by Ellie Hall
I came closer. “Damien’s letters to me.”
She reached out, and I let her take the one off the top. “But they’re mostly unopened.” She slid her finger across the flap, and I didn’t try to stop her.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She read it herself for almost a minute before dropping the letter on the little round table in front of her and looking up at me. “He says that he misses you and can’t say anything about where he’s living or what he’s doing. And then he tells you some marvelous stories about where he’s living and what he’s doing.” She smiled and was quiet for a long time, which was very unlike her.
“Granny, I have to tell you something.”
She wrung her hands together and then shoved them in her lap. “Go ahead and say it.”
Did she know? The unease I sensed in her body language made saying it aloud that much harder.
“I don’t think…” I took a deep breath. “I don’t think Damien left because he had to. I think he left on purpose. I think he’s lying to us.”
Granny’s mouth trembled. “I’m so sorry, my girl.” She reached out and grasped my hands with her cold, thin ones. Her skin was so soft and fragile.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.”
She shook her head. “I’ve known. I’ve known for a while. But I thought you believed it, and as long as that was the case, I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart. That was selfish of me.”
I dropped into the chair across from her, stunned and relieved all at once. “It wasn’t selfish. It was protective. But now we know.”
“Now we know,” she repeated. “But I was being selfish. I could have told him off months ago, but I liked getting his letters. Still do. He’s a more attentive letter writer than he ever was a visitor.”
“Then we let him write,” I said with a nod. We’d keep things just as they were, though the thought didn’t quite comfort me the way it used to.
“What is it?” Granny asked, reading the discomfort in my face.
“What if he comes back? He could take the dogs away from me.”
“Damien’s not going to do anything of the sort. You’ll keep those dogs as long as I live. And after I’m gone my money will allow you to bribe him or sue him or whatever tickles your fancy.”
“Granny, I can’t take your money.”
“Not take, inherit. Now don’t get your panties in a twist. You don’t get all of it. Just enough to really tick off everyone else.”
It was useless to argue, so I gave it up. I’m sure she had all sorts of fun ideas about how to cause drama on her way out. The thought made me smile.
Granny’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve fallen for someone else, haven’t you? That’s why you came to clear the air, so to speak.”
“No.” The lie slipped out automatically, but I couldn’t let it go uncorrected. “Okay, maybe.”
“Is it Connor? He gives you a pretty yard and some sweet talk, and bam,” Granny smacked the table. “He’s taken you in. Just like Damien.”
“He’s not like Damien, Granny.”
“Well, good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”
It was weird to adjust my thinking so drastically. Granny hadn’t hated Connor because he wasn’t Damien. She’d feared he might be just like him. I took a deep breath, knowing if I could be successfully honest in this and survive, I might as well be honest in everything. “Granny, those adventures we go on—”
“La, la, la.” Granny stuck her hands over her ears and shook her head. “I can’t hear you.”
“Granny!” I frowned at her until she stopped.
“Melissa, let an old woman have a little fun in life. Honestly!” And then she smiled and told me to turn on the T.V. so we could watch the news together.
18
Connor
My life was so dull without Melissa in it. Work was a good distraction during the day. I had new patients I was working to build a rapport with, and a new team at the office helping me learn the ropes.
But I had no one to talk to about it at the end of the day. Rob was usually playing the bongos while I made dinner for myself, by myself. Watching T.V. alone in my room only reinforced how much I missed hanging out with Melissa. It wasn’t that I didn’t have other friends, but I didn’t ache to be with them the way that I ached to be with her.
But obviously, she didn’t feel the same way. And I was too much of a chicken to make sure I was right about that.
Rob’s shadow in my doorway pulled me from my T.V. trance. What was I watching? Oh, yeah, an infomercial for a rotisserie grill. If the grill came with a chef to make all the food, I was so in.
“What’s up, Rob?”
“I think you should check on our neighbor.”
“Melissa?” My voice cracked on her name, and I cleared my throat. It probably wasn’t her. We had lots of neighbors.
“Yeah, Melissa. The bongo hater. She was sitting in the middle of the yard, getting tagged in the back of the head with the sprinkler, over and over again. Like a zombie. It was freaking me out. Maybe take a baseball bat with you.”
“You want me to show up at her door with a baseball bat?”
Rob considered this for several seconds. “Well, I would.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Like, at five-thirty? I watched until I got a phone call, and when I came back to the window she was gone.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.” My fear of showing up uninvited was a lot stronger now that I knew what I had to lose if she didn’t want me there. But my worry for her outweighed my fears, so I got up and slid on a pair of shoes.
“That was some fast thinking,” Rob called out to me as I headed out the door. Without a baseball bat, I might add.
I could see Melissa’s car wasn’t there, but I still knocked on her door just to make sure. Sarge and Buster yipped at me, but there was no answer. This was stupid. She was probably fine. What did Rob know, anyway? It was a hot day today. Maybe she’d just wanted to cool off. She was fine without me.
I sighed and turned to slide down and sit on her doormat. It wasn’t like I could get more unhappy than I already was. Not by talking to her and seeing if she was okay.
Sitting in the growing dark with just the sound of lazy crickets and an occasional hoot of an owl gave me some time to think. I’d been so concerned about my own happiness that I hadn’t bothered to worry about what made Melissa happy. Here she was, taking care of Granny and Damien’s dogs. Not with resentment, but with fierce love. And I'd asked her to risk all that for me. What had I offered her besides the pleasure of my company? Who was the person taking care of Melissa while she was taking care of everything else? Who was looking out for her interests? Fiercely loving her?
I wanted it to be me. And I hadn’t told her that. I dropped my head in my hands, letting the guilt wash over me. The guilt felt good, necessary and useful, like the way my body reacted after a hard workout. Apparently, my conscience had been overdue for a good workout, too.
I thought about all the things I might say to her, but when the light from Melissa’s headlights hit me ten minutes later as she turned into the carport, my stomach gave a kick of fear.
“Hey,” I called out when she started walking up. I didn’t want to scare her to death.
“Connor?”
I stood when she approached, feeling dumb for waiting on her doorstep when I could have just watched for her from my house.
“Wanna come in?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’d be great.” I moved aside for her to unlock the door. She flipped on the porch light and nudged Buster and Sarge out of the way so I could squeeze inside before getting mauled.
I bent down and rubbed Sarge’s big ol’ head. “Hey guy, I’ve missed you this week.” I hadn’t considered how Melissa might take that until I looked up and saw her watching us. Had she missed me, too?
She ducked her head and walked toward the kitchen. “I haven’t eaten dinner
. Do you mind if I warm something up?”
“I’ll help you.” I knew she liked those tiny rectangle frozen dinners, and usually paired it with a side salad if she wasn’t too tired to throw one together. While she microwaved her meal, I washed my hands and then got out a head of lettuce and a few other vegetables from the fridge and got to chopping.
Neither of us said anything for the longest time, but it wasn’t awkward. It was more like we were getting reacquainted with being in each other’s space and we didn’t want to ruin it with attempts at conversation.
I placed Melissa’s salad on the table with silverware and a napkin and went to sit on the couch, where I could lean over the back and look at her without being in her space while she ate.
Wait, you aren’t going to eat anything?” She looked down at the salad I’d made her and then at the clean counters now that I’d put everything away.
“I already ate. But don’t worry about me.” I was worried enough for both of us. I couldn’t exactly confess my love to her while she ate Salisbury steak and potatoes out of a plastic container. But my brain couldn’t do small talk right now either.
I got up and walked around Melissa’s living room, stopping at her bookshelf where I saw the thick pink manuscript shelved along with some actual novels. “Will Granny kill me if I keep reading this?” I asked, sliding the manuscript out and holding it up for Melissa to see.
“Go right ahead. I think she was secretly pleased you liked it.”
“Enough to thaw her cold heart?”
Melissa laughed. “Eventually.”
I settled back into the couch to read, though it wasn’t as much fun without an angry Melissa looming over me. I knew that day she’d be all sorts of wonderful trouble; I’d just had no idea how much.
At the point where the mafia’s number-one informant had decided to risk it all for love, Melissa slipped onto the couch next to me and leaned in. How much time had gone by? Five minutes? Fifty? She’d changed her clothes. She’d also brushed her teeth. I knew because her warm, minty breath hit my ear, and the words on the page swam together until I couldn’t remember a single detail of it.
“Connor, I want to fit you in my life.”
I placed the manuscript on the table and turned to pull her into my arms with her face snuggled in against my neck. My whole body relaxed for the first time in a week. Her closeness had become essential to me, and it took almost losing her to figure that out.
“I want to be in your life. But it wasn’t my place to set the terms. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t rub it in when I say you were right.”
“I was right?”
She lightly slugged me in the ribs. “See, you’re already rubbing it in.”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Well, actually, it’s okay if you are. I told Natalya and Granny about Damien. And I feel so much better. I was being loyal to someone who didn’t deserve my loyalty, and by doing so, damaging my relationships with all the people who matter the most. You showed me that.”
I pulled back just enough to be able to look her in the eyes. “You’re amazing, you know that? And I realized something, too. I want to be your person.”
“My person?” She cocked her head.
“Well, I was going to say hero, but that’s a little too Enrique Iglesias for me.”
She laughed. “I Wanna Be Your Hero is a Def Leppard song. And yeah, you can be my hero whenever you want, Connor. Like maybe next week? When Granny and I start to decode a secret message left under a park bench and a masked man snatches it out of my hands?” She put her palms together in a plea, begging me with her big, brown eyes.
“Yeah, alright.” I’d do anything for her, and she knew it. “But what I meant before I unintentionally quoted Enrique Iglesias—”
“And Def Leppard,” she added with a smile.
“—Was that you do all these nice things for everyone else, and I want to be the person who does nice things for you.”
Melissa bit her lip. “What kinds of nice things?” She leaned forward until she was absolutely teasing me with her mouth so close to mine.
“Anything you’d like.” I closed the distance and did my best to show her all the nice things I had in store for her. I was nothing if not the most giving and attentive neighbor she’d ever have. I’d make sure of it.
Connect with Rachel John
Rachel John lives in Arizona with her husband and four kids. Besides hanging out with the characters in her head, she likes to jam out to music that annoys her kids, read romance books, occasionally go running as part of her zombie apocalypse prepping, and work on family history.
Want more of Connor and Melissa? You’ll find them in Rachel John’s newest novel, I Hated You First, where Lauren and Clay are all grown up, and fighting their feelings for each other while… fighting each other. Check it out here!
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Elevator Pitch
Jennifer Griffith
After falling into a no-win bet, advertising exec Calvin absolutely must find a plus-one for his friend’s destination-wedding in New Zealand. When he bumps into Amanda the Ice Queen in the elevator, her hobbit obsession makes her the obvious target for his pitch: Be my wedding date in Middle Earth.
1
Amanda
The PA system for SolutionX paged me for the fifth time.“Amanda Starkey, please come to the seventh floor. Amanda Starkey, seventh floor, please.”
I was hurrying as fast as I could, if the stupid elevator would ever kick itself into gear.
“Come on, Bessemer!” I stabbed at the button for the seventh floor again, but the stupid elevator doors still wouldn’t close. No wonder SolutionX was selling the Blanik Building and moving to a new location. The whole place was one step this side of being condemned. I’d miss Mike on a Bike, the bicycle courier, and not much else about this location.
Bessemer the Elevator lurched; it hiccupped. It might choose to move at last. The doors screeched toward closing. Yes! I tightened my high ponytail a little higher on my head. A low buzzing filled the air, as if a call to adventure mixed into this elevator trip to the seventh floor.
Gasp—this elevator might be taking me to my moment, where I’d finally be chosen for the creative team on the Amzaz ad campaign!
“Hold the door please.” A hand shot into the breach.
“Aw!” I could’ve twisted Calvin Turner’s hand right off. And not just because he was making me late for my seventh-floor page-a-thon. “Bessemer was finally starting to move.”
Calvin petted the brass wall. “Bessie’s like an old mare. You have to know how to finesse her.” His perfect hair and his never-rumpled electric blue suit stepped in front of the panel. “There, there, sweetheart. Take us where we need to go, please.” He spoke softly, almost sexily, his lips a quarter inch from the metal and round buttons.
“You’re gross.” And Bessemer was a he, not a she.
“I’m not gross. I know how to get what I want.”
Unfortunately, that might’ve been true. From what I gathered, Calvin Turner had sowed so many wild oats he could’ve qualified for a farm loan. I knew for a fact he’d asked out every girl on the third floor.
Make that, every woman on the third floor except me.
Of course, I was way too smart for that whole chiseled mass of baseless confidence that strolled like clockwork past my cubicle on his way to the coffee hub every morning. Oh, yes, don’t forget he also peppered me with tormenting words about my motivational picture on the wall beside my desk as he passed.
The newly minted executive was charm itself.
“Quit breathing on the other floors’ buttons, would you? Don’t you know about Bessemer’s fatal quirk? If you even hover a finger over the button, the elevator will sense it.”
“She’s
highly sensitive to touch?” There was flirtation in Calvin’s eye—for the first time ever directed at me.
Luckily, I was impervious. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t have time to stop on every floor.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Wanna make a bet?” I muttered. On the word bet, Calvin’s eyes caught fire. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“What type of bet?” He was still flirting with the panel. Dimwit.
“Don’t you hear them paging me nonstop? Be a prince and step away from Bessemer’s panel. You’ll save everyone from annoyance.” Except me, of course.
A gleam lit his eye. When, oh, when, would I learn not to poke the bear?
“What will you give me?”
“An iota of respect?” Bessemer’s doors creaked. They might shut! “Come on. It’s finally ready to move. Don’t tempt fate.”
“You’re saying fate is all around us, Amanda Starkey?” He placed a hand against the panel and leaned over me, a look in his eye smoldering as if he thought he was too good-looking to be resisted. “And that I’m tempting?”
“What you are is insufferable.” And tempting.
At that moment, the doors shut and Bessemer jerked upward. Movement! Soon they could stop paging me for the folio layouts I’d formatted and printed, staying late last night because the hardest job to do is the one you never start, or so says the wisdom of the hobbits.
“Even if you’re not tempted, Bessie will succumb to my charms.” He waved his other hand much too close to the fourth-floor button.
No!
“Knock it off.” I ducked beneath his arm and stood between him and the panel—and much too close to Calvin’s smolder. “Ahem. I have to get to the seventh floor sometime this week.”
He leaned nearer. Our noses practically touched. He smelled better than he looked, and he looked too good to be true. Which, duh, he was. Totally. Everything about Calvin Turner was an act. Big hat, no cattle. SolutionX’s finest show-pony-turned-executive.