by Ellis, C. R.
“Elliot,” I interrupted, coming up to her and putting my hands gently on her shoulders. “Breathe. Look, I know you’ve got a lot going on in your life right now. My life is crazy too. The last thing I want to do is stress you out any more than you already are. There’s no way to know where this will go between us, so let’s just take it as it comes and see what happens, yeah? We can go slow. No pressure.”
Relief flooded her features, and knew I’d said the right thing.
“Okay. If you’re sure. But if you’re having second thoughts or don’t want to—”
“Is that your default response for everyone, or is it reserved just for me?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You keep making excuses for me or trying to downplay things, almost like you’re waiting for me to bail. Like you expect it.”
Elliot slowly set down the wine glasses she carried and shifted her attention back to me. “Bryce, I’m not waiting for you to bail. It’s just…” She dropped her gaze to her feet. “It's easier this way. You know, setting realistic expectations based on…”
Based on my history of bailing.
But that history had nothing to do with her.
I knew telling her that would sound like just another excuse, and I had no intention of giving her any more reason to question my presence in her life. I’d just have to shift her expectations until they didn’t include a question mark about how long I’d stick around.
“I can’t erase the past, El. But the beauty of the future is that it hasn’t been written yet. That’s what the present is for. Give me a chance to rewrite myself into your life and future. In whatever capacity.”
“Okay,” she murmured. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah? So tomorrow? Six o’clock?”
“It’s an early wedding, so six works for me. You never said where we’re going.”
I smirked, grateful that things were back on track. “Guess. You can ask me three yes or no questions and then try to figure out what it is.”
Her eyes lit up, and I could already see the wheels turning in her head as she considered her first question. “Is it the kind of thing that requires tennis shoes and shovels or high heels and champagne?”
I balked, too caught off guard to correct her non-yes-or-no question. “Shovels? What the fuck kind of surprises are you used to?”
She laughed off my shock and shrugged. “Hey, who am I to judge if the mystery date includes getting rid of a body?”
“I usually save surprises that involve committing felonies for the third date. Don’t wanna scare ‘em off too soon.”
“Good thinking. Wouldn’t wanna alert anyone to your stalker-like tendencies too early on,” she quipped with a wink.
“Pretty sure you’re the one stalking me.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I laughed, shaking my head at her. “Tennis shoes, by the way. It’s definitely a tennis shoes kinda thing. Shovels optional, but not necessary. Next question. And no more cheating. Yes or no, Uno.”
She hummed in contemplation while we carried the last of the tables into the barn. “Will we be eating dinner there?”
“It’s an option, though we could do dinner somewhere else afterward.”
“Okay…tennis shoes and the option to eat dinner. Third question.” She paused, arching a brow as her lips curled into a sly smile. “Will one of us be embarrassed before the date is over?”
Damn, she’s good.
She was referring to the way she jokingly apologized for embarrassing me the other night in Mario Kart. Our lives were vastly different now, but when it came to competing against each other, some things never changed.
I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to keep my face neutral. “It’s possible.”
She laughed. “That means yes. Which also means it’s probably going to be you. I know where we’re going,” she exclaimed triumphantly.
“What? Where?”
“Has to be some kind of real life go-kart place. You said the other day you only lost because you’re rusty from not playing video games anymore. Still not sure that I believe that.”
“Wow. Either that was some sorcery mind reading shit or you missed your calling as a detective.”
She scoffed and waved her hand in the air. “Hardly. Adult Bryce McKnight might be a virtual stranger, but I still remember a lot about ten-year-old Bryce McKnight. And that Bryce hated losing. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out you’d want revenge. Bring it, Yoshi.”
She wiggled her eyebrows playfully and hit me with a smirk. God, she’s adorable. I laughed, but the sting of the truth in her words was a tough pill to swallow.
I hate that she’s right. I hate that there’s so much we don’t know about each other. But at the same time…maybe being semi-strangers now will work in my favor. Maybe I can redesign the boundaries of our relationship.
In that moment, I chose to believe the friendship we once shared was simply the foundation for something deeper.
It had to be.
We spent the next hour moving the rest of the decorations and tables into the barn-turned-reception hall behind the venue’s ceremony location. Elliot thanked me again before we finished, but I refused to take any credit for the magic act she’d performed by transforming the space into what surely would be this bride’s dream reception. Sure, I’d strung twinkle lights and moved tables where she told me to, but Elliot was the one who took the time to painstakingly rearrange centerpieces until each one was perfect.
Watching Elliot work, seeing the way she problem-solved when she wasn’t happy with the space between tables or with the location of a certain decoration, felt like I was watching a live performance of art in motion. Which was cheesy as hell, but that’s the only way to describe it. Where some people, myself included before this experience, might’ve just seen a typical wedding reception with a few decorations and mementos scattered throughout the space, she had transformed it into a time capsule of Jeremy and Hannah Stone’s lives. I’d never met either of them, but through personal touches such as childhood photos and fun facts about each of them on chalkboards along the buffet line, Elliot made the space theirs.
Elliot did a double take and froze when she caught me with my phone up, snapping a shot of her humming along to the music playing through the speakers as she worked. “What’s that for?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I just want you to see what I’m seeing.” I pulled up the photo and walked toward her, holding my phone out for her to look at. She was focused, wearing an effortless smile that made me wish I could read her thoughts. “At the risk of sounding like a crazy stalker, I could watch you work for hours. Your passion is obvious, and it’s really inspiring to see, El. I don’t know that I’ve ever witnessed so much consideration and thought put into every detail of an event.”
Her face contorted into an almost-grimace. “You make me sound OCD.”
I quickly shook my head and snatched my phone back before she could try to delete the photo. “Nah. It’s more like you turn your job into an art. It’s a compliment. Trust me.”
Elliot tilted her head back, and the lights above us reflected like tiny little sparklers in her eyes. “You know, it’s funny, I actually had the same thought when I was watching you at the inn.” She paused and stepped close enough for me to notice the way her icy irises had melted, darkening into the last shade of blue in the sky before sunset. “Your talent is rare, Bryce, and denying the world of your gift would’ve been a crime. I’m really glad you followed your heart and stayed in Seattle after college. But selfishly, I’m also glad you came back.”
“Seattle gave me more than I could’ve ever imagined or expected, and I’ll never regret my time there. But I realized how much I missed living here. I used to trick my brain into believing home was a state of mind, that if I could build a life around my professional success, Washington would feel like home. Turns out that’s not the case. At least not for me.”
/>
“I guess that makes sense. Though I didn’t really peg you as the ‘home is where the heart is’ type.”
"I, uh, wasn’t until about a year and a half ago." I hesitated and pressed my fingers into the back of my neck again, this time to relieve the tension. After a beat, I cleared my throat, finally summoning the courage to tell her about Peyton. “There’s actually something I need to tell you…” I trailed off when I realized a sudden downpour of rain had hijacked Elliot’s attention.
“Wow, it’s really coming down out there. Okay, sorry, what were you going to say?”
I shifted on my feet, summoning the courage that had disappeared with the rain’s arrival. “Early last year, I got a phone call and found out—”
CRACK! The rest of my sentence was drowned out by the roar of lightening somewhere outside.
“What?” she asked. Before I could answer, her eyes grew round, and she shoved past me, moving toward the door. “Shit! My windows are down!”
I chased after her, muttering a string of curses under my breath. Not because I was worried about getting my clothes wet. Or even the possibility of being struck by a billion volts of electricity.
Because I just told her about my daughter, and she couldn’t fucking hear me.
Chapter 9
Elliot
“Sophia! What did you do with my leopard print Toms?” I shouted into the apartment after hastily dropping my bags on the dining room table.
No answer.
I don’t have time for this.
The wedding ran longer than I'd expected, so I only had about twenty minutes until Bryce was supposed to come pick me up.
I kicked off my heels and trotted over to bang on Sophia’s door. “Soph, I need my shoes!”
Milo’s door opened, and he poked his head out. “She’s at the library, but I saw her go into your room before she left.”
“Was she wearing my leopard print Toms?”
He shrugged. “What do I look like, the fashion police? I don’t notice that shit.”
I groaned and walked toward my closet.
Milo followed behind and leaned against my door frame. “Don’t you have, like, forty pairs of shoes?”
I groaned again, annoyed at his inability to understand female logic. “It’s times like these that make me wish you were gay. And not just any gay—the kind that would understand and help with fashion dilemmas.”
“Uh, sorry I’m not into dudes? But I don’t need to be gay to solve a nonexistent fashion dilemma.”
“What? You know what other shoes would pair perfectly with this outfit?” I asked, turning and holding up the pair of white cutoff shorts and a black tank top.
“Yeah. These.” He held up the very shoes I’d been searching for. I went to take them, but Milo pulled them back. “Wait. Where are you going? You never go out after a wedding.”
“How do you know? You’re usually at work or out when I get home. Maybe I’m a wild party animal when you’re not around.”
Milo had the audacity to laugh. “We both know you’re not. Mild party animal, at best. Plus, you always come to the bar when I’m working if you go anywhere. What's up?”
“I'm going out.”
“With Bryce?”
“Fine, yes. Hey, you’re a guy,” I said, narrowing my eyes in contemplation. He might be able to help me settle something.
“Last time I checked,” he replied, pulling on the waistband of his shorts to look at his junk. “Yep, Excalibur’s still there.”
“You named your—never mind. This. This is why you’re single, Milo.”
“Nah. I’m single because Excalibur is very friendly, and monogamy is not the way to make new friends. But I doubt that’s why you pointed out my gender. What’s up, El?”
“Should I be concerned that Bryce practically jumped at the chance to ‘take things slow’ with me?” I asked, using air quotes. “I kind of brought it upon myself, but what if that means he isn’t attracted to me?”
Milo crossed his arms over his chest and eyed me skeptically. “I’m not an expert on dating, by any means, but I can tell you that he wouldn’t be taking you out if he wasn’t interested. And he’s an idiot if he’s not attracted to you.”
“How can you be sure? What if he’s just trying to be friends again?”
He held a hand up to shush me. “Did he call this an actual date?”
“I’m not sure. He said something about our next date though.”
“Then he definitely wants in your pants. Don’t worry about it. This trepidation and wavering self-confidence isn’t like you, El. What gives?”
Damn it. He was right.
“I don’t know, Mi. I think it’s Bryce. I usually have a fresh slate when it comes to dating. I think our past history is throwing me off. Everything with him is…different now.”
“Good different?”
“I think so, yeah.”
Milo’s head jerked to the left, sending his overgrown locks out of his eyes. He pushed off the door frame and lightly rapped his fist against it. “Then just go with it. Have fun.”
“You’re right. Okay, I need to change, so you gotta go,” I said, shooing him out of my room.
He gave me a mini-salute and ducked out.
I stood in the middle of my room digesting Milo’s words for a solid minute before realizing precious seconds were ticking by. I hurriedly changed clothes, made a few adjustments to my makeup, and attempted to curl my hair before giving up and letting it do its own weird half-wave thing.
I was in the middle of giving Demi Lovato a run for her money as I sang along to “Sorry Not Sorry” when I heard a knock. I turned the music off and forced myself not to run out of my room, in an attempt to play it cool, which turned out to be a mistake when I came a half-step short of beating Milo to the front door.
He pulled it open with a triumphant smile that only widened as he spoke. “Hey, you must be Bryce. I’ve heard shockingly little about you, which means she likes you. I’m Milo,” he said, sticking his hand out to Bryce.
I not-so-subtly elbowed Milo in the ribs and tried unsuccessfully to shove him out of the doorway.
Bryce dropped his eyes from Milo to me before shaking Milo’s traitorous hand and plastering on a smirk. “I’ve heard little about you too. Nice to put a face to the name.”
“Likewise. So, where are—”
“Oh, good, introductions are over,” I spat quickly, grabbing my purse off the hook. “We should go. Preferably before Milo opens his mouth again.”
I stepped in front of Milo in an attempt to block him from Bryce’s view, even though I barely came up to Milo’s shoulders without the aid of heels.
Bryce and Milo both let out clipped laughs before exchanging an odd, indecipherable look. The longer the three of us hovered around the doorway, the greater the likelihood Milo would either try to give Bryce more ammunition for questions later or pull some kind of over-protective best friend intimidation act.
I didn’t plan to stick around long enough to see which route he chose. Stepping forward, I grabbed the doorknob and glanced back at Milo, silently willing him to be cool. “Later, Mi. Don’t wait up.”
“Have fun, and don’t forget to use protection!” Milo called as the door clicked closed between us.
I’m going to kill him.
“Sorry, he’s got the social skills of a homeschooled preteen. I’d say he’s not usually like that, but I’d be lying.”
Bryce laughed behind me. “It’s fine, I get it.”
Once we were in the elevator, I faced Bryce, finally letting my eyes roam freely over him. He’d worked his hair just enough for it to look like the longest ends flopped to the right naturally. His tanned forearms were on display thanks to the cuff of his sleeves, and I tracked the veins along his muscles until they disappeared beneath his shirt. When my eyes finally made the trek back to his face, they landed on the curve of his lips before lifting to meet his warm gaze. He’d opted for contacts tonight, which was probably for
the best considering how many times he had popped into my dreams lately because of those damn glasses.
I fidgeted with my keys and smiled at him. “Hi.”
Bryce gave me the same perusal I’d given him, and I tried to ignore the goose bumps his eyes burned into my skin. “Hi. You look beautiful, El.”
“Um, thanks. So do you. I mean handsome,” I replied with a laugh, tilting my head up to offer him another smile before looking down at my feet. “I hope you were serious about the shoes.”
“I was. Can’t have you wearing heels to bury the body in my trunk.”
“Thought you saved the felonies for the third date?” I narrowed my eyes to glare at him, but at the same time my grin exposed my amusement. “Not sure if I’m flattered because that makes me special, or disturbed that you’re already trying to make me an accomplice.”
“Be flattered. You’re definitely special, Elliot,” he said, the heat in his eyes conveying the sincerity of his words. “Hey, how’d the wedding go?”
“It was great, minus a few bumps. Is it weird that I kind of thrive in the stressful moments? It’s a special kind of chaos, but I love getting to problem-solve, and I love that no two weddings are the same. First the caterers got lost, then the band was late, and right before the ceremony the groomsman with the rings thought he left them at the hotel. Then at the reception…” I paused, turning to him as he led me toward his SUV. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my work drama.”
He paused mid-reach for the passenger door of his Range Rover. “Of course I wanna hear about it. I told you yesterday, your passion for your work is inspiring.”