Just as Olivia was beginning to get bolder, sitting closer to him, wrapping her arms around his, leaning her weight into him like she was clinging for warmth, he suddenly shifted.
Without warning, he began rising from his seat.
"Hmm?" She blinked up at him in surprise. "Where are you going?"
"I've gotta hit the bathroom for a sec." He said casually, brushing his fingers through his hair as he stood. "I'll be back in a minute. If the waiter comes, go ahead and order something for yourself."
Her hands, which had been resting lightly on his arm, gripped a little tighter as if she didn't want to let him go just yet.
There was a slight pout forming on her lips, a reluctant tilt of her brows as she looked up at him with soft eyes. It was obvious she wanted to keep touching him, wanted him to stay right there.
Still, after a moment, she let go with a tiny nod. "…Okay."
With that, he turned and headed off through the restaurant. Once inside the restroom, he went straight to the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing at his hands.
He'd spent way too much time lifting rocks and climbing trees earlier, like some primitive caveman, and dirt still lingered along the edges of his fingers and under his nails.
The cool water felt refreshing, and as he glanced out the nearby window, his lips curled into a thoughtful smile.
The weather was good. The sun had dipped a little but the warmth still lingered in the air, and everything about today was going well, far better than he'd hoped.
His mother was smiling more. She was opening up. And he was starting to understand all the strange, endearing layers that made her who she was.
Exactly what he wanted.
But before he could sink deeper into his thoughts, a pair of male voices echoed behind him from the urinal area. Loud. Laughing. Oblivious.
"Oh my god, did you see that lady out there?" One said between chuckles. "Dude, she's gorgeous. I swear she looked like some supermodel or something. Tall, perfect skin, face like a sculpture…"
The other guy laughed harder.
"Forget the face, man. Did you see those knockers? Holy shit, they were massive. Like, bigger than my whole damn head. I'm not even kidding, how does someone even carry something like that?"
The first snorted. "Man, if I ever got my hands on—"
The laughter abruptly stopped.
The moment they glanced up and noticed the figure standing at the sink, Kafka, washing his hands and now glancing back at them in the mirror, their voices died mid-sentence.
The look on his face wasn't furious or even visibly upset. But there was no smile either. Just an unreadable, still expression. A calm that was far more unnerving.
Those black eyes of his didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even narrow. He just stared, expressionless, but steady, until both of them began to shift uncomfortably.
And the longer they stood in his silence, the more anxious they became.
"…Oh shit." One of them muttered, backing up.
The other grabbed his arm. "Let's go. Let's just go."
And just like that, they bolted, practically running out of the bathroom, like they thought something dark and dangerous was about to explode out of him.
Kafka raised his eyebrows slightly as the door swung shut behind them. He wasn't angry, not even a little…If anything, he was bemused.
He let out a quiet sigh, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to dry his hands.
This always happened.
To women, he was charming. Mysterious. Even soft, sometimes.
But to guys? He always looked terrifying. There was something about his face, maybe his stare, maybe the way he didn't blink much, that made men shrink away like they'd seen something deadly.
And the truth was, he wasn't even mad at what they'd said.
A woman like Olivia was always going to get attention. He knew that. Good, bad, respectful, or perverted, there would always be eyes on her.
He couldn't waste his life chasing down every idiot who ogled her. He had better things to do. And honestly, she could handle herself better than anyone.
That said, if someone did try something more than looking or talking, then yes…That's when he'd show them something truly scary but then they wouldn't have the chance to run away like they did now.
With that thought, he tossed the paper towel away and walked back out, hands in his pockets, expression calm again.
His mind wandered briefly as he walked, thinking about how the girls in the family always said his mother was "scary."
Even Camila herself who always held herself high had mentioned it before. She had said Olivia looked cold, intense. Hard to approach. Especially when they were working together during the sauce business online calls.
But honestly, Kafka couldn't see it.
The only time she'd looked scary to him was when she leapt at him with a knife trying to stab him in the kitchen.
Aside from that?
She just seemed…soft. Sweet. A little odd. A little shy. But definitely not scary.
At least, not until—
He paused in his steps and his eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of her again.
He'd been about to call her name, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Olivia was speaking to the waiter. She was seated, menu in hand, giving her order.
But something was…off.
Her face, usually so expressive, so full of subtle hesitations and flustered looks, was blank.
Not emotionless, but…cold. Regal. Commanding.
Her eyes were also steady, sharp. Unblinking.
The frown resting between her brows gave her the look of someone completely unapproachable. Her pale skin, smooth and nearly porcelain under the restaurant lighting, only made the intensity of her gaze stand out more.
That long, dark hair, hanging past her shoulders, only heightened the contrast, like some elegantly dressed queen from a corporate empire.
…And the poor waitress?
She looked like she was standing trial.
Her hands were practically shaking as she scribbled down the order, glancing up nervously as if worried Olivia would scold her for writing the wrong thing.
Kafka stopped a few steps away, quietly observing and his eyes widened the moment he realised what he was seeing, so wide, in fact, that for a second he forgot how to breathe.
There she was…but not the Olivia he'd left behind just minutes ago. No, this wasn't the shy, timid girl who clung to his arm nervously and mumbled her drink order in the softest voice possible.
The woman sitting at the table now looked like she belonged on a throne carved from ice.
It was like something had shifted the moment he stepped away. She sat with her back straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes sharp and distant like she was surveying the battlefield rather than a brunch menu.
There was a certain stillness to her, a poised danger that made even Kafka hesitate to step closer, as if she might shatter if touched, or worse, snap.
And he wasn't the only one who noticed it.
The people at nearby tables, who just moments ago had been sneaking glances at her with admiration, or curiosity, were now glued to their own meals.
No one dared to stare.
One man halfway through a glance locked eyes with her and instantly turned back, pretending to sip an empty cup. It was as though Olivia's presence alone cast a silent warning: Look again and suffer.
Now he understood.
Now it made sense why everyone said she looked scary. Because yeah, like this? Kafka wouldn't blame them. Even he felt the chill from across the room.
Still, he had to figure out what was going on. No way was he leaving that mystery unsolved.
He walked swiftly over to the table, putting on a polite smile for the nervous-looking waitress who was standing beside Olivia. The poor girl looked like she was debating whether to flee the scene or dissolve into tears.
"Ah, sorry." Kafka said quickly with a courteous nod. "Could we get a moment to decide? I just want to discuss the order with her a bit first."
The waitress's shoulders relaxed as if he had just disarmed a bomb. She nodded, grateful, even, and hurried away like she'd been offered an escape route from a battlefield.
Olivia blinked in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Kafi?" She asked, tilting her head slightly. "Why did you send her away? She was asking if I wanted waffles or an omelette."
Kafka didn't answer and instead he slid right into the seat next to her, his brows furrowed, his voice hushed with concern.
"Forget the food for a second, Mom." He said, eyes locked on her face. "I need to talk about…this."
He gestured vaguely at her, his hand circling the air in front of her expression.
"What? This? What do you mean?" She blinked, confused.
"I mean your face." He said bluntly. "You…Mom, before I left, you were this shy little kitten. Your face was all pink, and you were practically hiding behind the menu…But now?" He stared at her with an almost comical look of disbelief. "You look like you're about to conquer a kingdom."
Olivia gawked. "M-My face?"
"Yes! You're so pale, and your eyes looked like you were about to freeze that poor waitress on the spot. I swear she was seconds away from crying."
"I-I wasn't doing anything!" She exclaimed, flustered. "She was just reading the menu!"
"I know, I know." Kafka nodded, raising his hands. "I'm not saying you yelled at her or anything, but Mom…the way you were looking at her? I wouldn't have blamed her if she dropped the plate and ran away to resign from her to escape her fate of taking your order."
"…Just why exactly were you looking at her like you wanted to eat her alive?!"