44. Eleanor
44
Eleanor
It’s just part of being in love with a dangerous man, I guess.
“Well, it’s official. I’m unemployed.”
I toss the phone onto the top of the box I just finished taping up. I had some missed calls in the first half of my “vacation” that petered off as time went on. I assumed, but needed to actually call in to hear from the owner, Jack, that Bistro Jacques no longer employs me.
The only real shame is that I didn’t get to quit first.
“Perfect. More time to work on your business,” Mac says, shrugging in his customary no-worries-everything-works-out way.
We’re packing up my apartment, putting my stuff in storage until we find a place to stay. Mac stands, grunting with the effort of lifting the box he swore could hold the weight of my food processor and blender. He stacks it on top of the others near the door. He’s been equally as silly about the crates full of all my cookbooks, thinking a 60-pound box is no big deal. But I suppose I only have myself to blame because I wouldn’t let him hire a moving company, nor would I let Dimitri or Wesley help. It’s seriously only going to take the two of us a couple of hours.
I’ve been pretty filled with emotions the whole time. I can’t put my finger on why I’m so sad. Objectively, this is a happy event. Mac and I are going to live together in the mansion until the lease runs out, then we’re going to live in one of the fancy buildings in the city with a pool and a well-appointed gym. And a doorman, obviously.
And obviously, I’m beyond thrilled about it. I’m so excited to start my life with him and have him around and all to myself, I can barely stand it sometimes .
So, why does it feel like there’s a hole in my chest?
“Eleanor?”
I whirl, my guard coming up a little at the use of my name and not an endearment.
He’s holding the silver frame with the grainy picture of me in the middle of the target circle. He must have found it nestled in among the other photos on my shelf, wedged in between the one of me and Mel as kids and the one of my parents at the beach.
“You kept it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, plucking it from out of his hands and hugging it protectively to my chest.
His eyes narrow. “You said it was creepy. ‘Really fucking creepy,’ if memory serves.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who took it. And gave it to me.”
“So, let me get this straight,” he says, taking a heavy step towards me. Grinning ear to ear, I back away a step. “You didn’t keep it because it’s a picture of yourself.”
I shake my head as he advances and I retreat. I don’t have far to go; the couch is right behind me.
“You kept it because I gave it to you.”
The backs of my thighs hit the armrest and I tilt my head up towards him. “Yup.”
His hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, around my throat. “Even though you think it’s creepy.”
I inhale sharply. “Well, you’re creepy. And the creepy gifts, the stalking, being chased and cornered with a hand on my throat…” His lips twitch and his fingers flex, just a hair. “It’s just… part of being in love with a dangerous man, I guess.”
He kisses me, then, and I melt into him. Just as I feel the stirrings, there’s the sound of a door closing down the hall and we’re both reminded that mine is open. I can tell from the distance and direction that it wasn’t Harrison’s and my heart sinks a little since I still haven’t seen him yet.
I texted him as soon as I was allowed, and after some invented explanation and apologies, he forgave my radio silence and revealed that he hasn’t been spending much time in his apartment either since he got together with Stacey. We both expressed happiness for the other, and promised to get together soon for lunch.
Melissa wasn’t so easily mollified, but I found out that Wesley had sent her an additional two emails during my time offline to keep her calm. Apparently, she’d called the police in Ulysses for a wellness check on me (that McCloskey apparently blocked) and bought a plane ticket to come out and see for herself that my apartment was empty. If nothing else, it’s nice knowing she cares that much, though I feel awful for making her worry.
It’s going to take a few more trips to get the rest of my stuff to the car and I don’t look forward to the weighted treks down the stairs, but I like taking an active part in the ending of something like this. Because that’s what it is—the end of a phase. The start of a new one, sure, but this apartment served me for a long time and it feels like saying goodbye to a friend.
Suddenly, I realize exactly why I’m so emotional.
Mac is instantly at my side again, running his hands over my upper arms. I’m so grateful for him—he’s been such a rock. “Are you crying, darlin’? Why?”
“Because it’s sad. I can’t believe it’s over. This is the real end, right? Everyone goes their separate ways? Except us, obviously.”
Mac’s lips twitch. “Obviously.”
“But like, Wesley and Dimitri… they’re never coming back, right? They have no reason to. And I just…” I sniffle. “I like them. I liked cooking for them. I liked this weird little life we had.”
He brings me in close and kisses the top of my head. “Me, too.”
I like that he doesn’t try to console me, or fix it, or change the subject. He sits with me in my small moment of mourning and lets us both feel it. When I pull away, he gives my arms another rub and goes to grab the top box off the stack he created. I follow.
“Come on, let’s go home. I’ve got something I want to try with you.”
“Oh?” I ask curiously.
“I bought a pair of handcuffs, just for the occasion.”
I inhale sharply and look at him with wide eyes. I swear all the blood in my body is currently pounding an urgent morse code message in my clit.
His grin is nothing short of salacious. “You like that, huh? ”
To distract myself, I grab a box and follow him out the door, kicking it closed behind me. “How… how do you always know exactly what I want?”
“I had your phone, remember? I looked at your incognito tabs.”
I stop dead, nearly dropping the box on my toes. I scowl at him. “Well, that explains why it’s kind of felt like you had cheat codes to my deepest fantasies.”
He grins. “Forgive me?”
“On one condition. I want to see what kind of stuff you watch.”
“Told you I’d make you worse,” he laughs.
I shake my head and turn towards him as he holds the door at the top of the stairs open for me. “Oh, I don’t think that makes me worse. It just makes me… more like you. You know, the creepy, obsessive type. Now you go first, I want to watch you walk away.”