Courage, Dear Heart

8. Elliott

EIGHT

Elliott

“Jesus.” Her revelation hits me like a sucker punch. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine . . .” I let the words trail off because what do you say to something like that? Words seem so small, so inadequate for the weight she’s carrying. I look at her, really look at her, and suddenly so much clicks into place. The sadness in those beautiful, wide eyes. The way she holds herself like she’s pieced together by will alone as if one wrong move might make her unravel. It’s heartbreaking—and yet, there’s strength there too, a quiet resilience that leaves me almost in awe. Most people would crumble, but she’s here, standing in front of me, carrying it all with a grace that seems impossible.

I feel this ache in my chest, not only for what she’s been through but for all the strength it takes to keep moving, day after day, with that kind of loss. For a moment, I can’t help but wonder what it must have been like for her those first few days, weeks, months after losing him—trying to be strong for her son, holding herself together when her world had split apart. And her son, Jamie . . . I can’t even begin to imagine the pain he must carry, the silence he’s retreated into.

But here’s the strange thing: none of this scares me. If anything, I feel pulled toward her like there’s something about her sorrow that calls to me, that vulnerability wrapped in strength. It makes me want to stick around, maybe lighten her load, even if only for a moment. I find myself wanting to see her smile, to be the one who can coax it out of her, no matter how faint.

And yeah, maybe I should feel like this is too much, that her grief should send me running the other way. But all I feel is this overwhelming urge to make things a little easier for her. To be something solid she can lean on, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Because if anyone deserves to feel some relief, to feel the weight lessen even a little, it’s her.

She runs both hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill and looks away. She blinks in rapid succession and her lashes go dark with tears.

Jillian wipes at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not that big of a mess, but the anniversary of his death was . . . the day you came in and it always hits me hard.”

I’m at a loss for what to do. If one of my sisters were crying, I’d hug them and tell a joke. But I don’t think Jillian would welcome either. “Don’t apologize.”

She sniffles, finds a tissue, and blots her face. Blinks, regains her composure, and faces me again, arms wrapped around herself.

“So what can I do for you today? Flowers again?”

Is that a note of disapproval in her voice? “No, no flowers. I stopped by to apologize in person. ”

She scrunches her shoulders up, making herself look smaller. “Thank you. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to stop by or send the cupcakes.”

“I did need to apologize. I was insensitive.” And I wanted to see you again.

Heavy silence settles between us like a widening chasm. A squawking sound breaks it. Jamie comes back with Daisy on his shoulder, and the bird promptly flies to the counter and walks toward me again.

Jillian puts her hand next to the bird, nudging her to climb on her wrist, but Daisy ignores her and steps closer to the edge of the counter and me. “She really likes you. This is surprising. Daisy doesn’t usually warm up to strangers.”

I reach for the bird but stop. “Can I pet her?”

“Sure.” Jillian waves a hand. “I’m curious to see what she’ll do.”

I approach the counter slowly and give her the back of my hand.

Jillian giggles. “She’s not a dog. She can’t smell the back of your hand. You can pet her like this.” She traces a gentle finger down Daisy’s head and back.

“Okay . . . try number two, here we go.” I mimic Jillian’s movements and slide the tips of two fingers down the bird’s neck and back. Daisy closes her eyes and then turns on her back, exposing her belly, the little legs up in the air.

Jillian gasps. “Wow, she really trusts you. She only ever did that for?—”

She abruptly interrupts herself, never finishing what she was about to say, but the expression on her face is clear enough. She was going to say her husband’s name. I drop my gaze to the bird and allow Jillian a small moment of privacy. My witchy sister would say this is some kind of sign. My more cynical mind tells me it means nothing. Or does it?

I tickle the parrot’s belly, her feathers silky soft. Daisy gently grabs my hand and nibbles on my fingers. “This is a first for me, too. I’ve never petted a parrot before.”

“No?” Jillian asks.

“No, never had a pet. Always wanted a dog, though, but my mother is allergic. Or so she claims. I never saw her sneeze when we visited family or friends with pets.”

Jamie tugs at her shirt and points at himself, making a sign with his hands.

She smiles. “Yes, Jamie wants a dog, too. And we’ll adopt one next spring.”

Daisy rights herself and climbs on my hand.

I smile. “Next spring? It will be here before you know it.”

Jamie shakes his head and frowns, skinny arms crossed over his chest.

Jillian ruffles his hair. “No pouting. We’ve had this conversation before. Spring is a good time to adopt a dog. It will be nice outside and we’ll have more time to potty train her. And you’ll be seven then. The perfect age to have your first dog.”

Daisy has relocated to my wrist.

“Sounds like an excellent plan.”

Jillian pulls at her apron strings and reties it. “So no pets for you?”

“I work long hours. It wouldn’t be fair to have a dog, only to leave it alone at home all day.”

Jamie holds his thumb and index finger in front of his face, then pinches them together as if grabbing something in the air and pulling it out .

Jillian brushes the hair off his forehead. “He’s saying you could get a cat.”

I nod. “That’s true. Cats are more independent and don’t require walks. I’d have to get two, though. So they can keep each other company and have a friend to play with. That’s a smart suggestion, Jamie.”

His shoulders pull back and a shadow of a smile tugs at his lips but quickly fades.

Daisy is now on my shoulder.

“Is that sign language?”

Jillian places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes. Jamie’s daycare had an ASL program. They use it with babies because infants can communicate with sign language before they can speak. Simple words like water, milk, hungry. Jamie really took to it, and I kept it up at home too.” Her eyes find me. “Never imagined it . . .”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Silence falls and Daisy picks this moment to nibble on my earlobe.

I flinch. “Is she going to bite me?”

Jillian’s eyes widen. “Whoa, she really likes you. And no, I don’t think she’ll bite you.”

I freeze, and the bird continues to explore my ear. “You don’t think she’ll bite me or you know she won’t bite me?”

Jillian comes from behind the counter and puts her wrist next to my shoulder. “Come on, Daisy. Come with me.”

The bird moves behind my neck, her claws digging into my suit collar. Jillian walks around me, but Daisy is now holding on for dear life and squawking.

Death by parrot was not on my agenda today. “What do I do?”

“Can you go lower so I can grab her?”

I go down on one knee, and Jillian gets a hold of Daisy, but her claws are firmly stuck on my collar.

The squawking gets louder. “No. Bad. Bad. No. No.” The bird protests.

“Daisy, stop that right now.” Jillian’s fingers brush against the back of my neck when she tries to pry Daisy’s death grip from the fabric, and a rush of heat travels down my spine and settles in my groin. I stay on one knee and pray for the blood to leave my nether region and climb up to my brain so I can formulate some kind of coherent thought.

Jillian manages to free me from the bird attack and is now standing in front of me, both hands wrapped around Daisy, who I swear is smiling at me while I try to think of anything but my dick’s untimely reaction.

The bell above the front door chimes. And a gasp follows. Her employee is back and both hands cover her mouth. What was her name again? Angela?

Angela rushes in. “Oh my God. Congratulations. I had no idea you were dating.”

“What?” Jillian and I say at the same time.

Angela points at me, still on one knee, and then looks at Jillian’s hands. She frowns.

“No, no, no.” Jillian shows Angela the parrot, her face coloring a pretty pink. “It was Daisy. She attached herself to the back of his shirt and I had to pry her off. I couldn’t quite reach.”

Jamie, eyebrows scrunched, gets between me and his mother and pushes at my shoulder in a clear indication for me to get up. Thankfully, my brain has its full supply of oxygenated blood now and I get up without embarrassing myself .

“Oh,” Angela says, sounding relieved. “I forgot my air buds. Good thing I was next door grabbing a bite to eat. No way I can go to the gym without them.” She walks behind the counter and grabs the small white case. Her eyes fixed on me with an inviting smile the entire time.

Jillian puts Daisy on a perch and points at her. “Stay, you fresh girl. If you don’t behave, you won’t get any more biscuits.”

The bird squawks. “Sorry not sorry.”

I blink. “It’s like she understands what you’re saying.”

Jillian looks at the bird with tenderness. “I’m not sure she understands the actual words, but parrots are very good at reading social cues and using words they’ve learned in the right context.”

“Maybe I—” The chime of the doorbell cuts off my next words, and I turn to see who’s coming in now.

A man strides through the doorway, all confidence and swagger. He’s tall and solidly built, with the kind of muscular frame that looks like it took hours in the gym—just to show off. His hair is slicked back, a little too perfect, and he wears a tight shirt that clings to his chest, emphasizing every line. His smile is wide, teeth a little too white, and his eyes are locked on Jillian with a look that feels more like ownership than admiration.

Instant dislike prickles along my spine. This guy has “asshole” written all over him. There’s something in the way he moves, as though he’s completely sure of himself—and expects everyone else to be as well. The way his gaze lingers on Jillian makes my fists clench at my sides.

Jillian shifts beside me, her posture going stiff, shoulders squared but tense like she’s preparing for battle. She presses her lips together, and I catch the flash of annoyance in her eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. She glances away from him, almost as if hoping he won’t see her—but of course he does. He moves toward her with a swagger that sets my teeth on edge.

“Oh, hi, Brock,” Angela says as she walks past him and out the door.

He glances at Angela with the same cockiness and his smile widens. “Angela.”

Brock. Even his name makes him sound like an asshole.

“JJ-Jills,” he says, dragging out her name, voice oozing with a forced familiarity that makes my skin crawl. “How are you?” He’s practically leering, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that feels invasive, possessive. She crosses her arms, her expression unreadable, but I can sense the tension rolling off her.

“Jillian,” she corrects him. Her face is hard. “And I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are.” He looks her up and down, getting closer.

As I’m about to step forward, Jamie beats me to it. The kid plants himself directly in front of his mom, arms crossed, chin lifted defiantly. His eyes narrow, staring up at the man with a look that’s equal parts challenge and protectiveness. I can barely keep a smirk from my face. Good kid.

Brock’s smile falters. “Hi there, Jamie.”

A flicker of irritation crosses his features as he looks down at Jamie, clearly not expecting a child to challenge him. But Jamie doesn’t move, his small frame standing tall, his stance protective.

Jamie scrunches his entire face, holding his place in front of his mother .

I settle back but only slightly, staying close to Jillian, ready to step in if necessary. My irritation simmers as I watch the man’s reaction. One thing’s clear—he’s not used to being told no—not even by a child. And if I’m reading Jillian’s expression right, she’s as sick of his presence as I am.

I shove my hands into my pockets and fist them. We stand in a crooked circle, Jamie in the middle, shooting daggers at Asshole Brock. His fake-from-a-bottle-white smile never falters.

Brock tugs at the collar of his button shirt, still looking at Jillian. “This is your lucky day, JJ-Jills. I’m taking you on a date to a vineyard wine-tasting tour upstate this Sunday. You gonna need to get a sitter for Jamie.” His gaze flicks to Jamie. “Sorry, J-dude, no kids allowed.”

Jillian’s mouth drops open. She blinks. And her eyes narrow. “I’m not going on a date with you.” Her tone is icy cold.

Brock leans in closer, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Of course you are, JJ. You can’t keep saying no to me forever. And besides”—he shrugs, glancing around like he’s sharing some great secret—“I already bought the tickets. Cost me a pretty penny. You have to go.”

The way he says it, low and confident like it’s a done deal, sends a surge of anger through me. There’s an unmistakable edge in his voice, a predatory tone that makes my hands itch to grab him by the collar and show him the door. The sheer entitlement is staggering. The gall of this guy—thinking that because he threw some money around, Jillian’s somehow obligated to him? It’s disgusting.

I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to keep my expression neutral, aloof, while every muscle in my body coils tight. Years of dealing with my father’s manipulative tactics taught me to keep my cool, but that calm is hanging by a thread. Inside, I’m close to boiling over.

Jillian’s mouth falls open for a split second, a mixture of shock and anger flashing across her face. Then she blinks, her expression hardening, and her mouth presses into a thin line. The way her eyes narrow, the subtle set of her jaw—she’s furious. “I’m not going on a date with you.” Her voice is like ice.

And yet, Brock barely registers her rejection, plowing ahead with that sly grin like she hadn’t even spoken. That’s when I realize what’s really ticking me off. It’s not that he’s being pushy; it’s the way he’s acting like Jillian’s a prize, something to be won, instead of a person with a right to say no. He doesn’t see her.

I step in a little closer, keeping my face unreadable but making sure Jillian knows I’m right here. Because if this guy thinks he can keep pushing her like this, he’s about to get a rude awakening.

Jamie steps forward, small but fierce, and shoves Brock at the waist. My heart lurches. Brock’s face contorts with anger, and before I can react, he lifts his hand, fingers twitching as if he’s actually considering hitting a kid. My entire body tenses, every muscle coiling tight, ready to move. For a split second, I can see the intent in Brock’s eyes—the line he’s teetering on.

“Jamie!” Jillian’s voice cuts through, her hand moving toward her son, but I’m already there. I scoop Jamie up, holding him close, my arm instinctively wrapping around him protectively.

I lean in, keeping my voice low, steady, as I whisper, “ Don’t worry, buddy. If he comes near your mom again, I’ll punch his lights out.”

Jamie’s wide eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the tension melts as a sly smile curls the corner of his mouth. Brave kid.

I tighten my hold on him, and a simmering anger settles beneath my skin. I’m not a violent man—never have been, never needed to be. But there’s a line, and Brock is dancing dangerously close to it. Right now, my priority is Jamie, making sure he feels safe, feels protected. I won’t let anyone lay a hand on him. My jaw clenches as I lock eyes with Brock, giving him a hard, silent warning.

This isn’t about me or even Brock, really. It’s about this boy in my arms and Jillian, who deserves to feel safe in her own shop. If this guy pushes one more inch, he’ll find out exactly how far I’m willing to go to protect them both.

Jillian steps forward, her eyes blazing as she takes Jamie from my arms, holding him close to her side. Her gaze snaps to Brock, and there’s a fierceness in her expression I haven’t seen before. Her shoulders pulled back, chin lifted, she looks ready to unleash every ounce of rage she’s been holding back.

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Brock.” Her tone is low and laced with fury. “And I’m sure as hell not going on a date with you. Not now, not ever.”

Brock opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off, stepping forward, not an ounce of hesitation in her stance. “You’re obnoxious, arrogant, and so far off-putting it’s hard to believe you don’t see it yourself. I didn’t want to date you before and after today?” Her voice drops to a hiss, barely contained. “You’re unwelcome here. I don’t want you anywhere near me or my son, got it? ”

She holds his gaze, unflinching, and there’s a wild, protective energy radiating off her—a mother bear guarding her cub. Brock takes a small step back, clearly not expecting this kind of response. Satisfaction thrums beneath my own anger as Jillian holds her ground so fiercely.

I stay close, watching Brock’s reaction, ready to step in if he tries anything. But the fire in Jillian’s eyes tells me he’s already on thin ice. This isn’t a woman who can be intimidated or worn down—not when it comes to protecting her son.

Brock blinks, clearly rattled, and for a moment, he actually looks at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. But I don’t miss the flicker of anger beneath his smirk as he glances between us, realizing his control over the situation has slipped.

“Fine,” Brock mutters, rolling his eyes like he’s been inconvenienced. “But don’t think I’ll disappear that easily. You’re single, JJ. I’ll wear you down.”

My fists clench, and before Jillian can react, I step in, cutting in front of her, shielding her and Jamie with my body. “She’s not.”

Jillian shifts at my shoulder, her presence steady, but I know she’s tired of dealing with this guy, tired of always having to be the one to fend him off. Maybe it’s time he met someone who isn’t about to back down.

Brock blinks, tilting his head up to meet my eyes. “She’s not what?” There’s a note of confusion in his voice, and I find a petty satisfaction in the fact that he has to look up to talk to me. I’m taller than him, broader too, and maybe, just maybe, that’ll be incentive enough for him to rethink whatever he planned on doing next .

“She’s not single.” I lean in close enough that he can feel the weight behind my words. “And she won’t be having fun with you. Not today, not Sunday, not ever.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, a split second of uncertainty. I know his type: used to getting his way, bulldozing through people without so much as a second thought. But he’s not dealing with Jillian alone anymore. He’s dealing with me.

Behind me, Jillian’s breath hitches, the slightest intake of air. I don’t look back, but I can feel her surprise, maybe even her relief. I realize in this moment, without question, that I want to be here for her. To offer her and Jamie some measure of peace, some space where they don’t have to feel threatened or pushed around. I might not have known her long, but everything in me wants to make sure she knows she’s not alone in this.

Brock’s sneer fades, his bravado thinning as he glances between me and Jillian. His confidence dimming, he tries to hold his ground. “You’re really stepping in on this, huh? You her protector now?”

“Something like that.” I keep my tone even. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave her and her son alone. For good.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I half expect him to take a swing. But he sneers like he’s already calculating his next move, deciding if it’s worth it.

“Fine,” he mutters, shifting his weight back, glancing around like he needs an audience to appreciate his exit. “This isn’t over, JJ.”

Jillian doesn’t flinch. “Go to hell, Brock.” Her voice is calm, resolute, like a door slamming shut. And I feel a swell of admiration for her—a strength that cuts right through any lingering fear I’d had about this guy. She’s doing more than standing her ground. She’s reclaiming it.

I stand by her side. Wait until he’s backed himself out of the shop, until the chime of the door signals his departure. Only then do I turn to face Jillian, my heart pounding as I meet her gaze. She looks up at me, and in her eyes, I see both gratitude and something deeper—an unspoken relief that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to handle every battle alone.

“I’m sorry for the Neanderthal behavior. I didn’t mean to step in and take over. I had no right, but that guy was so completely out of line. I have two sisters and my brother protectiveness kicked in. It was either say what I said or physically remove him and risk making a mess in the store.” The words rush out. Oh, how I wanted to toss him on the street.

Jamie turns in her arms and holds his hand up for a high five. I tap his hand.

“Well, someone approves of your methods.” She kisses his forehead. “Thank you. I appreciate you stepping in. Brock’s relentless. I’ve been turning him down for years. Maybe now he’ll take the hint.”

“Have you talked to the police? Maybe get a restraining order on him?”

Jillian shakes her head. “He’s never been this bad before. Annoying, yes, but never this aggressive.” She tickles Jamie, and he squirms in her arms. Even his giggle is silent. She sets him on the floor, and he runs to the back of the store. “Thank you for stepping in and lying for me.”

“You’re welcome . . .” Something nags at me. “Did I come out sounding like a jerk when I said I can get my sister to teach you how to make cupcakes?”

“Oh, gosh, no. It was a nice offer, even if you were joking.”

“I wasn’t joking. My sister would love to teach you and Jamie how to bake. It would be fun.”

She walks back behind the counter. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Always.” I step closer, the counter between us.

“Thank you, appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m not interested in being your next conquest. It would be weird sending myself flowers next Monday.” Her soothing smile lessens the sting of her words.

I drop my head and stare at my shoes for a few seconds, slide a finger around my shirt collar and tug at the suddenly constricting fabric. Heat spreads from my neck and into my face. I face her again. “I deserve that. But not all the flowers were sent to dates. Quite a few were sent to clients and my mom and sisters too.”

She crosses her arms and leans a hip into the counter. “I know. I’ve been handling those deliveries for a few years now.”

“I probably look like a jerk to you. Yeah, I guess I date a lot. But I’ve never led any woman to believe that whatever we had was the forever kind of love.” I’m too embarrassed to admit that my father manipulated most of those dates in his ever-growing need to create alliances with powerful people.

She flinches at my words, and I kick myself inward. Why do I keep saying the wrong thing? Jesus! I’m a complete idiot.

She shrugs. “No, I don’t think you’re a jerk. And the flowers were all very nice. I’m sure the ladies you dated enjoyed your company. And I’ve even had a few of them turn into clients after getting their roses.”

I smile. “This is not a date. I promise. I’m trying to save Jamie from a lifetime of terrible baking.” As much as I’d love to have a real date with her, this might not be the right time. Not after finding out about her husband and after Brock.

She lifts an eyebrow and nibbles on her lower lip, trying to decide. Jamie comes back with a bag of chips and offers me one. I accept it, popping it in my mouth.

Jillian picks him up and sets him on the counter. She looks at me and back at Jamie. “Elliott invited us to go to his sister’s bakery, the same one who made the flower cupcakes, and she’ll teach us how to bake. What do you think? Do you want to go?”

Jamie nods, a flop of hair falling over his eyes.

“Go, go, go.” Daisy squawks.

We both chuckle.

Jillian shakes her head. “Sometimes I swear, this bird understands everything I say. That or she’s the reincarnation of an old, meddling lady in disguise.”

“Daisy and Jamie say yes. What do you say?”

She sighs and uncrosses her arms. “When?”

“You’re closed on Sundays, right? I’ll talk to my sister and get back to you.”

“Okay, that works.”

“Can I have your number, then? So I can text. I don’t want to use your business number.”

She narrows her gaze on me.

I put my left hand over my chest and my right hand up. “Just as friends, I swear.” Did I lie right now?