread across her cheeks, unable to believe the cheesiness of her own line. Not smooth. Not smooth at all.

She hears footsteps ascend the bank and meekly glances up when a familiar figure steps into view. The fluttering butterflies in Natalia's stomach are by no means an unfamiliar sensation in Olivia's vicinity, however, at the moment, they seem to be strapped into a tilt-a-whirl. And that cat that ate the canary smirk isn't helping matters.

It's humiliating. She always does this. She's thirty-six, but, when she's around Olivia, it's like she's suddenly reduced to a stuttering, awkward teenager again. Well, on this occasion, she blames the coffee. Yes; definitely the latte.

But she isn't sure how well that excuse would go over right now. It might just make the hole she's dug for herself a good deal deeper. There's probably no way she can talk herself out of this. No. Judging by the way Olivia's just standing there in front of her, with her arms folded over her chest, like she's trying to figure out what to do with her, she's never going to live this down. Oh well. What can she do? Out of ideas, Natalia sheepishly shrugs her shoulders.

Eventually, Olivia's façade softens, fading into an affectionate grin. “You're cute.” She says, gently flicking her thumb across her partner's nose, earning a quiet squeak of surprise, and muffled protest. “Even if you're not a pudgy duck.” She continues, her fingers stealthily poking Natalia's slender sides, where she knows damn well she's ticklish.

“Hey! Stop that!” Natalia pleads in between giggles, quickly backing away to a safe distance, taking a second to recover her composure. “And thank you.” She says with a shy smile, unconsciously playing with her crinkled coffee cup.

“You're welcome.” She laughs, savouring this moment of togetherness. Hmm. Maybe now is the right time... “Want one?” asks Olivia, offering a non-duck fed cracker to Natalia, who just stares at her incredulously, unsure how to respond to the gesture, considering that this is the same food that she's been casually throwing to a flock of wild animals for the past several minutes. “Hey, you're lucky I'm not going to make you jump for it.” She points out, smirking as she munches on one of the biscuits herself. She tilts her head to the side, reconsidering that statement. “Actually, there's a thought...”

“Oh no you don't. Don't even think about it.” Natalia commands, authoritatively brandishing her index finger in an effort to look stern, but it doesn't dismiss Olivia's sinister expression. “Are you always this mean, or am I just special?” she asks with a sigh, though she already knows the answer. “You live to pick on me, don't you?”

“I have other interests.” Olivia murmurs in an almost cavalier manner, approaching her partner. The look in her eyes is a blatant sign that she's up to something, and she isn't making any attempt to hide it, but Natalia is not one to be intimidated by her partner's playful schemes. If she wants a run for her money, then that's what she'll get.

“Name one.” She challenges, standing her ground as the space between them shrinks. Maintaining her potent stare, Olivia doesn't reply, electing to put her faith in the old adage that actions speak louder than words. Feeling a caress of familiar fingertips brushing the back of her hand, Natalia glances down, watching a soft palm sneak beneath the cuff her sleeve and tenderly ascend her arm. As the implication sinks in, her pulse begins to thunder. The atmosphere seems to crackle with sparks of electricity that send shivers across sensitive skin. “Th-that doesn't count.” She manages to mutter, very aware that her hands are trembling, nervously, though her mind is all but mute. At once, frozen and on edge.

“We can make it count.” Olivia replies without missing a beat, the enticing flame of passion enkindled in her eyes refusing to be extinguished – the fire that says, ‘I'm ready to be with you.' But she leaves the offer there, hanging in the air, like a question, patiently awaiting a reply. Bold as she is, she's not going to force the issue, because it's not her decision. Before they can go anywhere as a couple, she needs to know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Natalia is ready for this.

She has to take the next step on her own. That's not new information. Natalia's secretly known that it would come to that for a while now, but, unfortunately, the time was never right to cross this threshold. Until now.

They're alone. No distractions. No dramas. And she doesn't want to pull away.

“W-we can.” She swallows the knot of nerves tightening in her throat. “And...” is this going to happen now? She's been waiting for it, dreaming of it for so long, and yet, when the moment has finally arrived, she feels completely unprepared. But, summoning her courage, she meets Olivia's dutiful gaze. “And I think we should...make it count...”

Olivia smiles, almost as if she wasn't sure what answer to expect. “I'm glad you think so.” She whispers, gently grasping her quivering arm in reassurance, but she doesn't move. Natalia is momentarily thrown by that. What is she meant to do now? Oh, right. That. Of course.

Cautiously, Natalia shifts forward, her eyes flickering down to the ground, then rising again, lifting to Olivia's lips as she slowly draws closer. One tentative hand falls onto her waist, the other still clutching the coffee cup close to her chest. Eyes flutter shut as she leans in, about to fulfil a thousand flights of fancy with a long-craved kiss; a fleeting touch. So near, she can feel the gentle heat of her breath. But, before they meet...

“Holy shit!” an exclamation. Then there's a crash. Natalia immediately reacts, glancing up to see the wreckage of a passing cyclist, who, distracted by the sight of their intimate embrace, slammed straight into a bench.

If Olivia fixes him with an eviscerating glare – almost a certainty – then she doesn't see it, because, in that instant, Natalia has already rocketed back ten feet, only stopped from going any further by a well-placed tree. Paralysed with panic, she has to lean against it to keep herself upright, her eyes darting between her infuriated partner, and the disorientated stranger, clutching his nose where it collided with the seat, checking it for damage. The silence is broken by an incessant clicking noise as the back wheel of his now upside down bike continues to spin.

“Do you mind?!” Olivia fumes at him, her sudden volume making the man startle and fall back against the bench. Natalia also jumps, the back of her head bumping into the trunk, her senses on high alert, unable to deal with this, not knowing what to do. “What do you think this is? A freakin' circus exhibit?!”

“I'm sorry!” the man meekly replies, defensively raising his hands. “I didn't mean to disturb you! I wasn't watching where I was going, and, the next thing I know, there's this bench in front of me, and—“

“Tch-tch! Uh-uh. Don't care.” Olivia cuts him off, not the least bit interested in hearing it, knowing that every second he spends in her sight only increases the already immensely high probability that she will add to whatever injuries he may have sustained in the accident. “Why are you still here? Go! Get! Now!” she commands, vehemently thrusting her finger back in the direction he came from.

“R-right.” The stranger doesn't hesitate to obey her, picking up his crippled bike and promptly peddling out of peril with a speed worthy of Le Tour de France. Within a matter of seconds, he has disappeared from sight, leaving them alone to contemplate the remnants of their ruined moment.

Olivia sighs and clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips as she watches him scamper away. “Unbelievable. Is it just me, or does everybody in this damn town have a sixth sense specifically designed to track us down on dates?” she remarks, turning back to cast a cursory glance over her shoulder. But she stops, and has to look twice, because the spot where her partner was standing only moments ago is now resoundingly vacant. “Natalia?” she calls out, scanning the area for any sign of her, only to be met with the glaringly apparent truth; she's vanished. Her shoulders slump. “...Shit.” She sighs, bringing her hand to her forehead, massaging her temples between her thumb and her middle finger.

There's a loud quack. She looks down to see a tubby duck waddling up next to her, having followed her onto the bank. It tilts its head curiously at her, unblinking, swaying between its webbed feet.

Not one to take out her mood on a poor, defenceless duck, she exhales, and calms herself. “Yeah, that about covers it.” She mutters, staring wistfully down the path in the direction where Natalia must have disappeared. She can't have gotten far. Besides, if all else fails, she'll have to return to her car. Raising an eyebrow, Olivia turns her attention to her feathered friend. “Think I should go after her?” she asks, offhandedly, earning a quack of confirmation. “Right. Okay.” She nods, resolute in her course of action, remembering to toss one last cracker to the wise duck before giving chase.

Meanwhile, not far away, it isn't quacking that Natalia hears, but clucking, playing over and over – an endless loop of ‘bawk bawk buh-kawk' in her head as she internally derides herself for chickening out. Again. Damn it. Why is this happening? She swore she wasn't going to run away this time! But then that guy appeared, and he was gawking at them, and she couldn't think while every alarm bell in her head was blaring at a deafening volume. She couldn't breathe.

Her heart aches, hammering an allegro tempo mambo in her chest. Lord, the last time she felt like this was... Aha! Of course; the latte! Surely that must be the source of all her woes! She glares down at the coffee cup in her hands before throwing it into a trash can, blaming the caffeine for the anxiety now wracking her system.

Whatever small satisfaction she gains from the action is quickly diminished as she notices her hand twitching in front of her face with an obvious tremor. Oh no. Not now. “God help me.” She sighs, slowing to a stop, leaning against the railing on the bridge, fidgeting to alleviate some of her tension, but it's futile. She's falling to pieces. And running away like that? How can she ever show her face again? She has to get out of here, go home, hide under something, preferably forever. Great, now she's a fugitive on the run from her own romance. And a big, feathery chicken. Cluck.

“Found you.” The soft voice comes from close behind her, and she freezes. She can't face Olivia now; she's a jittering, nervous wreck, humiliated by her own cowardice. “Natalia...” No, no, no. “Can we—“

“Uh, y-you know what?” she spins around and steps backwards, securing some distance between them, her features conflicted as she struggles to settle on a convincing expression. “I don't feel so...” she trails off, seeing the earnest, yet wounded look in Olivia's eyes. In a pang of guilt, Natalia drops the shtick. Hasn't she done enough damage already? She can't lie to her on top of everything else. “I think—I think I'm going to head home early.” She stutters, shyly.

“...Sure. Okay.” She responds, realising she's received her answer, and respecting her partner's decision to put some space between them, despite the sting of rejection the thought garners. Olivia tries to rationalise it away. After all, it's obvious Natalia's in no state to talk about this now. Perhaps they'd be better served by clearing their heads first.

“Right.” Natalia clears her throat, her shifting gaze unable to find a resting place. “Good. I'll, uh...” she gestures wordlessly towards the road, visible through the trees behind her. Her meaning is clear enough. “Bye.”

Olivia doesn't say it back, standing there like a sculpted statue, her stare focused and unyielding. Natalia wishes she could have her resolve. But she doesn't. Not today. So she turns, and hastily hurries away, beating a swift retreat. She doesn't pause to look back. She doesn't have to. She knows her partner hasn't moved. She can feel her gaze on the back of her neck, and traces of that heat haunt her all the way to her car.

Beep beep. Unlocked. Bong, bong, bong. Door ajar. She shuts it behind her, finally finding refuge inside her sedan. In the sanctity of that shell, she feels a little less vulnerable – exposed, but alone, where nobody can see it. Home would be best. Yes. Her fingers fumble with the keys, unable to find the ignition with her hand so unsteady. Stop shaking.

She accidentally drops the keys into her lap. Frustrated, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but every thought she has is laced with regret. They were so close. They were almost there. But, yet again, she turned tail and fled. Now she's reduced to a quivering pile of meekness. Hmm. Natalia the meek. Inheriting the earth is a small consolation, considering all she wants is Olivia, and she just screwed that up. It's not too late to go back, though. She could call her and beg for forgiveness right now, but she knows that she isn't going to do that, because she's chicken. Bawk buh-kawk.

Her head falls against the steering wheel. Twice. Three times. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But it's the caffeine's fault. Yes; it's the coffee. And she blames it all the way home.

No more lattes. Ever.

Chapter Two

The radio fills the room with a fuzzy signal, the sound of guitars blaring beside her. She doesn't know the song. She doesn't care to, either. It's only on for the noise; to drown out thoughts, and help her concentrate on what's really important at the moment.

Clink. Splash. Up to the elbows in froth and soapy water. Another plate from the pile, continuing the chain of cleanliness. Furiously scrubbing off the filth, sating her nervous urges. No, the caffeine hasn't worn off yet, but that's not what this is. Nope. Not at all. This is far more fundamental, because the one thing that lingers longer than twilight on a slow summer day like today is regret – remorse for an unforgiveable flight. And what does Natalia Rivera do when she feels guilty? There's no mystery there. She cleans.

Rinsing off the dirty dish after scouring the stains, she inspects the plate for any imperfections. But this one has been cooperative. Satisfactory. Without hesitation, she moves onto the next.

It's not unique. She tells herself it's not weird, either. It's perfectly normal. It's how she was raised, in fact. Her mother was a relentless, meticulous neat freak – tidy, thorough and organised in all aspects of her existence. When she was younger, she always told Natalia that people would judge her and their family based on how they kept their home. The ‘messy wife, messy life' philosophy. Not the most enlightened world view, sure, but a trait she inherited from her nonetheless. If her house is in order, her life will be in order; the world outside will be a little less chaotic, and her mistakes will magically vanish. Well, not really. They won't just go away, but she'll feel better about them. Wash away the sins.

Illogical, maybe. Obsessive-compulsive, almost certainly. When they were living together, Olivia once dubbed her guilt-driven hygiene marathons, ‘A manifestation of Lady Macbeth by proxy.' Naturally, Natalia was too incensed at the time to find that funny. And, now, she's too frustrated with a stubborn stain that refuses to move.

“Come on. Go away.” She grumbles to herself, polishing the impossible blemish, but it just won't budge. Furrowing her brow and pursing her lips, annoyed by the fragmentation of her comfortable rhythm, she holds it up to the fixed light behind her, examining the mark. Surely, she's not imagining it. She picks at the discolouration with her finger, through her rubber glove. It can't be a defect in the plate. She would have noticed that by now. These are the sorts of things Natalia loses sleep over, trivial as they may be. To think she would have let it slide is absurd.

Sighing out her stress, she scours it once more. Come to think of it, maybe Olivia had a point. Out, damn spot!

That thought isn't a good sign, is it? Natalia pauses to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead. Maybe this isn't the most relaxing way to while away her evening, but the only thing worse is inaction – having nothing to do. That was the problem when she first got home. After all, her house is spotless. It doesn't get out of order; she never allows it to. That meant she had to think about before – dwell on it – which is bad, especially with so much extraneous energy.

So, what did Natalia do? Well, once she couldn't stand it anymore, she simply shot up and went outside. She jogged, which she doesn't normally do, under any circumstances. Admittedly, the first time was a flop, since she'd come flying back inside within a few minutes in desperation to grab her iPod, because the silence had given her no choice but to listen to herself, and that always drives her crazy! Despite the false start, going for a run was a pleasant change; it gave her something to do for an hour or so, and it got rid of some of this excess, caffeine-related stimulation still coursing through her veins, and she managed to keep her self-criticism down to nice, short, controlled bursts of abuse. Go team!

Fixing dinner was a handy distraction once that was done. It must have confused the heck out of Rafe, though. Poor kid. This is probably the earliest they've eaten since they left Chicago, and she stopped working nights. Neither of them were even particularly hungry yet, but he was happy to play along, and didn't ask questions. That was certainly appreciated.

Dinner, naturally, resulted in dirty dishes to do – today's and other days'. That's where she is now. Four and a half hours gone since she last saw Olivia in the park, and she's starting to crack like the Liberty Bell. She can't stop thinking about it. Her mind has scarcely strayed from the matter. Processing. Decompressing. Because that's what she does. Natalia isn't accustomed to talking about her problems. Confessing, yes, but asking for help? Not so much. How could she? For most of the past nineteen years, her closest friend was her son. And confiding in people has led to disaster many times – the threat of being judged when they don't like what they hear. So, she's in the habit of standing alone, taking control, sorting issues out internally, and pretending everything's okay. Ah, denial! What a beautiful thing.

So, after all this penance and soul-searching, what has she learned? Honestly, not a great deal. But Natalia is convinced (and has firmly believed from the start) that the problem isn't that she was taken out of her comfort zone, nor they were caught in a compromising position. It's not that they were about to kiss – it's that they didn't . Their lips never met. If they had, none of this would have happened. Everything would have been fine. They would have had closure, and she wouldn't have felt so insecure that she had to run away. Not that she can go back in time and confirm that, unfortunately. Damn it.

And, now, her thoughts are whirling with ‘ what if 's, and, ‘ what Natalia should have done 's (as well as dreading what will happen when they cross paths tomorrow. Yikes!). Mostly, though, she just needs to speak to her again. To explain herself. To apologise. To hear her voice and know that Olivia is okay, and that she doesn't think...Oh God...who knows what she thinks? Running away like that. She isn't going to take that well. Oh dear. Does she think...? It's not...over between them, is it? No, no, no! This is a catastrophe ! She has to call her!

Natalia hastily slips her hands out of her gloves, spinning around as she grabs the phone, dialling the familiar number. But her pirouette doesn't cease. Instead, she whirls all the way around again, and slams the phone back down in the cradle before the buttons have registered on the display. No. She can't call her now, she remembers, her head falling into her hands, her elbows on the counter as she reminds her body to breathe. Olivia's still at work. Everything got pushed back an hour to compensate for their little dalliance today. On top of all the upheaval at The Beacon at the moment, and finding time in her day to spend with Emma, this is the last thing she should have weighing on her mind. She can't bother her when she's busy, or even if she's not.

Tomorrow. Yes. It'll have to wait for tomorrow. But, until then, there are dishes to do!

Back in her gloves even before they've deflated from the brief absence of her hands, Natalia returns her attentions to the quarrelsome plate, still taunting her with its irremovable mar. Darn dish. Darn caffeine, for that matter. She isn't going to sleep tonight, if experience serves as a prescient warning. Darn sleep. Darn kiss that she didn't get to have. And they had been so close, too. So close...Yet so far away...

Love isn't like keeping her house impeccably clean. No, it's as far from that as is Earthly possible. It isn't organised, or a series of routines. It's completely out of her control. And it's scary as hell.

People don't ‘walk in an orderly fashion' into love. They don't ‘queue up to check out controlled portions of love.' They don't ‘board a train that arrives on schedule and glide efficiently along the smooth railway lines to depart safely at the love terminal.' No. They fall in love. They stumble blindly into love. They trip and fall face first in a puddle of love, landing in an ungraceful heap with their limbs splayed everywhere, and Natalia is no exception. Home may be where the heart is, but, no matter how obsessively neat her house is, her heart is always a mess, and, what she doesn't understand, what she can't control...it frightens her. Actually, no. She frightens herself. Why? Because she doesn't know what to do. Because she isn't sure what she'll do. Because she has no clue whether she can trust herself to make the right decisions.

Why does it have to be in her hands, anyway? This would all be so much easier if Olivia would just get down from her little high-road of redemption, sweep her off her feet, tilt her head back and kiss her already. But no! She has to do the right thing, and make sure she's sure (of course she's sure!), and wait for her to make the first move. Yeah, as if that's going to happen. Doesn't she realise who she's waiting for? Natalia Rivera; patron saint of awkward moments, canonised by the Holy order of Our Lady of Perpetual Inertia.

Ugh! Sometimes this whole thing just makes her want to scream! ...Actually, she's pretty sure this is the first time she's felt that way. But that doesn't change the fact that, right now, she's going out of her mind trying to figure out what to do, and paranoid about the prospect that they may never get another chance as perfect as the one she just ruined to finally kiss, and what the devil is wrong with this plate?!

“Gah! Would you just--?” she all but growls, gritting her teeth as her elbow begins to ache from the strain of exertion, detergent seeping into her gloves, drying out her hands. It feels as if the dish will break if she presses any harder against this god-awful stain...a tempting thought. “Why. Won't. You. Be. Clean?!” Natalia laments aloud, interrogating her porcelain nemesis, losing what little remains of her tolerance.

“You're talking to the plates again, ma.” Rafe remarks as he casually strides into the kitchen, flicking up an apple from the fruit bowl and effortlessly catching it in the air. “Ain't a good sign. Mental health, mama.” He jokes, tapping a finger against his temple before taking a bite of his apple.

Natalia heaves a sigh and hangs her head. He's right, of course. He knows that she always does this, better than anybody. It's her coping mechanism; secluding herself under a mountain of pointless chores, projecting an illusion that nothing has happened. But her son didn't stay a little boy forever. Eventually, he must have clued in to the fact that bad days turned into cleaning days – a little bubble of busy activity she constructed for herself when she couldn't let him, or even herself, come to grasp how dire their financial situation really was.

But he's an adult now. Older than she was when he was born. She doesn't have to hide things from him anymore. She doesn't have to lie. This, though...this is an Olivia issue. She can't talk to him about her. It's an unofficial house rule. There can be no doubt that he doesn't approve of their relationship, but, evidently, he's reached a stage where he can weather it, as long as he doesn't have to think about it – if he can pretend it's not happening. And Natalia isn't going to rock the boat, because, frankly, she doesn't want to lose him. She wants Rafe to stay home. But she's always believed that, if someone fakes a laugh long enough, eventually, they'll just keep laughing, and forget that they were never happy to begin with. And, just like that, maybe, if they go through the motions long enough, the façade will become real, and the tension will go away.

“Something happen today?” he asks, offhandedly, as he pulls up a chair at the table. He may be inquiring, but he doesn't really want to know. If she started talking about Olivia, it would degenerate into a fight. It always does. So she doesn't bring her up. He hasn't come that far yet. But he's trying. Sort of. Well, no, not really.

Rafe has made some progress, though. At least he's stopped referring to Olivia as ‘the motherfucker' to his friends online. Oh, she has never been as mad at her son as she was the day she read that on his twitter, accidentally left on screen, but purposefully said. This was what finally prompted her to confront him – not about the word, but about his whole attitude. She'd been waiting so long for her baby boy to come out of prison, and come back into her arms again, but, when the dream came true, and he came home, it was as if he'd brought a stranger along behind him. And such blatant disrespect for the love Natalia had confessed feeling for her partner was the trigger for an argument she'd been too afraid to have until that point; a symptom of his downward spiral of behaviour that eclipsed all others. It's one of the few times they've ever really fought.

It's not something she's proud of, but, since then, Rafe seems to have begrudgingly accepted that her feelings for Olivia aren't going to spontaneously disappear, though he probably still clings to some hope that they will. Honestly, he doesn't seem to have figured out how he feels about all this yet. So, here they are, living in emotional limbo, letting the elephant saunter about the room at will, going unacknowledged as it follows them round and raids their cupboard.

“It's...it's complicated.” She settles on an evasive answer, throwing down her dishrag with a sigh. She turns around, leaning back against the sink, watching Rafe slide her laptop across the table, opening it up and logging on, without asking. She doesn't mind. She's been letting him get away with that sort of stuff lately. In theory, it's because he's an adult, and she can't tell him what to do, but, in her heart, she knows she's afraid of him leaving again if she opposes him. Natalia hates to think of it as atoning, or apologising, because she shouldn't have to – there's nothing wrong with what she feels for Olivia – but, by her actions...it's hard to argue to the contrary... “Don't worry. Just...too much coffee is all.” She explains with a small smile.

Her remark earns a soft chuckle. “Okay. Fine. Just asking.” He replies, focusing on the screen, letting the conversation die off. Natalia doesn't endeavour to restart it. Not just yet; still in her contemplative, over-analysing space, content to stop and reflect. It feels like she knows less and less about what's going on in her son's life these days. Of course, Rafe is a teenager, and still in his, ‘I can't talk to Mom about what I'm getting up to' phase, but it's more than that. It's becoming harder and harder to tell what he sincerely thinks and feels, and what's just a mask. It makes her suspect that he doesn't want her to know the truth. It might be ugly. It might hurt. So she doesn't ask.

She does wish Olivia and Rafe would spend some time together, though, and come to care about each other as much as she utterly adores both of them, but there's too much conflict there, poised to escalate if provoked – an antagonism not yet ready to be resolved. In fact, the only thing the two of them can agree upon is that neither one wants to upset Natalia. So, in order to achieve that, a policy of mutual avoidance evolved, almost organically – a seamless transition. After all, they can't fight if they don't ever get near one another.

They're doing it for her sake, of course. Honestly, they're not protecting Natalia as much as they'd like to think they are, but she hasn't let them see that. She can only stand idly by, acting oblivious to what they're doing, and hope that it won't go on like this much longer. Still, every night, without fail, she prays that it will never come to a point where she has to confront choosing between the two, because she can't. She can't sacrifice either of them – not even for her love of the other. But they wouldn't do that to her. They care too much to hurt her so deeply. She trusts that with all her heart.

But, for the moment, this aspect of her life is stable. It may be in a Leaning Tower of Pisa kind of way, sure, but that's more than she can say for her relationship with Olivia at this point. And that's entirely her fault.

Running away with her tail between her legs. The worst thing she could have done, and she did it. No, wait, actually...it isn't. She could have broken her heart...

Of course! That's why. It all makes sense. Now she knows why she fled. At the time, Natalia had been terrified that, if she'd stayed with Olivia in that completely disassembled, panicked state, she would have freaked out and said something she didn't mean – something that would hurt, and do irreparable damage to their relationship. It's happened before. And she didn't want to risk that, because she doesn't trust herself. Not when she's having an anxiety attack, at least.

Self-preservation. A smart move in the guise of utter idiocy? Well, that remains to be seen. It all depends on how much Olivia despises her now. Oh, heck...

Her eyes fall to her feet, shifting self-consciously against the floor. She really is jinxed. Honestly, she couldn't have asked the Lord for a more perfect person to fall in love with, but, still, somehow, she always manages to screw it up and make an utter fool of herself. That's what it feels like, at least. Maybe she's being too harsh on herself, or melodramatic, but, even so, she feels she deserves the blame for everything that has, and hasn't happened in their relationship. After all, Olivia hasn't put a foot wrong, in her eyes. Who else could be responsible? The Spanish Inquisition?

Why can't she just be calm like a normal person? Why does she always have to be plagued with fear and doubt? Why aren't they together yet when they both know they're madly in love? Why is life so convoluted and confusing? Why does thinking about all this have to give her a migraine right when she's starting to make sense?

“Now you're all quiet. I know something's messed up.” Rafe observes, rather ambiguously, giving his mom a passing look. “I don't have to kick some ass, do I?” he asks, and it catches Natalia by surprise. She's not sure if his inquiry is a veiled reference to Olivia – hard to tell, because it's so rare for him to acknowledge her existence, and, to an extent, vice versa.

“No, no. None of that.” She waves that prospect away, regardless of her uncertainties. No violence in this house, no matter who the hypothetical target is. Although, there is one amongst them who deserves it. Emitting an anxious sigh, she glances down at her hands. “Only mine...” she admits in a voice almost too soft to be heard.

“Oh.” He looks a little taken aback, as if he wasn't expecting that, and isn't entirely sure how to react. “Well, that's not going to happen.” He shrugs, impassively, dropping the subject completely, averting his eyes back to the computer screen. There's her answer; they are not having this conversation – not now. Natalia's slightly surprised by her relief. “So, anyway, I've been looking through some job sites lately, and, uh...yeah.” Changing the topic? At a boy! “I've got an interview next weekend.”

“Great! That's great.” She enthuses, and she means it. She knows he's been struggling to find direction in his life lately. Maybe a job will give him that sense of purpose, and renew his confidence. That might be enough to shoo away the unwelcome stranger shadowing her son around like a friend nobody likes. For several moments, he doesn't respond, and Natalia half-laughs and half-huffs. Typical teenager. “Are you going to tell me where ?” she asks, moving over to the table to make sure she gets his attention.

He glances up at her, not really listening, taking a moment to register the meaning of the expectancy in her expression. “Oh, uh...It's nothing special.” He shakes his head, scratching his temple, not wanting to get her hopes up. “Just a retail job in a clothing store.” Maybe he isn't particularly proud of that, but Natalia is.

“That's wonderful!” she beams, her hand on his shoulder. Rafe awkwardly chuckles under his breath, averting his gaze – a move she immediately recognises as teen code for, ‘ Mom , you're drawing attention to something embarrassing. Please stop.' And maybe that's all she is to him now; a mom. But Natalia understands him better than he thinks. He forgets that she was once in his shoes too. She can empathise with feelings of lost purpose when dreams of college scholarships go up in smoke. But she also knows it's not the end of the world. “Hey.” She says, standing behind him, catching his eyes when she softly rubs his arm in reassurance. “You know it doesn't matter to me what you do, as long as you work hard, and you're happy. That's what's important.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He shrugs, as his focus returns to the internet, swiftly typing away. Unfortunately, that's about all the emotion a boy of his age is willing to express, at least to a parent. Natalia doesn't know whether to smirk or roll her eyes. Honestly, she's just glad to have him back home safe and sound where she can smother him with motherly love again, no matter how much it may exasperate him at times.

Still, he needs his space, and she's happy to respect that. Natalia turns and heads towards the sink, draining the soapy water and neatly packing away her now no longer valid distractions. The remaining plates are perfectly clean, anyway, now that she can admit it to herself. But her guilt hasn't completely faded, nor has her restlessness. Now she needs something else to do for the rest of the night. Just as she steps into the den, contemplating less-conspicuous activities to occupy her coffee-induced energy, Rafe's voice stops her.

“Oh, ma.” He calls to her, snapping his fingers as if he only just remembered something. “I didn't make it to the store today. Something came up. I couldn't go, so...” He trails off, indifferently, leaving it at that.

Natalia halts in her tracks and stares over her shoulder at him, wondering if she heard him correctly. After all, he's just sitting there, browsing the web, like it's no big deal that he didn't do their weekly grocery shopping. Acting like that isn't going to change the fact that they don't have the essentials they sorely need. “And you didn't think to tell me this sooner?”

“I forgot.” He replies, completely unfazed, earning a less-than-pleased sigh from Natalia, leaning sideways against the counter, and dropping her head into her free hand. This is not a good time, and she is not in the mood for this. “What?” Rafe asks, defensively, unaware that his mother already has a long list of worries weighing on her mind, never mind having to scrawl this into the metaphorical margin as well. “I'll do it first thing tomorrow.”

“No, no.” She practically cuts him off, waving her hand before running her fingers through her hair. “I'll go. It's fine. There's still...They'll be open.” Natalia mumbles, mostly to herself, collecting her keys and buzzing about the kitchen. At least this solves one problem – it gives her something to do, other than thinking about Olivia. Damn, she just did. Well, that just proves her point; the sooner she gets moving the better. “Where's the list?” without a moment's hesitation, Rafe produces it from his pocket, holding it up between his fingers, letting her take it from him. “Alright. Be back soon.”

“Don't go joyriding.” He remarks as she disappears out the door. He glances up a second time when he hears her engine start, wondering if...No. Shaking his head, he decides he doesn't want to think about that. For that matter, he's not sure he wants to know what time his mother gets back, closing up the laptop and carrying it out of the kitchen with him, so he can't speculate – so that it can't be real. And the elephant in the room settles in for another night.

* * *

If there's one thing Natalia misses about Chicago, it's not the culture, nor the history, not the skyline or the nightlife, or even the diversity. No. It's supermarkets. Open til late. Everything. Every brand. In bulk. Cheap as chips.

But Springfield isn't so civilised. At this hour, the only thing open is the convenience store. These aren't like the ones back home, either. No. This is the place where all bored local teenagers work their first jobs. A place where product prices skyrocket anytime the value of a barrel of oil shifts, even though it only has two – that's right; two – gas pumps. Natalia has a love-hate relationship with this store and its two aisles laden with products that never stay in the same order for more than a week. Suffice it to say that, due to her persistent headache, she isn't in a particularly loving mood today.

The girl at the register has her feet up on the counter, most of her features concealed by long, straight, dark hair streaked with sparse lines of colour that falls over the left side of her face. Her painted-black nails flick through the pages of the latest issue of Cosmo, no hint of awareness shown to watching the store. Back in Chicago, she wouldn't be so inattentive. In fact, she'd probably be behind a bulletproof booth. Natalia winces slightly. Yeah, she definitely likes Springfield better.

It's annoying when she can't get everything she needs in one trip, though, and that would never have happened at any of the supermarkets she used to frequent. It's not only because the teenager hasn't bothered to restock the shelves at this late hour with some of the items Natalia needs, but because the oversized boxes and packaging won't all fit in the cramped confines of this plastic basket. They need bigger baskets. And more stock. And more parking spaces. And more gas pumps. And less apathetic clerks. In an ideal world. No. She shouldn't be thinking this way. She's supposed to be positive, and in control. Glass half full. Glass half full. Glass half—oh, forget the stupid glass. Ow, head! Pain...

Obviously, that damn caffeine still hasn't worn off yet, either, and it's getting late. She isn't going to be able to sleep tonight. Forty winks? Yeah, right. She's looking at three, tops. Olivia and her coffee. She should have just said no.

No. She's not supposed to be thinking about this. Pausing, she takes a breath, before resuming her shopping, taking a carton of milk out of the refrigerator. Wait a second. She blinks, examining the container. Oh heck. Expired. Wouldn't that just be the kicker to a day of colossal mistakes? Coming home and pouring a nice, frosty glass of food poisoning. Yummy. Well, at least that might buy her enough time off work to think of a suitable apology speech. Somehow, she suspects, ‘I'm crazy,' isn't going to cut it, even if it is honest. And she's breaking the not-thinking rule again.

Ding. The bell rings, signalling the entry of another customer. In her own little Universe, the clerk doesn't respond, as still as a statue, but for the chewing gum in her mouth. Meanwhile, Natalia is about halfway into the refrigerator, rummaging around for any fresh milk, and some ostensibly sold out food items that might still be left somewhere up the back.

The new arrival impatiently raps their fingers against the counter. The teen lowers the magazine to peer at the customer, but doesn't stand up. The shopper doesn't seem to care. “Pump number one, and make it snappy.”

Natalia's eyes widen. A bottle of water falls out of her fingers and loudly tumbles down to the ground. She cringes at the clatter, but her concern is elsewhere. No, no. It can't be. That doesn't make any sense. Surely, she's just imagining things. Auditory hallucinations. Yes. If she turns around right now, she is not going to see—Oh God. It's her. Of all the gas joints in all the world, why does she have to walk into this one?

Olivia looks just as surprised to see her when their eyes meet, subtle though it is. That's strange. Her car's just outside. She mustn't have seen it. Maybe it's too dark. That is, unless she's simply pretending to stumble across her by accident. Either way, they're both unsure how to proceed. After all, they can't act like they haven't seen each other. Do they feign ignorance and casually return to their business? Do they talk? Here ? Natalia doesn't know, and she's not sure it's her place to make the decision. After what happened this afternoon, why should anything she has to say be given the time of day? Honestly, she must be the last person the hotelier wants to see right now. Lord, she really is jinxed...

“Uh, hey.” The quiet greeting catches her attention. Olivia flashes her a small, slightly hesitant smile, her expression suggesting she can't quite believe this cosmic coincidence is real, either. However, she certainly doesn't appear disappointed with this development. That must be a good sign. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Y-yeah.” Natalia stutters, nervously, managing to form a smile, mostly just due to relief that they're still talking. However, she's completely unprepared for this. Evidently, she must have left her capacity to make small talk at home when she hurried out the door. “It's...you know. What are the odds, right?” she half laughs, unconsciously swaying her shopping basket from side to side as her free hand finds the back of her neck. “I mean, this is...this is, um...odd...” she trails off, her gaze falling to the floor, where she imagines her failing vocabulary is currently flailing like a fish out of water.

“Stranger things have happened.” She replies with a shrug, casually drawing closer, her movement revealing the clerk behind her spying on them rather conspicuously over the top of Cosmo. “What brings you into town this late?”

“Nothing exciting. No. Just...groceries.” Natalia replies, indicatively raising her basket, feigning normalcy to the best of her ability. “And you're, uh...” she doesn't finish the thought. Olivia's stopped for gas – she overheard that much – but her eyes narrow critically as she evaluates that explanation. “Huh...” Something about this seems...off, somehow, as if the facts don't quite fit into place. “What are you doing?” she asks, regarding her with mounting suspicion.

Come to think of it, this is strange. No, really. What reason has Olivia got to be here this late? Refuelling? That doesn't make any sense, though. Why would she need to fill up her car at this hour? She lives in the building where she works. It's not like she's passing through. Unless she's going somewhere. Somewhere not too close. And that sounds silly.

Olivia seems to recognise the element of scepticism in her stare, because she's quick to raise her hands in a decree of innocence, and responds with a joking, “I'm not stalking you. Honest.” But, judging from the inflexions in her voice and the way she's shifting between her feet – trying a little too hard to be convincing – she knows she's been caught. Natalia isn't sure what, exactly, she's been caught doing, but her instincts beckon her to figure it out. “What? I can't go to the store after work without being up to something? I'll have you know you're not the only one who needs...” lost for ideas, she glances down at the shelf, shrugging ambiguously as she tilts the nearest packet towards her, “Shratoki noodles.”

“It's shirataki.” Natalia corrects her without missing a beat, quirking an eyebrow. Olivia's going to have to do better than that to get past her. She's known the benefits of shopping at Asian supermarkets for many years, and she's learned a thing or two in that time.

To her credit, Olivia manages to conceal the cringe that creeps across her features at her painful misstep, silently cursing the hard-to-read font. “Right. Well, I mean, that was just a hypothetical example.” She recovers almost immediately, completely unflustered by her error. Natalia has to admire the brilliance of her performance. Now, if only she could gear her theatrical talents into an area other than deception, they would be set for life. “But, seriously, why is it so hard to believe that I go out shopping for groceries like a normal person?” she challenges with a small shake of her head, smirking as if the whole notion of having to defend herself like this is ridiculous.

“Because you have your own personal chefs catering to you twenty-four seven?” Natalia ventures with a shrug, her reply coming out almost like a question, a faint hint of apology in her tone. She doesn't want to be contradictory, but she can't help herself from stating the obvious. Besides, there's no way that Olivia can honestly believe she's going to buy these excuses. Her predicament only worsens the longer she lies. It's pointless. Why is she acting like this? Unless...

Aha! A smile slowly spreads across Natalia's lips as, at last, she solves the mystery. Olivia's here because it's on the way to the farmhouse. She was driving down to see her. She's just too proud to admit it.

“...True.” There's a substantial pause as she scours every devious corner of her mind for an idea, but her search comes up empty, producing no viable results. The bullshit isn't working. Damn it. Realising she's been discovered, Olivia emits a somewhat strained sigh at her inability to hide her motives. All she can do now is make a last-ditch effort to preserve her dignity, and erect her defences. “Okay, so, maybe I wanted to drop by and talk to you. I mean, since I'm already out. Thought I should...make sure everything's fine. You know...” she admits, acting as if it was a simple, spur of the moment decision, which is her way of saying that she cares without letting her guard down. She doesn't want to appear so...invested? Vulnerable? Desperate? Fortunately, those aren't the words that spring to the younger woman's mind.

Natalia feels her heart flutter, utterly ecstatic to find that her fears are unfounded. They're not over! She doesn't hate her! But, then, Olivia's amazing like that. So understanding. So forgiving. Maybe love makes her biased, but, no; she knows her heart sees her as she really is. Compassionate. Devout. Stunningly gorgeous. Okay, so that last one is kind of shallow, but the point still remains – she's a parcel of mortal perfection. All the more reason to fall to her knees, make amends for her stupidity and beg for forgiveness. Make it work. Make it work. Make it work.

“We-we...we can talk!” Natalia blurts, a little overeagerly. “I mean, if you want.” She quickly adds, not wanting to waste any more of her time. She's already gone so far out of her way. “I don't want to...hold you up...”

“From what?” Olivia blinks in confusion before her gaze drifts to their surroundings, reminding her of her pathetic attempts at mustering a false pretence for being here. “Oh, right. That was...I was lying about all that.” She admits, impassively waving those excuses away. Even if any of them had been true, this is far more important; Natalia always comes first, without question, especially when there's a chance something might not be quite alright. “Don't worry.”

“Oh. Good.” Natalia murmurs, staring down at her fidgeting fingertips. There's a long pause. Neither of them speak, unsure who should start, or how much they should say. So, instead, they wait, in thoughtful quietude, broken only by the sound of the teen behind the register turning pages, losing interest in their stilted attempts at conversation.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

“I've been thinking about—“ “You know, I didn't mean to—“ Tock. They both stop abruptly, unintentionally cutting each other off. Their eyes meet in the sudden silence that follows. They won't get anywhere if they talk at once.

“No, no, no. You go ahead.” Natalia swiftly urges her partner on, happy to remain quiet, since she still isn't entirely sure what she's going to say. She knows she needs to apologise, and she intends to do just that, but she also owes Olivia an explanation, and that isn't quite as easy to deliver when she's struggling to understand the twisted, subconscious logic (if it can be called that) behind her own actions. Plus, her thoughts are being muted by the ache behind her temples.

Olivia perches her fingers against her forehead, trying to clear the clutter from her mind. Well, now that they're here, she may as well throw caution to the wind, and come out with it. “Look, I'm...” she trails off, sighing quietly, building up the fortitude to say what she'd intended to drive all the way to the farmhouse to say to Natalia. This isn't as easy in real life as it seemed when she rehearsed it in her head, but it has to be done. “I'm sorry for what happened in the park. I got carried away, I guess. But that's no excuse. I shouldn't have—“

“Oh, no! No, no, no. Not you!” Natalia cuts her off, speaking with a haste far faster than her mind can consciously choose words, rendering her vaguely nonsensical. “You didn't...Me! Me . It was...I mean, I'm the one who—“ her frazzled gaze glimpses the clerk watching them again, “Who should be apologising.” She finishes, electing to ignore their audience, even if she does lower her volume, not keen to air her dirty laundry in front of others. “It was my fault.”

“Are you sure?” asks Olivia, a little taken aback, though also showing a flicker of concern in her eyes. If she's done the wrong thing, she's not afraid to hear it. She'd rather be told whether she's crossing a boundary than make the same mistake a second time. “I mean, you should be setting the pace, here. But, earlier, I know I was sort of...” neglecting to finish that sentence, she fills her pause with vague gestures, though her meaning is clear enough. “And then you were...”

“No! Well, I mean, yes, I was, but that's not what...” Natalia has to stop to remind herself to breathe, composing herself, and looking Olivia directly in the eyes as she calmly continues, “That's not what freaked me out.”

Thank Goodness for small mercies. Whew. It may leave Olivia with a few more questions than answers, at least while they're speaking in such ambiguous terms, but, most importantly, hearing that eliminates her worst-case scenario. As she prepares to reply, she's cut short by an abrupt awareness of how quiet the place is. That can only mean one thing. “One sec.” She raises a finger, putting their conversation on hold, before swiftly rounding on the clerk, who's blatantly hanging on every word of their exchange. “What are you looking at?” she all but growls, glaring across the store.

“Who, me? Nothing.” The teenage girl replies, raising her magazine a little higher, disappearing from sight. It's not her fault for eavesdropping, she thinks. Most people would lose their minds with a job this dull. Anything that breaks the tedium tends to catch her attention, and this is the most interesting thing she's seen all day. This is even weirder than that cyclist who came in to buy frozen peas for his broken nose a few hours ago – she'd let him take a pack free of charge.

“Sorry about that.” She hears the bossy woman mutter to her companion. “Anyway, I just...wanted to check in with you. Make sure everything's okay. And it is, so...” she clears her throat, and gestures towards the door. “I should probably...” It's only a matter of seconds before the clerk dares to glance up again, a move that luckily goes unseen. She watches the brunette with the basket reach out and gently touch the taller, scarier one on the hand, stopping her retreat.

“No, wait. Look, I...” she takes a deep breath, collecting her wits, and her nerve. “I'm really sorry. For taking off like that, I mean. I don't want you to think it means I wasn't ready. Or, you know, that I don't want this. Because I do. It's just...” she stops, clearly frustrated as the fog clouding her head inhibits her ability to string together a coherent sentence. Why can't she express what she feels? Dark brown eyes uneasily flicker over and catch the teen staring, but she doesn't betray that fact when she turns back to her partner. “You know, maybe this isn't the best timeto talk about this.” Says Natalia, her confidence wavering under the combined effect of her headache and their lack of privacy. They can't have this conversation if she can't say what she means, and, right now, that doesn't seem possible. Better to wait.

“Fair enough.” Olivia responds, sensing that Natalia isn't all there right now – must signal stress at home. “I mean, it's late. The kids are probably forgetting what we look like.” She jokes, content with what they've established tonight about the incident, falling into step behind her partner as she approaches the register and places her basket on the counter.

“Right. I mean, we're going to see each other tomorrow, anyway.” Natalia replies, smiling sideways at Olivia, her eyes silently sorry for all the chaos she's caused her today (and for every other time before that). Meanwhile, it's the most animated the checkout girl has been all night, scanning her customer's purchases, occasionally glancing up as the conversation continues in front of her. “Nothing we can say now that we can't say then, is there?”

“Except for goodnight.” Olivia offers with a rising smirk, earning a soft, affectionate chuckle and a shake of the head. And, in that moment, everything's back to normal. Thank God. Nothing's changed between them. Well, not to the extent they were dreading all afternoon. “Although, you never know...” her mischievous grin grows wider, and she suggestively quirks an eyebrow, the insinuations abundantly clear.

A chastising swat on the arm is the response Olivia receives, though Natalia can't mask a bashful smile as she shyly averts her gaze. “I am not scheduling that.” She replies, fingers idly drawing patterns on the edge of the counter.

That sounds an awful lot like flirtation. This is getting good. However, when the clerk curiously peers up again, she finds Olivia's stony stare waiting for her, not at all pleased with her repeated invasions of their intimate discussions. Sufficiently intimidated, the girl's gaze hastily drops back down to the register, acting as oblivious as possible. But the older woman's eyes linger, suspiciously. Someone ought to have a word with this kid about the benefits of developing selective deafness.

“Hey.” A gentle brush of fingertips over Olivia's hand draws her gaze back to Natalia. She's done here, all her things bought and paid for. “You take care now. Drive safe.” She says; protective, as ever.

“You too.” She smiles at her, fondly, softly stroking her arm. “See you tomorrow.”

“Um, yeah...I...just...before I...” she doesn't finish her sentence. In a momentary burst of courage, Natalia abruptly wraps her in a one-armed hug, rising up on her toes and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you.” In an instant, she snatches her shopping bags and speedily disappears out the front exit, vanishing into the night, leaving the door swinging in her wake. Olivia can only stare, blinking at the blank space where she used to be.

Incredulously, she runs a hand through her hair, rubbing the back of her neck as she breathes out a sigh. “I swear, that woman is like The Flash on speed.” She remarks as her mixture of amusement and bemusement begins to filter down. She hears a snicker behind her. Olivia glances over her shoulder at the teenage clerk, who stifles her laugh with a cough, pretending to pay attention to her magazine again. But the hotelier doesn't snap at her this time. Instead, she leans forward, placing her hands on the counter. “Hey, kid.” She begins, prompting the employee to look up, perplexed, pointing at herself in confusion. “Yeah, you. What's your name?”

Unsure why she wants to know, the teen is initially wary to respond. Like any reasonable person, she doesn't make a habit of going around announcing her identity to strangers. On this occasion, though, caught off guard, there isn't much in the way of an alternative. “Lace.” She stretches out the sound, resembling a question more than a statement.

“ Lace ?” Olivia echoes in abject disapproval, her stare narrowing into a squint, as if the name leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Like the fabric?”

“Duh. Like in Lacey.” The clerk scoffs, not bothering to hide the eye-roll she gives the older woman.

“Yeah, well, listen, Lacey.” Olivia continues, dismissively, not caring enough to heed what the girl likes to call herself. And why should she? Frankly, she's doing her a favour by talking to her like this, and imparting some worthwhile gems of worldly wisdom. “If you want to go places in life, you want to make friends, and you don't make friends by knowing things you're not supposed to.” She informs her, a smug smirk spreading across her features, and a glimmer in her eyes that seems almost sinister. “Consider this fair warning; you shouldn't make it a habit to listen in on other people's conversations.”

“Why not?” Lace snorts with confidence, unable to take this confrontation seriously. “Eavesdropping is a big business. Hell, if I overhear the right thing one day, it might land me a job at Cosmo.” She remarks, chuckling at her own comment, but, when she looks up again, the power of Olivia's presence makes her anxiously swallow her laughter.

“In this town?” Olivia counters, pointedly quirking an eyebrow. She curls her fingers in front of her lips, though it fails to conceal the mocking snicker she utters at the teenager's obliviousness to the way the world really works. “Nuh-uh. Not going to happen.” She says, wagging a finger from side to side. “I hate to break it to you, but listening to things other people don't want you to hear is a lot more likely to land you a sparkling new career as a fertiliser pushing up some mob-wife's tulips.”

“Ew.” The teenager cringes at the macabre mental image. “That's creepy.”

“Mhmm. So were you when you were spying on us.” Olivia remarks, bluntly, satisfied that she's made her point. Ah, it feels good to let out her meaner side to breathe every now and then. “And take that damn nail polish off your fingers. You look diseased.” She comments as she turns to leave, with an extra spring in her step. She's still got it.

“Pfft. What do you know?” the clerk mutters under her breath, determined to disregard that opinion. Adults don't understand youth culture. It's a fashion statement. It looks cool. Nevertheless, she does cast an insecure glance down at her fingernails, and folds one hand over the other.

Faintly sneering, Lace watches as her snarky customer heads towards the door. Good. The sooner she goes, the better. And to think, she once wanted to help this woman with her relationship drama, and tell her what she's doing wrong. So much for that idea. Why should she care what happens to her, anyway? She's a bitch. But, then again, around that other lady, she didn't seem so bad...Ah, what the hell; love is love, and the world can always use more of that.

“Hey, wait!” she calls out, stopping her just short of the exit, perhaps because she can't resist the prospect of firing off a few more barbs of abuse. “Look, I already heard what I did. Can't change that. Besides, it's pretty obvious what's going on between you two.” She shrugs ambivalently, deciding to get to the point when the older woman rolls her eyes and reaches for the door, running out of patience. “Anyway, you want my advice?” that must be the stupidest question Olivia has ever heard. Of course, she doesn't give a damn what goes on in this clueless teenager's head. She never has and she never will. But that doesn't stop Lace from voicing her opinion. “Stop chasing after her. You're way too clingy, and that is not hot.”

Olivia freezes in her tracks. An icy chill descends over the store. “Excuse me?” at a deathly slow pace, she turns around, unable to believe what she just heard. It defies all logic that anybody would dare to talk to her that way. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she asks, a thinly veiled fury bubbling beneath the surface as she approaches the teenager, who tries her best not to quake in her knee-high boots. “Do you have any idea who you're talking to? No. Obviously you don't,” she laughs humourlessly, clearly only a matter of seconds away from exploding in a ferocious inferno of scathing insults, “Because, if you did, you would know that I am not— “ she raises a finger to emphasise the word, but suddenly stops as the situation comes flooding back to her.

She could have called. But she didn't. Instead, she hopped in her car to drive all the way out to the farmhouse, in the dead of night, just to make sure Natalia wasn't mad. That's not like her. That's when it hits her. Everything Olivia said. Everything she's done. It all adds up.

Unmoving from her pose, index finger still held up in front of her, she blinks as the realisation sinks in. “...Oh my God, I'm clingy.” She finishes, in a single breath, stunned by the once unimaginable thought.

“Yeah. Just kinda.” Lace confirms, wincing slightly, feeling sympathy for the woman. Comfortable that she isn't going to snap at her again, she elects to continue, and offers some more insight. “Being nice and sweet to her is one thing, but, the problem is, if you're always there at her beck and call no matter what, then she doesn't have any motive to risk changing your relationship. You don't get anywhere by being a pushover.”

“Trust me, I'm not.” Olivia snorts at the notion, managing a small smirk as she folds her arms on the counter, running a hand through her hair. “But, with her, I just...” she trails off, staring into space, shaking her head in place of an answer she can't quite find. “I don't want to be that person around her.” And it's true. She doesn't want to manipulate or seduce Natalia. She doesn't want to trick her into doing something she's not ready for. No. Above everything else... “I guess I just...I want her to choose me, without being...pushed into it...”

“Hey. I hear you. Who doesn't want that? But, I've got to tell you, it's no wonder she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what her role is.” Lace observes, piquing Olivia's interest, her gaze silently prompting her to elaborate. “Enough with the mixed signals, already. If she's supposed to go after you, then let her fuckin' pursue you.” She says, bluntly, her hand gesturing rather theatrically into the ether.

“...What if she doesn't?” Olivia quietly laments with a sigh. Is that her speaking? Good God. How on Earth did she get reduced to this love-struck mess? The things Natalia does to her.

“Don't worry, she will.” Lace informs her without a hint of worry. When all she receives is an inquiring look, the teen plops her magazine down on the counter, flipping through the pages until she finds what she's looking for. “Cosmo says absence makes the heart grow fonder.” She quotes, pointing to a specific line for proof. It's item number seven in a list of ‘ten ways to make men want you'. Olivia raises an eyebrow irreverently, silently questioning whether she's serious. “I assume that works for chicks as well as guys.”

“This is your Bible?” Olivia snickers derisively at the issue laid open on the counter. Honestly, the magazine is even worse now than she remembers it. “Give it a few years and you'll realise Cosmo is full of shit.” She remarks, spinning it around and sliding it back towards the teen.

“Hey, fine, you don't have to swear an oath on it. But, it can't hurt, you know.” Lace says, shrugging nonchalantly, taking back her Cosmo. She pauses, knowing there isn't much she can do beyond hoping things work out for the best. Who knows? Maybe she'll see them in the store again, and find out whether her meddling pays off. “Give it some thought.” She encourages, offering Olivia a lollipop from her personal stash as a parting gift. “Here.”

“Huh. Thanks, I think.” She mutters, seeing no reason to decline the candy, or the advice. Why does she keep confiding in strangers like this, anyway? For heaven's sake, she'll turn into the town crier of Springfield if she's not careful. Still, maybe it's worth keeping her suggestions in the back of her mind.

“Good luck.” Lace flickers her fingers in a wave as Olivia begins to wander off. “Oh, and show her some consequences next time she screws up!” she calls out as an afterthought, just as she reaches the door. “For serious. She's not made of glass. A little tough love's not going to kill her. Or you.”

“Right. Sure.” She replies with a vague smirk. First impressions can be misleading. Maybe it's just the mom in her, but, all in all, this kid isn't as vacant as she looks. “And I was serious about the nails, by the way.” Olivia comments, casually popping the lollipop into her mouth. “Get rid of them.” Now that's definitely her motherly side talking.

“Whatever.” Lace snorts – falling back, naturally, on the word that is the foundation of the teenage dialect – as Olivia takes her leave, closing the door behind her. “Ugh. This town is full of crazy people.” The teenager mutters under her breath, running her troublesome nails through her long, streaked hair before settling back down in her chair behind the register, throwing her feet up on top of the counter and opening her magazine once more.

to be continued....