23. Elliott
TWENTY-THREE
Elliott
I sink into the couch. It’s comfortable in that way only well-worn and loved furniture can be. Molded by many years of use, bearing the scars of its history. A scratched corner where a cat used it to sharpen its nails, a reddish stain from a spilled cup of juice, and a handmade blanket draped over the arm.
Daisy balances on one foot, her talons gripping the wooden perch with effortless ease, the other holding a coconut chunk. The light streaming into the living room through the wide windows illuminates her vibrant green feathers, making her appear almost iridescent. Her round yellow eyes rest on me, and her head cocks slightly to the side. I return her gaze, mimicking the tilt of her head. She pauses her nibbling and stretches her wings, feathers fan in an arch, then without dropping her food, she turns her back on me. I chuckle and turn my attention to Jamie playing with toy horses on the coffee table between us, their plastic hooves galloping without the soundtrack any other kid would provide to make the game more real. No clop-clop or neigh or snorting to accompany the tapping of plastic across the table as Jamie gets lost in his make-believe adventure.
I ruffle his hair. “You have a lot of horses. Which one is your favorite?”
He shows me the one in his hand and rolls his eyes. I can almost hear the duh sound in his head.
“Of course. That’s the one you’re playing with. Does he have a name?” I sign N A M E.
Jamie’s eyes widen and then he spells the horse’s name in sign language, never questioning the clumsy ASL skills I’ve been trying to learn in the last five days since my lunch date with Jillian. I pulled in my old college skills to memorize vast amounts of information in a short time and learned ASL for the entire alphabet and a few common words by watching YouTube videos when I should be working.
His fingers move slowly so I can follow. B A T M A N.
I laugh. “You named your horse Batman?”
He nods and runs a finger along the side of the white toy and then shows me the black marking on the figurine’s head, which resembles the Batman symbol.
“You are right. It does look like a bat. You picked the perfect name.”
He smiles and his little chest puffs out.
“Can I play too?”
He gives me a brown horse and several fence pieces.
I sit on the floor and build a corral. “You know, I think I had this same set when I was around your age.”
Within minutes, we have built a farm on the table. A pen holding cows and another with chickens. A little log house too. Jamie surveys my work as his horse trots around my corral. He nods and gives me a thumbs-up. And then brings his right hand to his chin and forward.
“I don’t know that one yet. Can you spell it?”
He grins and spells G O O D with his hand.
I smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you think it’s good.” I follow the word good with the sign I learned from him.
The floor creaks and I look up. Jillian’s standing a few feet away, a hand covering her mouth. I glance at Jamie, and he hasn’t noticed his mother. I stand up and pat his shoulder. “Be right back, buddy.”
I walk to Jillian and whisper, “What is it?”
She shakes her head, hand still covering her mouth, looks up, and blinks a few times. Then nods toward the hall. I follow her.
She stops at an open door. I peek inside. My gaze lands on the king-sized bed. Her bedroom. This is the bed she sleeps on. I’m an intruder in her space, but knowing this doesn’t stop the need growing inside me. I force myself to look back at her and stomp down the stray thoughts, trying to take over my brain after seeing her bed.
She touches me, her hand on my chest. My heart bucks like the wild horses I was playing with. But my heart is not a toy. And neither is hers. This is not a game. I don’t want to be the rebound guy.
She looks up at me. “You’re talking to him in sign language.”
I shrug. Like it’s not a big deal. Like I haven’t spent hours watching videos and practicing.
Her slender fingers splay across my chest, and a jolt of heat floods through me, igniting a primal response that catches me off guard. It’s more than a simple touch. The press of her fingertips holds a tenderness that sets my heart racing.
“Thank you for doing that. I really appreciate it. Jamie doesn’t have many people to talk to.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, don’t diminish what you did—what you’re doing—it’s not nothing. ASL is not easy to learn. It takes a lot of time and commitment, and you took the time to do it for him. For me. So thank you.” Her hand presses harder into my chest and I can’t help but wonder if she feels the same way, if her heart beats as fast as mine, if she feels this spark that threatens to consume me.
Somewhere in the kitchen, an alarm goes off. Jillian goes on tiptoes, kisses me on the cheek, and then walks away. I stay there, reeling at the feel of her lips on my skin. I’m so far gone.
My head is spinning. Jillian’s words and her touch have turned my brain to mush. I’m feeling things for this woman I didn’t know I was capable of. I look at her and I see a future together. I see her belly growing with our child. And Jamie as a big brother, talking again. I’ve never wanted marriage and a family before. It’s a strange sensation, one that leaves me both excited and terrified.
I take a deep breath and follow the heavenly scent toward the kitchen. Jillian is at the counter, cutting up thick slices of what looks like home-baked bread. She’s so beautiful and peaceful in this moment, unaware of my presence. I stand here for a few seconds, watching her until she finally notices me leaning on the wall.
Her cheeks flush with color. “Thanks again for playing with Jamie. He’s obsessed with those little horses. ”
“I loved playing with those toys as a kid, too. Brought back memories.”
She steals a glance at me through her long lashes and grabs a tub of Irish butter.
“Can I help with anything?”
She glances around the kitchen. “Can you set the table? Everything is over there.” She points to a corner of the counter.
“Sure.” I grab the placemats, dishes, and silverware.
Jamie has moved to the dining table and is standing at the corner. Five toy horses form a half-circle in front of him.
I set everything in the center of the table and then grab the placemats. “Hey, are they eating dinner with us too? I’ll need to get more plates then.”
Jamie rolls his eyes at me, but it’s followed by a smile.
“Where do you guys normally sit?”
He signs Mom and points to the chair at the end of the small table and takes the chair to the right.
“Okay then. I guess I’ll sit here.” I set a placemat opposite Jamie and next to Jillian. Then go back into the kitchen and get the glasses.
Jillian stretches upward, her fingertips barely grazing the edge of the cabinet’s shelf. I’m drawn closer, pulled by the way her body tenses, the way her muscles strain as she tries to reach inside the cabinet. I step up behind her, towering over her slender frame. “I can get it. What do you need?”
She startles and jumps back with a gasp, her body colliding with mine. Instinctively, my hands fly to her hips, steadying her as she stumbles. But instead of merely holding her in place, they pull her closer, drawing us together like two magnets .
Our bodies mold to each other, fitting like two lost puzzle pieces despite our differences in size. For a moment, time seems to stand still, and we’re frozen in place, neither of us daring to breathe. Then, slowly, Jillian relaxes into me, her body settling against mine as though we were made for each other.
The floral scent of her perfume fills my head, clouding my senses with a heady rush of desire. I want to bury my face in the curve of her neck, to inhale deeply and taste that spot on her skin where her pulse beats. But I know I can’t act on those impulses, not with Jamie just around the corner. And not without her permission.
Another alarm goes off on the oven, jolting us both back to reality. We separate, our bodies reluctantly pulling away from each other. Jillian’s gaze darts everywhere except my face.
I wait a second and then take a step back, leaning against the kitchen island. Give her space. “What did you need to get from the cabinet?” My voice is husky, barely above a whisper.
She clears her throat. “The breadbasket. Please.”
I easily reach up and retrieve a small wicker basket, then hand it to her with a gentle smile. “Here you go.”
Jillian takes the basket from me, her fingers brushing against mine in an unintended caress. “Thank you.” She holds the basket to her chest like a shield, her cheeks tinged with pink.
I grab the glasses and turn to leave the room. My mind races with possibilities. What if the oven alarm hadn’t interrupted us? What if we were alone? I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder, my gaze lingering on Jillian’s back for a few seconds longer. Is she thinking about that too?