Chapter 389

Donovan Blackwood overheard their conversation as he approached and smoothly joined in.

"Mr. Reeves."

Evelyn Carter stood and gave a polite nod when she saw him. He motioned for them to sit while keeping a firm but gentle hold on a small boy beside him.

"Hello, everyone," Oliver Blackwood greeted with impeccable manners. His voice was clear and warm, carrying an innocence that made him instantly endearing.

"Hello, Oliver," Serena Whitaker replied with a bright smile. She had met him before and found him charming.

Evelyn offered a small nod as well.

"Hello."

The little boy clutched a neatly wrapped gift box in his tiny hands.

After releasing his father’s grip, he walked directly to Evelyn and presented it to her with both hands.

"Ms. Carter, my dad told me you saved me. I can’t ever repay you, but this is a small thank-you gift. I hope you like it."

Despite his young age, he spoke with surprising eloquence. Had Donovan been the one to offer the gift, Evelyn might have hesitated, but coming from a child, she assumed it was something simple—a token of gratitude rather than an extravagant gesture.

Her heart softened, and she accepted it with a smile. "Thank you, Oliver."

Pleased, Oliver quickly retreated to his father’s side, the picture of a well-mannered child. Evelyn couldn’t help but admire him. It pained her to think of the struggles he faced with his allergies.

Once everyone was seated, Donovan asked, "Have you ordered yet?"

Serena smirked playfully. "We wouldn’t dare start without you, would we?"

He chuckled. "You should have. I hate keeping people waiting. My apologies."

Without glancing at the menu, he summoned the waiter and effortlessly listed off several dishes before turning to Evelyn.

"Is there anything you don’t eat? Or any favorites? I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable with the cuisine here, so I kept the options varied."

"I’m not picky," Evelyn assured him.

She rarely had strong preferences when dining out, especially when she wasn’t the one paying—or when she wasn’t particularly close to the host.

"Are fries alright?" Donovan asked, his tone softening as he looked down at Oliver.

The boy nodded eagerly.

"Can I have ketchup with them?"

For a brief moment, Donovan’s expression tightened, and he didn’t respond immediately. Oliver’s face fell slightly, but then his father gave a reluctant nod.

"Fine. Just a little."

Oliver brightened instantly.

Evelyn noticed the subtle shift in the child’s demeanor and remembered what Serena had mentioned about his complicated background.

The thought that Oliver had been brought into the world not out of love, but as a means to an end, made her chest ache.

"Honestly, as long as you avoid known allergens, it should be manageable," she interjected gently.

Donovan lifted his gaze to hers, his voice quiet but firm. "The problem is, we don’t actually know what his allergens are."

Evelyn blinked. "What do you mean?"

Allergies usually had clear triggers—dairy, nuts, shellfish, pollen. Once identified, avoidance was straightforward. But Donovan was implying they had no concrete list.

Did he not pay enough attention to his son’s health?

After finishing the order, Donovan poured Oliver a glass of warm water before explaining.

"Oliver’s condition is… unusual. His first reaction happened when he was two—goat’s milk. We thought avoiding that would be enough. Then it was bread. Then peanuts. Foods he’d been fine with before suddenly became dangerous. His reactions are unpredictable. That’s why we can’t pinpoint his triggers."