11. Elliott
ELEVEN
Elliott
I open the passenger door for Jillian. She sits and looks at the sleeping form of Jamie behind my seat. He slept through the entire process as I set up the booster seat behind the driver’s side so Jillian can see him as we drive.
I start the car and lower the volume on the satellite radio, then switch the talk show to a classic rock station. “This is okay with you?” I point at the car console.
Jillian nods and looks around. “This is a nice car. What is it? Still smells like leather. Is it new?” She rambles, the words fast and in a rush of breath.
I pull into the slow evening traffic. “It’s a Lexus, and yes, it’s new. I got it a couple of months ago.”
“It’s really nice.” She drags a hand across the panel in front of her.
My body reacts as if the caress were on my skin instead of the leather-wrapped console of the dashboard. We stop at a red light. I take a chance to look at her. “I enjoyed spending time with you today. I’d like to do it again, maybe take you out on a date. What do you think?”
She startles. Her eyes are wide, and her lips open and close, but nothing comes out. I let my question slide unanswered. For now.
A waft of her perfume hits me. I didn’t notice it before, but now, in this enclosed space, her small shape in my car and her fragrant, sweet scent are a tempting and heady combination. “What’s your perfume?”
“What?” She balls her hands in her lap.
“Your perfume. I like it. What is it?”
“Oh, it’s called Indigo. My friend Sheila gave it to me.”
The light turns green, and I have to look away from her. “It suits you.”
“It does? I didn’t think it was me at all. I never really wore perfume before, but Sheila insisted I needed a signature fragrance, and—” She stops abruptly.
“And . . .” I prompt her.
“Sorry, I’m babbling. I do this when I’m nervous.” Her hands twist in her lap.
I tap her hand. Catch her eyes. “You’re safe. Jamie is safe. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Okay?”
“Says the guy with a dozen women on his heels.”
I glance at her and back at the slow-moving traffic. “What do you mean about a dozen women on my heels?”
“Can I be brutally honest with you?”
Nothing good ever comes after a question like that. “Yes, please.”
She swallows. “We have a nickname for you at the shop.”
“A nickname? ”
“Mr. Monday.” She blushes a deep crimson and looks down. Eyes fixed on her lap, her face now hidden behind a curtain of soft hair.
“Mr. Monday?” It clicks in then. My habit of sending flowers to dates on Mondays. For years I’ve done that. How heartless I must have looked. Sending flowers that never meant anything to me. A polite brush-off. “I guess I can see why. But I’m not like that. Not really.”
She peeks at me, head tilted my way and eyebrow raised.
I grip the wheel, eyes on the road. This is something that feels oddly important to explain. “About those dates and the Monday flowers...”
She turns her full attention to me.
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “They weren’t really dates in the way you’re thinking. Not the majority of them anyway. Some were friends or colleagues I called on when I needed a companion for an event. A lot of those were client dinners. Some were women my father set me up with. The last two are the ones I tend to send the flowers to. I try not to ask them out more than once. I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
She narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. “You’re telling me nothing ever happens with these women?”
I press my lips together. “For the most part, no. Not with my friends or colleagues for sure, and they’re far happier with Starbucks gift cards than flowers. Sorry.”
“That’s it?” She pressures me.
I lower the music. “I mean, I’m thirty-three, not eighty. I’ve had some brief, mutually agreed on, casual relationships, but I’ve never led anyone on, and I’ve never sent those women flowers. We parted ways amicably.”
She’s fully turned my way now. “So you’ve never had a serious relationship?”
I wasn’t prepared to go down this road today, but it’s a fair question. “Not since law school.”
“How come?”
“I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. I don’t have the energy for complications.”
“What happened in college?” Her voice is soft, kind.
I glance at her, a little self-conscious. “The short version? I thought I loved her. She loved my money and my best friend. We didn’t part amicably. Let’s say I lost my girlfriend and my best friend of seven years on the same day.”
She’s quiet, her hand resting on her lap, absorbing this. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
Jillian studies me with too perceptive eyes. “Some hurts last a lifetime.”
“True. I think what hurt the most was not even her taking advantage of me to pay for her tuition or vacations. What hurt the most was that of all the men she could have chosen, she went after my best friend and he went along with it.”
She reaches out and touches the back of my hand on the steering wheel. The briefest of touches. A way to show me she’s here, she understands.
I relax my grip. “I don’t make friends easily. I may appear to be outgoing, but honestly? I’m a pretty quiet guy. My sisters are the people I’m closest to. And my grandma.” I shake my head. “I sound pathetic. ”
“No, not at all. It’s much harder to make friends as an adult than it was in school or college. Sometimes having a kid helps to make friends with other parents, but all it takes is for one of the kids to have a fight to break up that mom’s friendship.”
I chuckle. “That I know. Elsa—my older sister—has told me many stories like that. Some parents think their kids can do no wrong and instead of using the situation as a teaching moment and correct the behavior, they choose to go feral on their kids’ behalf.”
“Yes. Sad but true. I lost a few”—she makes air quotes—“friends when CJ died and Jamie stopped talking. They acted like it was contagious.”
I slow down to make a turn. “Those were not friends. You’re better off knowing who you can count on.”
She sighs. “‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’”
I nod. “Maya Angelou.”
She smiles. “Yes, I’ve read a couple of her books. This quote is from one of her biographies.”
I glance at her. “She has a bunch. Imagine having a life so rich you have multiple autobiographies.”
“Seven! This quote is from A Song Flung Up to Heaven .” There’s awe in her voice.
Silence fills the car then. She watches me for a long time, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You know, you’re kind of a rare find, Elliott.”
Her words find a hidden corner of my heart and make a nest in it. I glance over, meeting her eyes briefly before turning back to the road, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Maybe I was waiting for the right person to find me.”
She nibbles at her bottom lip as if trying to hold back a laugh and then goes for a full smile. It hits me like a shot of adrenaline. Being on the receiving end of that smile—her eyes bright with mirth—it does things to me I don’t have names for. I squeeze the steering wheel and curb the urge to grab her and tug her mouth to mine.
I check the rearview mirror. Jamie is sound asleep.
“How much longer?” She looks sad again.
“We probably have another fifteen or twenty-minute drive.”
“In New York City, distance is always measured in time, never in miles.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s something CJ used to say whenever I asked how far he was from home.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“That’s the measure of my life, too. Distance calculated in time. I’ve walked hundreds—maybe thousands of miles within the same space. Inside my flower shop, around the block, to Jamie’s kindergarten, to the park and back, and I’ve gone nowhere. I’m still stuck on April twenty-seventh, three thirty-two p.m. It’s been two years and seventeen days without my husband.” She looks at her hands, rubs the empty spot where a wedding ring should be.
I swallow. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure of what to say. I’ve never lost someone so significant before.” I think of my grandfather, but I know it’s nothing like losing a spouse in the prime of their life. Grandpa’s death was expected. We all knew it was coming and had time to prepare to say our goodbyes. This is different.
We stop at another red light, and she faces me. “You’re very lucky then.”
I stay silent.
Her lips tremble, but this time there are no tears. “You asked me on a date, and I don’t know how to respond. A part of me wants to say yes, and another wants to retreat into the security of the life I know. Work at the store, spend time with my son. Do it all over again the next day. But I saw how happy he was today—he was almost like the Jamie before the accident. He deserves more than a mom who’s always sad and grieving.”
“If you’re not ready, I understand. We can be friends.” The knot in my stomach rejects this. I want more than friendship.
“Would you be happy with being only a friend? Is that even possible for you? The thing is, I’m not available to you like the other women you date. I’m not built for casual.”
“I didn’t think you were.” And that’s also what I like about her. I want some permanence in my life. And someone who’s not after my family name, status, and money.
“What is it you want from me, then?”
I open my mouth to tell her how she makes me feel, but I cower at the last second. “I . . . don’t know. I’m attracted to you. I want to get to know you better.” How can I tell her all that I’m feeling when I myself don’t understand it? That seeing her with her son has created a wanting in me I’ve never felt before. That I’m drawn to her quiet strength. That I find her beautiful, yes, but it’s so much more than her physical appearance. That there’s something in her that speaks to me in a way I’ve never felt before.
Jillian fidgets with the strap of her purse. “Why me?”
“I like you.” My response is small, sheepish.
She releases a long breath. “You’ve seen my life. I have a son, a demanding business, and a massive guilt complex. I’m not fancy. I hate to dress up, and I have more baggage than a cargo ship. I’m not the type of woman you’re used to dating.”
Her words cut like jagged glass. “What kind of woman do you think I’m dating?”
“Beautiful, strong, successful, business type.” She counts on her fingers.
“You are all those things too.” Can’t she see how amazing she is?
“I’m not.”
I count as well. “You have a successful business, you are beautiful, and you’re stronger than you think. Look at all you do on your own.”
Jillian shakes her head, letting out a small sigh. “I don’t know anything about you.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my voice steady, soft. “Then let’s change that,” I say, glancing at her, a grin pulling at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. “I’d love to spend more time together if you’re open to it.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Spend more time…like on dates?”
“Well, yeah.” I let out a quiet chuckle, more to break the tension than anything. “But only if you want to. Something simple and with Jamie too. Doesn’t have to be anything more than friends hanging out.” I keep my tone light because the last thing I want is for her to feel pressured .
She leans her head back against the seat, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath. There’s a pause, a slight shake of her head, and I can tell she’s hesitant. I understand. I get it. She’s been through more than anyone should ever have to handle. I know what it’s like to be guarded, to hesitate, to feel like taking a step forward might be stepping off a cliff. If this has to go slow, then slow it’ll be.
“You had fun today, right?” I keep my voice casual, not wanting to push. “Jamie loved every minute of it. What if...what if we did something next weekend? Something easy. As friends. No pressure, no expectations.”
She opens her eyes, studying my face like she’s trying to figure out if I mean it. The weight of her gaze, the quiet trust she’s extending, makes something tighten in my chest. This isn’t about some chase or conquest—this is about her and all that strength she doesn’t see in herself, all the beauty she doesn’t even realize she has.
“As friends?” There’s a hint of doubt in her voice, and I can see she’s wary like the thought of opening herself up even a little is terrifying.
I nod, pulling the car to a stop outside her shop, reluctant to end the day. “Yes. As friends.” My voice is steady, but my heart’s saying and hopefully something more, someday. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that but only when she’s ready. For now, all I want is the chance to show her what I see—that she’s strong, that she’s beautiful, that she’s so much more than she thinks.
She looks down, a small, hesitant smile forming on her lips, and I catch a glimpse of that softness, that vulnerability she keeps so well guarded. “Okay,” she murmurs. “As friends.”
Hearing her say it feels like the first step, a tentative opening. I release a breath, smiling to myself. “Look at that. An empty parking spot right in front of your store.”
“Wow, that’s lucky. Empty spots don’t last long on this street.”
“I know.” I park and turn off the ignition. “It’s a sign. I’m meant to be here with you,” I joke. Kind of.
Jillian looks at me, eyes wide. “What did you say?”