“This looks delicious,” Elise said in a hushed voice.
Her color was still high, and I shot my sister a look, but Ava only returned it with an innocent smile so plastic it could have been stamped MADE IN CHINA.
On purpose, I’d placed myself at the head of the table with the two of them across from each other on either side of me. It was my way of sitting as close to Elise as I could without it seeming forced.
But, yeah, I’d forced it.
Maybe I should have felt bad about that, but I didn’t. Ever since the night at the gallery, the need to see her had steadily grown until it had become almost unbearable. But once Elise was in my living room, just seeing her didn’t give me the peace I’d imagined. The ache — because now it was an ache, not just a need — spread to my other senses. I now longed to touch her. To bury my nose in the cascade of her hair in search of her scent. To taste her again.
Sitting beside her would have to be enough. But it was going to be torture.
Once I made sure they both had everything they needed, I took my seat. Without my having to ask, Elise passed me the salad bowl and then followed it with the bread basket.
“Thank you.”
Ava, by contrast, had already started eating, but Elise waited until my plate was full. Something about that gesture of consideration sent a rush of warmth down my chest. What the hell was wrong with me? When had good manners become a turn on? I gulped more iced tea to cool me off and clear my head.
Beside me, Elise took a bite of her spaghetti. “Mmm,” she murmured, her gaze finally seeking mine. She pointed her fork at the meatballs on her plate. “These are better than Alessi’s. Where did you learn to make them?”
Pride filled my chest. Better than Alessi’s? The family-owned Italian restaurant in the center of town had been around forever, and it was a favorite of mine because I’d gone there a million times with Louis and his parents when we were kids.
“That’s high praise,” I said, cutting into one of the two jumbo meatballs I’d served myself. “Would you be disappointed if I told you I found the recipe online?”
Elise’s eyelashes fluttered ahead of her smile. “Of course not. You went looking for it?”
I took a bite and nodded. It was a damn good meatball if I said so myself. “I was actually trying to imitate Flora’s recipe,” I confessed with a shrug. “She may not have taught me how to cook, but she raised me to crave good food. Half of the meals I know how to make are Flora knock-offs.”
Ava nodded. “That’s the truth.”
Elise glanced between me and my sister. She ducked her chin and spoke in a whisper. “I’ll deny it if you tell her I said so, but these meatballs are better than hers.”
Ava gasped as though she’d blasphemed, but I just grinned. Elise smirked and took another bite, frowning in concentration as she did.
“Honestly. There’s more going on with these.”
I nodded. “It’s the Italian sausage mixed into the ground beef.”
“Well, it’s really good,” she said between bites.
“Thanks.”
“’Lady, running down to the riptide. Taken away to the dark. I wanna be your left-hand man.’”
I turned and stared at my sister. What the hell? A laugh escaped me. “Ava? Are you alright?”
She forked a bite into her mouth and nodded at me with the most bizarre expression. Her eyes were wide, and she looked like she was about to choke on a laugh.
Oh my God. Is she high?
I glanced back at Elise for an answer, but she was staring determinately at her plate, her face almost as red as the marinara sauce.
Ava snorted a laugh and then coughed.
I turned back to her, frowning. “What’s going on?”
My sister shook her head. “Nothing. You know that Vance Joy song ‘Riptide’? I’ve got it stuck in my head. That’s all.”
Since she’d gotten out of rehab, my sister had done and said a lot of things I’d never witnessed from her before. Was breaking out in song at the dinner table just another one of them? I narrowed my eyes at her, and she met my gaze head on.
“Quit worrying, Cole. I’m not high. I’m just enjoying myself.”
Her focus held mine, clear and steady. She wasn’t sweating or shaking. She wasn’t zoning out or staring into space.
Elise cleared her throat. “She was talking about it earlier.”
“The song?” I asked.
“No. Riptides,” Ava blurted cryptically.
Again, I looked at Elise for clarification, but she still wouldn't meet my eyes. Now her blush had spread down her lovely neck. Her hand that held her fork rested on the table, and I covered it with mine.
“Are you alright?” I whispered.
Her gaze flickered to mine for just an instant, but in her wide amber eyes, I saw a look I’d seen too many times. Elise Cormier was embarrassed. I didn’t understand what it was, but Ava had done something that embarrassed her.
I shook my head. “Just ignore her,” I said, squeezing Elise’s hand. It felt unbelievably good beneath mine, but I let go. I wanted to touch Elise, but I wanted permission to touch her first.
Elise straightened up on an inhale, seeming to rally. “Ignore Ava?” she asked wryly. “Is that even possible?”
We all laughed, and the moment of tension broke.
I found myself wishing a bottle of wine sat on the table. I’d never do anything to jeopardize Ava’s sobriety, but now would have been the perfect moment to top off Elise’s glass and help her relax. Hell, I could use a glass too.
“Flora said you spend most of your time at work,” I said, watching the color of her complexion soften to pink. “Is that true?”
Elise shrugged and swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “I work a lot, and even when I’m not at the store, I work on designs or do the beading for my farmer’s market booth.”
“Does that leave time for anything else?” I wasn’t fishing.
Okay, maybe I was fishing, but I also really wanted to know. I wanted to know what she liked to do now and how she spent her time. I wanted to know everything I could find out about her, and one dinner just wasn’t going to be enough.
Elise’s smile began to make an appearance before she glanced at Ava and quickly brought it under control. “Sure, I mean it’s not like I’m working twenty-four-seven,” she said, bringing her eyes back to mine. “I like to cook, and I’ve gotten really interested in photography.”
This shouldn’t have surprised me, but it had. Or maybe it was the image of Elise behind a camera that caught me off-guard. “Really? That’s cool.” I sounded like a boy of fifteen, not a man almost twice that age. “What do you like to shoot?”
“Well, it started as an inspiration exercise,” Elise said, setting down her fork and turning just slightly toward me in her chair. “I love to walk through the Saint Streets and look for design ideas. So, I’d go for these walks in the morning because the store doesn’t open until ten…”
As she spoke, her face seemed glow from the inside, her eyes glinting under the lights of our wrought copper chandelier.
“…and I’d come home after looking at dewy spiderwebs and morning glories and try to sketch what had appealed to me.” A half-frown dipped between her brows, but one side of her mouth curled up in pleasure. “But sketching from memory is never as good as using the real thing, so I started taking pictures.”
“With a camera or your phone?” I asked.
Elise wrinkled her nose. “With Alberta’s camera or my phone.”
I had a hard time keeping my smile in check. “Why the face?”
Her expression smoothed out at once, and she looked like a kid caught sneaking cookies. That made it even harder to keep from smiling.
“Well, Bertie’s camera is okay, and even though brand-new phones have pretty good cameras, mine’s not brand new,” she said with a little eye roll. “And a kickass camera is not in my budget right now.”
I wanted to buy her a kickass cam
era. Right then.
But I kept that thought to myself, nodding in understanding instead. “So, morning glories and dewy spiderwebs photograph best with a high-end camera?” I deadpanned.
Elise scoffed, but her lips tugged against her smile. “I shoot other things too,” she defended.
“Like?”
Her shoulders notched back, and her eyes searched the ceiling, seeing beauty I could only imagine. “Like leaf patterns… butterfly wings… birds. Oh!” Her eyes shot to mine. “Tattoos. There’s this tattoo artist in town who is covered in the most amazing bird tattoos. She lets me shoot some of her work for inspiration.”
The question grabbed me by the throat and was out before I could force it back. “Do you have a tattoo?”
Elise’s mouth fell open. “I-I…” Her blush returned full force. She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them and pinning me with her glare. “If you tell Mama, I’ll skin you alive.”
Holy shit. Elise Cormier has a tattoo.
The thought alone sent a power surge of desire straight to my cock.
“Oh, yeah,” Ava chuckled. “Flora would kill you if she knew.”
Elise turned her glare to my sister. “You can’t tell her either.”
Ava crossed her heart. “I swear on my life.” Then she smirked. “So where is it?”
At the same moment, I croaked. “What is it?”
Elise’s jaw fell as she looked at both Ava and me in turn. Even though it seemed impossible, her blush deepened, and as I watched her, a rebel’s smile claimed her mouth.
God, she is so beautiful.
“It’s a tiara, okay?” She gave a mini eye roll, but I could tell that even though this embarrassed her, it also made her proud. And that, all by itself, made me happy. Absurdly happy.
“A tiara,” I said under my breath. Even though I said it low, I was pretty sure both women heard my awe and approval. How many sketches of tiaras had I seen in Elise’s room the few times I’d been lucky enough to be there? How many had been doodled into the margins of her homework when she’d sat at our kitchen table. And I was pretty sure there was one in her jewelry-line logo.
Was it the same one? I knew without a doubt I’d be revisiting her website later for a closer look.
Ava giggled, breaking me out of my reverie. “Okay, where is this tiara?”
Elise shook her head, nudging her plate away. “I’m not telling you that.”
Ava ducked her chin, and her brow arched. “Then it’s on your ass.”
“Nope.” Elise shook her head, a coyness overtaking her smile. “I wanted to be able to see it.”
So, it was on the front of her body, but somewhere Flora would never spot it. My already stiff cock grew harder, and I was grateful for the cover of the dining table.
I swallowed audibly. Ava swung her arched brow at me. “Seriously?” she seemed to ask. I cleared my throat.
“Ready for dessert? We have brownies.”
“I’ll get them,” my sister droned. “I made them, after all.” She stood and reached across the table to take Elise’s plate before collecting mine.
“I love brownies,” Elise said sweetly.
“’I love you when you when you’re singin’ that song and…’” my sister sang as she carried the dishes back to the kitchen. “…I gotta lump in my throat ‘cause you’re gonna sing the words wrong.’”
I looked back at Elise, and sure enough, she was blushing again, but only a little. I lowered my brows and dipped my chin. “You want to tell me what that’s about?” I whispered.
She coughed a laugh and lifted her napkin to her lips. “Oh, hell, no,” she whispered back behind it.
“Elise brought coffee,” Ava announced. “I’ll brew a pot and cut the brownies. Why don’t y’all chill in the living room?”
It was a tradeoff. Moving to the living room would give us the littlest bit of privacy, but I doubted Elise would let me sit this close to her. But maybe…
“Want to?” I asked softly.
“Sure,” Elise said with a shrug.
I led her from the table and to the couch. Before I took a seat, I picked up the remote, turned on our Amazon Firestick, selected the Spotify channel, and opened my The Bright Light Social Hour playlist. The opening notes of “Harder Out Here” came through the sound system speakers. Not loud, but the music provided another soft layer of privacy I so desperately wanted.
And as I sat adjacent to Elise — not right next to her as I wished, but closer than we’d been before dinner — I heard Ava turn on the faucet. The sound of dishes settling in the sink soon followed. She was going to wash the dishes, and I understood as I looked over my shoulder at her that this was a gift. A gift of time and space to be with Elise.
I think she read the thank you in my eyes. Her self-satisfied smirk seemed to say “You’re welcome.”
I let my focus move to Elise. She glanced over at me before her gaze fell to her lap. I ached to reach for her hand, but I reminded myself to be patient.
“I don’t know if it’s any good,” she said softly.
I blinked. “What?”
As far as I was concerned, everything was good. She was next to me. And if she hadn’t exactly forgiven me for being an ass for eight years, then at least she was giving me the chance to make amends.
She glanced distractedly back toward the kitchen. “The coffee,” she muttered.
I bit down on my smile. She was nervous. That made two of us. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Elise met my gaze with a fretful look. “I only picked it because I liked the label design,” she confessed. “I have a bad habit of doing that.”
The chuckle that caught me was warm and real. Just like her. She had changed, I knew, but she was also still the person I recognized. The one I’d missed.
“Give me an example,” I murmured, wanting more of her.
Her eyes went skyward. “Oh, let’s see…” She met my eyes again and wrinkled her nose. “I once spent fifteen dollars on this bottle of shampoo because I liked the label. The shampoo made my head itch.”
I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did. Her face was so animated, I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not funny. So you threw it out?”
Elise rolled her eyes. “No, I’ve never been that smart.”
I winced at the remark. I’d forgotten the habit, but she used to say things like that all the time when we were kids. I didn’t like it any better now that we were older.
“I hate wasting money, so I kept using it until my scalp starting flaking, and Alberta made me throw it away.”
“Thank goodness for Alberta.”
She gave me a rueful smile. “And Mast Brothers have gorgeous labels for their chocolate bars, but Divine is much better.”
“Is it?” I could see she’d relaxed now, so I did too. She could tell me everything she knew about shampoo, and chocolate, and label design. I wanted to know everything about her. All her thoughts. All her wishes. I glanced at her hands resting in her lap. I would have given pretty much anything to be able to hold them in mine.
“And it’s fair trade.” The tone of her voice took on a firmer edge. “That’s important to me.”
I looked up to find her amber eyes suddenly ablaze, and if I hadn’t been sitting, the look would have knocked me on my ass.
“Tell me more.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Alberta and I have done a lot of research about fair trade gemstones, and that’s just opened my eyes to how many things we buy and eat that would horrify us if we knew how they ended up in our stores.”
“Like what?” I asked, leaning forward now, drawn in by the fire in her eyes.
“Like cashews.”
My brows rose. “Cashews?”
She nodded. “Did you know it’s almost impossible to buy cashews that haven’t been harvested and shelled by children?”
The thought made me feel a little sick. I shook my head. “No, I’ve never heard that.”
A kickass camera and fair-trade cashews. I was buying them for her the first chance I got. Silently, I rejoiced. Elise had always been passionate in her beliefs. Hearing her talk about fair trade and child labor humbled me, but it didn’t surprise me at all. It was so like her.
“You know what really depresses me?” she asked on a whisper, her eyes widening with sorrow.
“What?”
“I read an article a few months ago about how if all child labor stopped tomorrow, the global economy would collapse.”
I sucked in a breath. Elise’s reading material had clearly evolved since the days of Twilight. Again, she’d humbled me. When was the last time I’d read something that wasn’t self-serving in one way or another?
“That’s truly horrific,” I admitted. “The way you talk about that — about child labor — it inspires me.”
Those warm eyes, soulful and serious, locked with mine. I read something weighty in them. “I’ve always felt it was wrong for a child to have to carry the responsibilities of an adult,” she whispered.
I swallowed. Dear God, is she talking about me? Is that where all this came from?
“Always,” she whispered again, answering my unspoken questions.
Her gaze never left mine, and I felt conquered. Slain. Completely undone by the look in her eyes.
Unable to speak, I slid my hand, palm up, along the cushion that separated us. I wouldn’t simply grab hers, no matter how much I wanted to. I wouldn’t make her take it. The choice was hers, and—
In a flash of movement, Elise’s hand gripped mine. Her tight squeeze seemed to wrap around my heart as well as my hand. I held on with everything I had.
“Elise…” Her name, my oldest and purest prayer, was the only word I could manage around the knot in my throat.
Here, I realized, while my sister washed dishes ten feet away and “Men of the Sea” played around us, was our reunion. Not in an art gallery a week ago. Not in the letter I had taken six years to write. But here, with our clasped hands and our eyes lost in each other.
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