Despite the warm hot chocolate mug enclosed within his palms, the pie maker was overcome with a chill he knew originated within himself. Not that staring idly at the falling snow outside reduced this feeling; although Ned's focus was more upon his reflection in the window than on the weather outside. He saw within his face a sadness that loomed from an hour before, faded to a newer depression that brought him back to the Pie Hole.
He had comforted Chuck with a warm blanket at her father's grave, an effort he hoped she would recognize as symbolic: for he wished it was his arms, embracing her and squeezing the sorrow from her soul. They had remained at the site for several moments, before Chuck decided she wanted to go home. She now resided upstairs in one of the twin beds, in a sleep Ned could only hope was peaceful.
He, however, could not begin to think of sleep. He was tired- exhausted in fact- but not physically. Emotionally, he felt like he was running through water, getting nowhere fast while at the same time drowning. So, he had gone to his bakery, hoping for- well, he honestly didn't know what.
It was to his surprise that the pretty waitress had been there. As she trailed the mop back and forth over the same spot on the floor, her dazed expression mirrored his own grief. He slipped inside, the dingaling of the door's bell to announce his arrival.
Olive looked up to see Ned, her frown not faltering as she captured his gaze. "What are you doing here? It's late- and you've been very busy." She placed the mop against the back room wall. "Go home, Ned. I can take of everything here." Her suggestion was not rude, but sternly kind.
"I'm not tired." He stated bluntly, stupidly. "Why are you here?"
Olive stopped her bustling behind the counter to meet his eyes. "I'm not tired," she echoed, although her tone suggested something was bothering her. Yet neither person made an attempt to learn what was troubling the other. In a silent accord, they agreed to allow each other the privacy they desired.
"Why don't you sit down, and I'll get a slice of cherry for you." Without waiting for a response, Olive disappeared into the back kitchen to fetch some of Ned's favorite dessert.
While he would have much rather been preoccupied with preparing for the holiday rush of pie orders, the pie maker was not in the mood to object. So he slid into the first booth by the door, silent as Olive made up a mug of hot cocoa for him. She knew he wasn't a coffee drinker; she had learned of this aversion her second night at the Pie Hole. Olive had started making a mental list of all the things he didn't like- coffee, Halloween, tootsie rolls, the movie "Ghost", gum-chewing, loud noises of any kind, confrontation, and… oh yeah, her.
She gently placed the warm mug between Ned's hand, noticing him latch onto it like it was his life support. The blond left his piece of pie and fork on the edge of the table, knowing he wouldn't touch it until he was finished with his drink. He was idiosyncratic in many ways, something Olive had always found endearing.
He did not say thank you, which was unusual for Ned. Even during his unhappiest moments, he was always polite. So cautiously, in the most platonic way she could, Olive touched his shoulder. "Hey," the word brought his eyes from out the window to her. The look he gave- so reserved, with hundreds upon thousands of barriers hiding all private emotions- would always break her heart. "I know you don't want to talk, and especially not with me… but I'm just baking in back if you need me, okay?"
Ned had blinked, a reaction that brought his otherwise numb face to a look of slight confusion. As Olive retreated, she wondered what had brought him to respond that way, if it was something she had said or something he had been thinking. Either way, Olive concluded as she checked on a set of Rhubarb pies, she would never know.
That conclusion was in fact what had brought the pie maker to a state of bewilderment. Watching her walk away, he was perplexed by what she had said. 'I know you don't want to talk, and especially not with me…' Especially not her? Why would she suggest she was an exception?
Ned considered thinking about it, trying to find an explanation for why she would think he wouldn't confide in her. But considering thinking about what Olive was thinking and considering her thinking to be either correct or incorrect gave him a headache. So, he considered forgetting it all together.
But suddenly considering why he would rather avoid considering other's thoughts as opposed to considering their meaning finally brought Ned to a strong conclusion: he didn't want to know.
Because the truth could be unkindly, and his life was already incredibly messy.
…Or was that an excuse not to face reality?
Frustrated with his thinking- or rather, with what he wasn't thinking- the pie maker dropped his head to the table with a thud. The pain to his forehead was blunt, yet someone stress relieving. He did this a few more times, enjoying hitting something while temporarily ignoring his problems.
"You know if you keep that up you're going to dent the table," Olive called from the back, apparently having been watching him mull over his inconsistent issues.
Raising his head to rest on his forearms placed flat across the tabletop, Ned finally decided- for sanity's sake- he would stop considering. He would start doing. Maybe he would be happier knowing. Chuck liked being aware, and she was happy. She liked knowledge, uniqueness and the qualities of people. She also loved friendships and relationships.
Relationships. The word made Ned cringe. It was so… serious, so finalizing, almost pessimistic. As though if he were to have even the most casual connection with someone, it automatically ensued with lies and secrets. At least, those were the consequences of his relations.
His first close relationship had been with his mother. His father had often been away, so she had been the one to care for him the first eight years of his life. As well as being there to love him, she always enforced hobbies and performing activities for both entertaining and beneficial gain. It had turned out that Ned, even at the age of four, loved the prospect of mixing ingredients to create something delicious. Which was why he spent half his childhood in the kitchen, sitting on the counter (or on the floor as he aged) helping his mother mix ingredients for a chocolate-silk or cranberry pie, her favorites. However, during the turning period of his life, this relationship ended once temporarily, and once permanently- both the result of death.
Ned had hoped, standing in front of his mother's casket on that grassy hill in Couer d Couers, that he would find such a strong relationship with his other parent; possibly a silver lining in an otherwise dismal occurrence. However, it was not meant to be.
So, his next relationship came with the closest thing he had to a brother- his dog, Digby. Like his mother shortly before her death, Ned could not touch his friend lest the dog surely die. For years, the golden retriever remained at his side, always there to sleep beside him and look up at him with large brown pupils, all the love he felt for his owner pouring out in his gaze. Somehow, Digby understood him, and as long as they never touched, he would always be there to comfort him.
Almost twenty years passed without another close relationship- all were short-lived, lost or forgotten. For a very long time, this was how Ned expected it to remain. Even when Emerson Cod came along, he saw nothing within his partner that would form anything beyond a business relationship, nonetheless a friendship. This would change as he got to know the detective, to where now Ned felt Emerson, despite his no-nonsense attitude and rudely sarcastic manner, had become a confidon. Completely un-judgmental and without any morals, he usually didn't give a crap one way or another about Ned's problems. Which was why he usually provided the best (outsider's) advice.
And then there was Chuck. Chuck, who from the moment he laid eyes on her once again knew she would become an exception. After a touch to her cheek, and a silent promise to never touch her again, she became the one he looked forward to seeing, the one he loved watching wake up in the morning, the one who made him excited every time she snuck into the kitchen for plastic wrap. Chuck made Ned happier than he every imagined himself, and for some reason, calling her his "girlfriend" or thinking about their "relationship" never made him tense once. It didn't graze him in the slightest… but why, he couldn't understand.
Ned was interrupted from his reverie when he heard Olive's voice drifting across the restaurant. Assuming she was speaking to him, he sat up to listen. However, a second later the figure that appeared in the doorway was not the blond waitress. It was a blond dog. He tramped across the tile floors to his owner's side, plopping his bum to the floor. He kept his head high, as to show his owner the item in his mouth.
"Whatchya got there, Digby?" Ned, making sure not to graze the animal's fur, slipped the napkin out of his dog's teeth, holding it up. Across the paper, stenciled in tiny brown dog bones and vanilla icing, were the letters F-E-E-L B-E-T-T-E-R.
Despite his solemn thoughts, Ned couldn't help but chuckle. Dropping the napkin to the floor so a patient Digby could devour his dessert, the pie maker looked up to see Olive in the doorway, awaiting his reaction. At his affectionate smile, she seemed to glow, her shoulders and chest rising higher, as though she had been worried he would find her attempt at good spirit tasteless. (Digby certainly didn't think so.)
After a few seconds, where Olive seemed once again lost in a daydream, she straightened her apron with flour covered hands and disappeared in the back to return to her baking.
Ned's thoughts remained on her gesture. For the second time that night, he considered what she had said while giving him his hot chocolate. It was true that Ned didn't share secrets with her or make conversation with her every time he saw her, but that didn't mean he disliked her.
Olive Snook. Did they have a relationship?
He took a long moment to consider the waitress, meanwhile taking part in an intense staring contest with his fork. Ned remembered the day Olive arrived, wearing a cherry sun dress that flattered her in many ways, her long blonde hair lightly curled and pressed softly against her shoulder. He recalled her cheery "hi" and how she had rambled on about this restaurant being a 'sign from the heavens' after what he guessed was a failed career. Then in the same blissful but now serious tone, she asked for a job as a waitress. He had accepted without hesitation- her personality (if nothing else) would certainly bring the customers in.
Ned never regretted hiring Olive. She was a first-rate waitress, baker and dish washer. She was so competent, in fact, that he never found it necessary to hire a second pair of hands (other than the cleaning crew that came on Mondays). Olive never asked for a raise, even after having worked there for a year, and she never missed a day of work, not even when she was ill.
Ned had always convinced himself her efficiency was the result of pride in her work, or other reasons that were personal (aka, without necessary consideration). Sitting at the booth now, however, hearing Olive quietly hum a tune he didn't recognize, he knew he had purposely avoided trying to find meaning within her actions. He wasn't an idiot, though. He had subconsciously pieced together her constant giggles, reoccurring 'accidental' brushes and the dedication to her work as signs she had feelings for him. But he absolutely refused to look further, and chose to instead ignore her subtle advances, hoping her crush would fade over time.
But why? Why would he not consider whether he felt something towards Olive?
With Chuck it was instantaneous: Ned felt 'it' immediately, like a spark had been lit within his soul to run a warm fire throughout his entire body. They shared a silent laugh when acting gooey in front of Emerson. Their plastic wrap kisses, despite silly by appearance, were full of the passion that ached within one another. He could open up to her so easily, about everything, without a second thought as to how she would react. (A two-sided occurrence that had almost destroyed their relationship.) And with the exception of not touching, their relationship was completely natural and free.
Why had Ned been so open to Chuck, yet refused to even consider Olive?
There was no doubt Olive was appealing. Her height wasn't an issue; he was fairly tall and had gotten used to dating significantly shorter women. And it went without saying that, physically, she was gorgeous. Her smile was also incredibly contagious. To Ned, a smile was a key quality in an attractive person.
Maybe her personality…
"Well, he ate that right up, didn't he?" Olive magically appeared at the table, staring down at Digby as he licked icing off his nose.
"I may have forgotten to feed him today," Ned replied sheepishly.
"Oh, don't worry, I fed him twice before." She paused, "or rather, I dropped a pie on the floor and he was nice enough to clean it up for me. Either way, everybody wins!" She gave a short giggle, reaching for his empty mug. "You want some more cocoa?"
"No… thank you." Looking up from the table Ned, like one of his impulses with Chuck, spoke before he had comprehended his words. "When did you start having feelings for me?"
She wasn't startled by his question, but he certainly was. Immediately, he cowered back. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for and completely none of my business. You are entitled to your own opinions and I should respect that."
But he had opened the can of worms. Without a word, Olive sat on the bench across him, slightly sad and very apparently puzzled. "Ned, if you're fishing for compliments, you came to the right place… but I doubt you want me to talk about this. I mean, you don't like talking about private emotions." She raised her hand in the air to animate, "You" she traced the word 'Ned' with her finger, "plus Feelings" she wrote out an invisible plus sign and heart, "equals EXPLOSION!" her arms flew high in the air, making faint scream noises to distress the effect.
Hardly amused by the charades, Ned leaned forward. "You're right…" Then immediately, he changed his mind. "I mean, you're wrong. I want to know. I need to know for… personal reasons."
Shrugging, Olive leaned back against the booth and fixated her stare on the falling crystals outside. She was trying hard to look as though this meant nothing to her. "Well, after what happened to John Joseph Jacobs, I quit horseracing. The problem was that I didn't know what else to do- horses had been my life… But then I saw this place. Something about it: the pie shaped entryway, the name in bright neon; it just seemed to be calling me: 'Come Olive, you're meant to work here.' To tell you the truth I had no idea what I was doing when I came in and started talking to you." She quickly glanced to Ned at the confession. He remained stone faced, although the way he edged forward suggested he was hanging onto every word.
"But, you hired me. The country girl from Nowheresville. I supposed I liked you right then, for that; I didn't know what it would take to get a job, or if I could even find something I was good at that didn't involve a saddle and whip." Olive looked as though she was going to offer more, but then decided against it.
Suddenly guilty for her sorrow, Ned continued (when his conscious had told him minutes ago to get his ass out of there) with a quick rebuttal: "I never meant to lead you on. And if I did, I'm sorry."
At that, Olive laughed. A low quick laugh, as though the suggestion was humorous. "That's the reason I did fall for you." At his cocked head, she explained, "Ned, guys who send you flowers, buy you drinks at bars, tattoo your name on their arm… or even fix espresso machines… They always start out the same way: wonderful. The guy seems sweet, caring, smart and someone you really think you have a chance with."
"But then… after you sleep together, they suddenly have to leave town for a few weeks. Or they end up married or already in a 'committed' relationship. Or their new religion doesn't allow them to date within the human species. Whatever the excuse, the result is the same. And you realize again it was all a waste of time. It's tiring to play the fool…" her eyes locked on Ned's hands, rested only inches from her arm, "and when I met you, I sensed you were different. That you wouldn't just run off, because you had the Pie Hole."
For a moment, total silence consumed the restaurant; even licking Digby had stopped to take in what had been said (not that he understood any of it). The moment wasn't awkward, as Ned would have expected, it just… was.
Letting out a quick sigh, Olive slid off of the bench and straightened her outfit. "What I should have considered is that not every man drops his jaw at the sight of me. Talk about egotistic," she chuckled at herself. "But don't worry your cute-little-head over me. It's my problem, not yours. However, it will be your fault if you don't get any rest and come in tomorrow looking like whatever Digby threw up an hour ago." She shuffled across the floor into the back room, where a light ding of the timer rang. There was a moment of bustling, and Olive returned, this time without her apron.
"I'm going home now, and if you were smart you would too. Only creeps and weirdoes are up at this hour." Olive snatched her purse from the corner stool, and gave a brief glance towards Ned. "I'll see you tomorrow, boss."
Not wanting for him to stop her, the blond rushed out of the restaurant, abruptly confronted with a nipping wind. Sighing, Olive silently prayed her affection hadn't seen the water growing under her eyelashes. She had been getting over him. But to see him sitting across from her, so vulnerable and confused by what he wouldn't tell her… let's just say it didn't make him less attractive in the slightest.
Back inside, Ned did not make the same effort to leave. Realizing this, Digby sighed and lay on his stomach, his head resting over his crossed paws. He would be patient, as he had been for many years.
What brought Ned to his current thoughts was the revelation of his problem- of many of his problems, in fact. What Olive had said proved to reveal exactly why he hadn't considered her, and why he would consider no one else except Chuck.
He couldn't love Olive because he could touch her.
It was so perfectly clear, as the pie maker fell back on the cushion seat, he sighed with this sudden comprehension. What Olive had said about finding more emotion after sleeping with someone was perfectly mirrored within the pie maker- touching, in a loving way, was the indication a relationship had completed it's course. You arrive at the point of the association where it is far beyond casual. Where loyalty is expected and understood and where you are to be dedicated and to trust the other person with your fragile heart.
Ned had trusted his mother. But she died. Ned had trusted his father; had never been given the time of day. Ned had trusted Digby; they were close. Ned somewhat trusted Emerson, depending on whether Emerson had his daily shot of tequila. Ned trusted Chuck; they were close.
Was it a coincidence his only successful relationships were with people he couldn't touch?
Lack of physical contact kept the securing factor out of the relationship. There was less commitment without consummation, less given to the other person to own. With Chuck, he didn't have to fully sign his heart away. Had they had slept together, Ned doubted they would have stayed with each other so long. No, the same results of his past relationships would have come back for a good laugh at his expense, and left him in the lonely asylum destiny had designed for him.
Strangely, Ned now felt content. The relationships he feared were the ones he did not have: he had Chuck, in a situation that he secretly preferred, because it showed far more promise for permanency. And, horribly, if anything did happen, Ned would always have something to blame it on- lack of touch. Being with Chuck, the woman he loved, was the most promising liaison he could hope for.
The warmth only Charlotte Charles could provide him streamed from Ned's forehead to his toes. The ache to see her suddenly overwhelmed him and made him spring to his feet; Digby followed suit. Smiling down at his closest friend, Ned suggested firmly, "Let's go home."
Wagging his tail as he pranced, the golden retriever stepped boldly into the cold, his owner pausing to lock the store behind them. On their way to the apartment, tiny snowflakes latching onto his coat, a last though swept over Ned's mind: Olive. There was nothing wrong with her at all. If he was willing, he could see himself falling in love with her. But to be involved with Olive- without restrictions- meant fully giving his heart to her, to believe that she wouldn't break it or grow tired of it, or him. A trust, Ned found, he could not give to anyone.
Because trust could result in loss. And that wasn't safe.