Elliot
P.S.—Dress warm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Isabel stepped off the eléctrico and glanced around the street. She took a breath and slipped her hand into her coat pocket.
Elliot’s postcard.
He hadn’t replied to her email, the one where she’d asked him to call her. Instead, she’d found the postcard when she got home last night. Elliot was in Lisbon, and she was about to meet him. She couldn’t even process the fact that he’d found her and had dropped the card in person. Those would be questions for later.
Isabel had barely slept with thoughts of the meeting swirling in her mind. When she finally fell asleep, strange dreams came and went all night, dreams where everything went wrong, from not being able to find Elliot to being stood up in the rain to getting lost in all the places he wanted to meet her.
The English-style garden was quiet. A tourist couple stood by the ledge, taking pictures, and a group of three retired men sat on a bench facing the street, leaning over their canes and talking animatedly. Isabel walked in, descended the stairs, and chose a bench at the far end. The day had dawned cold and the sun shone high in a blue, cloudless sky. She’d dressed in layers but more than her coat, gloves, and scarf, the nervous energy inside flushed her cheeks and warmed her.
Elliot had chosen one of the city’s belvederes to meet, one of her favorites, this one overlooking the eastern hills of Lisbon. It was a well-known spot in the city, sometimes crowded in the summer but today they would have privacy if they wished. And if it got too cold, there was a small café across the street. That the belvedere was located not too far from the academy and her apartment was only a coincidence, wasn’t it?
Her phone chimed.
Are you there yet?
It was a text from Simon.
Yes, I just got here, she replied.
She’d told Simon, of course. Not everything, but she’d told him about Elliot and how they’d been writing each other for years, how he was in Lisbon to meet her. For a moment, he hadn’t said anything, just looked at her with an expression she hadn’t been able to read. But then he’d asked her if she really wanted to meet this man, and when she replied yes, he’d nodded with a small smile.
Isabel took Elliot’s card out again and read it. She’d memorized the words he’d written by now, but the sight of his slanted handwriting filled her heart with a warmth she didn’t want to let go.
“You’re going to wear out that postcard, you know,” a man’s voice said.
Simon sat down beside her and grinned. She slipped the postcard back in her pocket. “Simon, what are you doing here?” It was hard to hide the surprise from her tone.
“I changed my mind about this place. It’s colder up here than I thought.” He came closer and reached for her hand. “Are you cold?”
“It’s always a little breezy in this garden.” She stared at him. “I’m all right.” Her pulse sped up, the questions mounting and tripping to come out, her mouth unable to voice them.
“It does have a nice view of the city, doesn’t it? And I bet the garden is beautiful when the wisteria is in bloom. Have you been here in the summer?”
Simon’s hand was warm, even through her knit gloves. Upside down feelings tumbled in her chest but his contact was firm and familiar, grounding her to the moment. The implications were too many to consider.
“Simon?” she asked again, her forehead wrinkling in a frown.
He shifted on the bench, turning to face her more fully, her hand still in his. A veil of resolution passed through his expression, his eyes softening. So much meaning in his gaze, so much tenderness.
Isabel blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. No, no tears to blur her vision, not when she needed to keep all her wits about her. She wiped it with a finger.
“What if I ask you to call me Elliot?” The gentleness in his voice completely undid her.
Her eyes spilled with tears now, flowing freely as her mind struggled with the knowledge her heart took willingly. “Elliot?” she whispered, touching a hand to her trembling mouth, searching his eyes for the truth.
“It’s me, Amélie,” he said. “It’s me, at last.” He brushed away her tears, the warm skin of his fingers sending tingles through her cold cheeks.
Isabel stared at him.
He drew both her hands into his. “Please say something, Isabel. Please tell me I haven’t ruined everything.”
She took a shaky breath. “When did you know? How did you find me?”
“That day when I crashed into you. I saw the letter I had sent as Elliot a few days before. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do, and I put it back in your pocket.”
“What kept you from saying anything?”
“I wanted to make sure it was the right time. We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.”
Isabel looked down, embarrassed by her behavior toward him.
“But here,” he touched his chest, “I never had any doubt, and I knew that first day when we met at the academy.”
“I remember.” Isabel nodded. She’d seen it in his eyes then, unable to recognize it for what it was, what it really meant.
“I’ve been trying to tell you.” Simon bent his head to catch her eyes.
“Yes, I can see it now. The little hints you’ve been dropping. I thought I was going crazy at times.” She shook her head, trying to hide a smile and failing.
Simon had the good sense to look abashed. “I had to make sure we were both ready for this.” He lifted an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to his side. “I didn’t want to lose your friendship. Not yours and not Amélie’s.”
Isabel closed her eyes and hugged him back. His scent, the solidity of him, his arms anchored her to this moment, in the embrace of the man she’d loved for so long.
For she loved him, didn’t she? Even if she’d never before admitted it to herself, she loved him.
He passed a hand through her hair. “I almost bungled things, didn’t I? When I asked you for that kiss.”
Isabel drew back a little and tilted her head to look him in the eyes. “Simon, do you know you talk too much when you’re nervous?”
His mouth curved into a lazy line. “Less talk more action?”
She nodded, and his eyes darkened as he tipped his head in her direction. He raised a hand to her neck and settled the other on her waist. Their lips met. The kiss was sweet at first, almost tentative. As the emotions they’d been holding in bloomed between them, it grew and it deepened, and Isabel finally understood the meaning of coming home to her best friend, the dearest friend of her heart.
Simon smiled against her lips, then trailed little kisses on her cheek and jaw. He leaned over her shoulder and drew her hair aside, kissing her gently at the nape of her neck. “I’ve been dying to kiss this line of stars for a long time.”
Isabel closed her eyes and held on to his arms, giving herself away to the sensations on her skin and in her heart.
Simon buried his face in her neck. He held her tightly against him and whispered in her ear. “Isabel, is it too soon to tell you how I truly feel about you?”
Was it? She drew back and touched the side of his face. Considering they’d just rolled their first kiss into Elliot and Amélie’s first meeting, she was ready to move forward.
“We’ve been writing each other for almost fifteen years, Simon. It’s definitely not too soon.”
He stood, clasping her hand, and she rose with him. The bracket dimple appeared in the lopsided smile she knew so well by now. “Come on, let’s go somewhere warmer and with more people around or I might be tempted to keep kissing you.”
Isabel squeezed his hand. That was something she was beginning to understand only too well.
*
They ate lunch in a nearby restaurant, then took to the streets of Lisbon until the late afternoon. With Christmas only a few days away, the lights shimmered and the decorated windows in the downtown stores added to the festive atmosphere
everywhere.
When darkness fell suddenly, they ended in a grocery store to buy ingredients to cook a meal together at Isabel’s apartment. At home, Isabel drew two aprons from the pantry and slipped one around Simon’s neck, then handed him a paring knife to start peeling potatoes while she chopped onions beside him.
“I forgot to ask you how things went at the Tivoli.” He glanced at her.
Isabel paused the chopping and turned to him. “I signed the contract. I’m starting the internship on January third.” She smiled unable to contain the excitement. “I still can’t believe it.”
Simon put the knife down and pulled her in to brush a kiss on her forehead. “I’m so happy for you. I truly am.”
Isabel leaned into him, amazed that it felt so right and so natural.
He placed the peeled potatoes in a bowl of water. “What about your position at the academy? Did you tell Dr. Varela yet?”
“I did, right after I was done at the Tivoli.” She paused. “I asked for all the vacation time I have left and gave him my notice. He didn’t like it, but I told him the internship is starting soon and I can’t miss that.”
Simon leaned against the counter. “Well, that would explain his frantic call just before lunch.”
Isabel wiped her hands on the apron and stepped closer to him. “Just exactly how frantic was he?”
“Enough to beg me to stay and finish the school year.”
Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
Simon stepped forward and rested a comfortable hand on her waist. “It turns out the academy is in need of an interim director until he can find a new, permanent one, and he thinks I am the man for the job. Imagine that.”
She matched his tone. “Imagine that indeed. But truth be told, you were trained very well for that job.”
He pulled her closer. “Trained by the very best.”
She placed her hands on his chest and her heart skipped a beat at the closeness between them. “So you’ll be staying until June?”
“Until July. Dr. Varela wants me to post the marks and train the new director. That means I’ll have over six months to look for a new job in Lisbon. Or even somewhere else.” He raised an eyebrow. “What are your plans after the internship?”
“My contract with the Tivoli resort ends in July,” she said. “And you’ll be here until then,” she repeated, happy with the news that Simon was staying in Lisbon through the beginning of summer.
He nodded, smiling. “You’ll be an acclaimed chef with job offers pouring in from everywhere.”
She chuckled. “Not likely.” Then she sobered. “But I’m not really interested in taking any offers or going anywhere permanently until I find out where you’re going.” It was true, and she didn’t want to hold it back from him.
“What if we don’t have to be apart, Isabel?”
She held her breath. Did he mean what she thought he meant?
Simon tucked her loose hair behind her ear. “Don’t freak out on me, please. It’s just an idea. What month were you baptized?”
“In April.”
“You do know that new members have to wait a year before they go to the temple, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I think I remember something about it.”
“Which means you can go to the temple any time after April.” He brushed a kiss against her lips. “Just keep that in mind, okay?”
“Okay.” Isabel stepped into his embrace, the sound of his heart fast and loud against her ear, beating as wildly as her own. Here she was, in the arms of this incredible man who wanted to make plans for the future with her, and he was afraid she might not want the same. But she did, with everything in her power.
The confirmation came clearly to her mind, and the truth of that knowledge warmed her heart, freeing her of any doubts.
She brought him closer and kissed him. What was meant to be a quick kiss soon grew deeper as he responded with the same fervor she had. “I love you, Simon Ackerley.”
His eyes widened and he swallowed hard, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Then a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, deepening the lines on either side of his mouth. “I love you, Isabel Antunes.”
Her mind flew back to those first interactions between them when he’d arrived at the academy. Isabel had been rude to him, doubting his motives and his friendship. But Simon had been patient with her, and he’d been willing to wait for the right moment. After such a rocky beginning, the future held the promises she couldn’t begin to dream, a future made stronger because they would spend it together.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Simon and Isabel’s story, One Small Chance. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you’d like to learn more about Lisbon and the story, please visit the Pinterest board for Simon and Isabel.
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Other Books by Lucinda Whitney in the
a Love Story from Portugal series
The Secret Life of Daydreams
For a sneak peek of Lucinda Whitney’s
The Secret Life of Daydreams, please turn the page.
Chapter One
Why had he come?
Josh Conrad palmed the steering wheel as the road curved right. He had left Portugal on a sunny October morning and was now back on a wet May evening. Eleven years was a long time. The twists and turns life had taken since then had somehow guided his path back to the nearby streets and squares, to the places he remembered and to the people he hadn’t forgotten. He had worked hard then.
This time, the work was different, and even though he had choices in the kind of jobs he took, he hadn’t planned to return to this part of the world. He preferred new places that didn’t provoke painful introspection. Maybe this trip wasn’t a good idea.
He rolled down the window a few inches. What was that Portuguese saying about thousands of water? Something fitting for this kind of weather. The rain lashed against the glass and sprayed his hair and forehead. He inhaled. The trees in early bloom, the asphalt, the richness of dirt not too far from the road. The scents were both familiar and foreign, rousing memories he had long put to sleep, memories he didn’t want to awaken.
At first glance, the city of Braga had grown. How they found the space for that growth was baffling. In the approaching evening, the blanket of city lights hugged the hillsides in places where only fields and trees had previously been. The sounds filtered in through the chink on the window—the traffic muffled by the rain, the nearby peal of a church bell, bits of conversation in a language he hadn’t heard in a while.
He longed to stop and take a closer look. The first reconnaissance walk would have to wait till morning, when the sun was up and the weather drier. Hopefully much drier. He wasn’t in the mood to carry an umbrella, one he’d have to buy first. At least the weatherproof sleeve for his equipment was packed in the camera bag. A few years back, when he’d started out in photography, he’d spent a month in Venezuela in the rainy season, four and a half weeks of holding a fraying umbrella over his camera and telelens as if he knew what he was doing. That mistake had cost him some crucial images, and it was a lesson he had learned dearly.
Josh had a full schedule for this trip, trying to fit everything he needed to do into the six-week work visa. Interviews and research could take place at any time and under any kind of weather, but the photos for this project required the trademark background of sunny skies and cotton clouds that Portugal boasted. That’s what his clients wanted, and that’s what he’d deliver. Good weather willing. He didn’t want to entertain the alternative if the wet days persisted.
The rain intensified
and when his cell phone rang, Josh pulled to an empty parking space on a side street. He grabbed the phone from the center console and checked the caller ID. “You didn’t tell me it was raining.”
The man on the other side laughed. “I guess I didn’t. Are you in town yet?”
Josh rolled up the window. “I just arrived. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“You need directions?”
Josh tapped the screen on his smartphone, where a map highlighted the remaining distance between his position and his destination. “You still have no confidence in my navigation skills, do you, Paulo?” He couldn’t hold back the teasing in his voice.
They hung up and Josh replaced the phone. He waited for the passing traffic before turning onto the main road. The usual excitement that came with the beginning of a new job didn’t reach the proportions he was used to. That’s what happened when the city was too familiar, from a past life he didn’t wish to see resurrected. As the wipers slid on the windshield, he only hoped this trip wasn’t a mistake.
***
Sofia Monteiro had left the school ten minutes ago, and already she was soaked. Her red umbrella wasn’t much of a refuge from the heavy rains on that Monday afternoon. As the saying went, “Em Abril, águas mil.” Only April had come and gone and still the rain continued. It was the wettest May in her recent memory. Hopefully Mother hadn’t tried to pick the laundry from the line. Sofia would rather deal with a load of rain-soaked sheets than worry about Mother leaning out the balcony too far.
The way to the parking garage cut through Avenida Central and its gardens. The blooms on the linden trees weighed the air with their sweet fragrance, adding to the kind of spring day she so loved in Braga. At times, Sofia sat on a park bench to read in the shade of one of the centennial trees. The nearby bells in the twin church towers across the garden chimed every fifteen minutes with their familiar clang, and it didn’t take much to distract her as the pedestrians walked by. Today people hurried along hunched behind umbrellas, and she longed for her corner on the sofa, her woolen socks, and a cup of lemon balm tea.
When she rounded the corner, a man stood in the center of the square, facing away from her. He wore a backpack under a navy rain slick with a hood, and the water dripped from him onto the granite pavement as if he were a permanent fixture instead of a mobile one. As Sofia approached from the side, he turned, holding a covered object to his bearded face. It had to be a camera, though she hadn’t seen one protected from the rain in that fashion. The Nikon brand stamped in white letters confirmed her guess.
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 14