Kaiden – Exactly Like Seventeen

This day could not get any worse.

The moment I step into the lobby, a sharp autumn breeze slips in behind me, scattering leaves across the wooden floor like confetti thrown out of spite. I call housekeeping to deal with it, only for them to complain that leaves are an “outdoor issue” and therefore maintenance’s job.

And that’s how the whole morning has gone. One long chain of problems. I solve one thing, and another appears before I can even breathe.

Even with the chaos unfolding around me, I can’t stop replaying that moment in my car two days ago. One of the kids asked if I was in a relationship, and when I said no, Freya’s eyes flickered in the rear-view mirror.

Relief. Hope. Something. Or maybe I imagined it.

My phone rings.

“Kaiden, can you help me?” Karen asks. She’s new, soft-voiced, already panicking. “There’s a couple here saying they made a reservation months ago, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

“I’ll be there.”

I’m already moving before the call ends.

At the front desk, a man in a knock-off suit stands with his hand flattened against the counter, jaw tight enough to crack. His partner hovers half a step behind him, shoulders pulled inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller before this turns ugly.

He’s ready for a fight. She’s hoping it won’t happen. I’ve seen this dynamic before. Too many times.

I put on the smile people expect from me and step beside Karen.

“Welcome to The Old Mill. I hear there’s been a mix-up?”

“Damn right there has,” the man snaps immediately. “I booked this three months ago. Must be a problem on your end.”

I swallow the accusation before it reaches my face.

“Let’s focus on getting you settled first.”

Karen stays close beside me, silent but watching carefully while I search the system. Third-party websites. Email confirmations. Direct bookings.

Nothing. I already know what I’m going to find before the pages fully load. This isn’t a system issue. It never is.

My eyes flick back toward the man. He leans harder against the desk, as if pressure alone might force reality to change.

This isn’t about the room anymore. It’s about being right.

I let the silence stretch for a second too long.

Beside me, Karen exhales quietly. Fine. Give him an exit.

“It looks like I still have a double room overlooking the garden,” I say calmly. “I can have it prepared for you immediately.”

No correction. No argument. No embarrassment.

The man pauses. Decision point.

Take the win or continue the fight. His shoulders lower slightly.

“Fine,” he mutters.

Behind him, his partner visibly relaxes for the first time since I walked over. Karen picks the conversation back up immediately after that, sliding smoothly into check-in mode now that the tension has broken.

Handled.

I step away before anyone can thank me for it.

Back in my office, there’s still a mountain of work waiting. The Old Mill is years behind on digital, and somehow, fixing it all has become my unofficial responsibility.

I’m halfway through reorganising next month’s reservations when my office door swings open without a knock.

Not staff then.

Nathaniel stands there framed by the warm hallway light, holding two paper cups. The smell of coffee reaches me first, rich and unfairly familiar, and for a second, my brain stops catching up with reality.

What are you doing here?

That should probably be my first thought.

Instead, my mind slips somewhere older. Memories I never managed to get rid of, no matter how hard I tried. Held onto too tightly, maybe, but how could I ever let them go?

I shut the thought down immediately.

Can’t go there with him standing in front of me like this.

Nathaniel closes the door with his hip and walks in as he belongs here, setting one of the coffees onto my desk before dropping into the chair across from me.

“Looks like you settled in fast,” he says, wearing that polite smile of his. The one he uses when he’s hiding something underneath it.

“I worked here before,” I answer. “Makes it easier.”

Nathaniel hums softly and takes a slow sip from his cup. “Got these from the bakery.” His eyes stay on me over the rim before he adds, almost too casually, “I don’t know if you have plans tonight, but I’m having dinner with Freya.”

There it is. Carefully casual. Too carefully casual.

I lean back in my chair automatically, forcing my expression neutral. Hospitality teaches you quickly how to keep your face under control, no matter what’s happening underneath it. Still, the words land harder than I want them to.

“Sounds great,” I say evenly. “Hope you two have fun.”

Nathaniel lowers the cup slightly, almost surprised I didn’t react the way he expected. “I’m glad you’re coaching that team together,” he continues lightly. Too lightly. “Good bonding experience for you both.”

Bonding.

The word sits wrong immediately.

Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Maybe I should ask Freya if she has any single friends she could introduce you to.”

My stomach tightens instantly.

He’s fishing. Testing. Circling something he still refuses to look at directly. Or maybe something he already sees too clearly.

I shrug carefully and meet his eyes. “I don’t need a wingman.”

Nathaniel tilts his chin upward slightly, and there it is—that look. The one that means he’s seconds away from becoming difficult on purpose.

“Right,” he says slowly.

A beat passes between us.

“You don’t need one.” His eyes stay locked onto mine. “You just… pick whoever you want.”

Something about the way he says it lands wrong immediately. Not the words themselves—the precision of them. The way they settle too close to things, neither of us should be thinking about while sitting in my office.

Too close. My jaw tightens before I can stop it.

Time spent together. His room. Mine. All the hidden places nobody ever looked twice at. My hand at the back of his neck while I pulled him closer, distance had never been an option between us, his green eyes looking up at me.

I press my finger harder against the desk until the tip turns white.

Don’t go there. Not now.

Two months back in Eldermoor, and neither of us has mentioned it. Not properly. I should have. Instead, I let it haunt us a little longer.

Across from me, something flickers over Nathaniel’s face too quickly to fully catch. Almost a smirk. Almost bitter. Almost hurt.

Definitely hurt.

“You remember when you stopped talking to me for a week because I went to that dance with—”

“That was years ago,” I cut in immediately.

Too fast.

Nathaniel notices. Of course he does.

A flicker appears in his eyes. “Didn’t stop you then.”

Seventeen.

The gym lights are too bright. Music too loud. Nathaniel was standing too close to some girl while pretending not to look at me the entire night.

Still pissed me off. Still does, apparently.

I shove the thought down before it fully settles.

“You don’t really get involved,” Nathaniel says quietly now, leaning forward slightly. “Not unless it’s already… close to me.”

That lands even worse. Because he’s not entirely wrong.

I pull my hand away from the desk and lean back in my chair again.

“You’re connecting things that don’t belong together.”

Nathaniel’s eye twitches slightly. His lips press together before parting again, like he’s swallowing something sharper than whatever he planned to say.

Silence stretches between us after that.

Tight. Electric.

The clock on the wall keeps ticking while neither of us looks away. For a second, it feels exactly like being seventeen again. Back when one glance from him could ruin my entire week.

Maybe it still can.

By the third tick of the clock, I break first. I pull a stack of papers toward me, forcing movement back into the room.

“If there’s nothing else,” I say carefully, “I’d like to get back to work.”

Nathaniel stands immediately, too fast for someone pretending this conversation means nothing.

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away.

Instead, he knocks against my desk three times with his knuckles.

“See you at training,” he says. “Stick to the plan this time.” Then he turns toward the door.

His hand settles loosely against the frame before going still. Something changes in his face for a split second.

Softens. Not completely. Just enough to ruin me a little.

His eyes drift over me like he’s seeing another version layered underneath this one. The softness disappears almost immediately again, like it was never supposed to escape in the first place.

Then he leaves, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. Somehow, that hurts more than slamming it would have.

We are both adults now. We have responsibilities. Jobs. Players are depending on us. So why did that just feel exactly like being seventeen again?

I exhale slowly and let my head fall forward against the paperwork spread across my desk.

The room feels smaller after he’s gone. Memories creep back in before I can stop them. Nathaniel laughing quietly against my shoulder. Green eyes meeting mine across the pitch. The wrecked look on his face when I said I was moving away. How many things have we left unfinished between us? And worse— How many of them survived anyway?

My phone vibrates against my palm, dragging me back into the room.

Freya.

My chest reacts before I can stop it. Automatic enough to irritate me. I’m glad Nathaniel isn’t still here to see it.

Freya:,/b> I can’t find the locker keys. Did I leave them in your car?

For a second, I just stare at the message. Then the memory comes back automatically.

She was in the backseat. Looking at me through the rear-view mirror. That pause after asking whether I was seeing someone. The way her expression shifted when I said no.

At the time, I barely registered it. Now it feels easier to place.

Not attraction. Expectation. Hope maybe.

I lean back slowly in my chair, rubbing a hand over my mouth. Not because I feel something back.

I don’t. That’s the problem. I know what attraction feels like. What it feels like to want someone.

Freya has never once made me feel off balance. Nathaniel does it by walking into a room.

My eyes close briefly.

Because now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t unsee it anymore. And neither of them seems to realise where I’m actually looking.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard before I finally type a short reply. Nothing more than an answer to the question she actually asked.

Nothing inside me wants to turn it into something else.

I lock my phone and pull the next file toward me before the thought has time to settle properly.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️