Rosie’s Diner was a world away from polished steel and sterile hallways. Vinyl booths. Cheap coffee. Ethan felt conspicuous in his tailored suit, but Noah’s happiness made it irrelevant.
“Back again? The grilled cheese champion?” a warm voice teased.
Olivia stood beside them in a simple uniform, dark hair tied back. But her posture was sharp, attentive. Her hazel eyes tracked everything.
She crouched to Noah’s level. “I hear you’re the expert.”
She didn’t patronize him. She studied him.
As they walked, Ethan noticed her gaze linger on Noah’s hip alignment, the way he shifted weight on his crutches. It wasn’t casual curiosity—it was clinical.
Later, Noah struggled to open a cracker packet, frustration rising. Ethan leaned forward to help, but Olivia gently intervened.
“Want to try something?” she asked. “Sometimes it’s about leverage, not strength. Engage from here—base of your thumb, not the fingertips.”
She guided his hand precisely. The packet popped open.
“Dad! I did it!”
Ethan stared. That wasn’t waitress intuition. That was anatomy.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly. “Because that wasn’t random advice.”