Chapter 11 Passion. #2
He studied my face and must’ve picked up on something in my tone. After a second, he nudged me lightly.
“Hey. I promise I’m taking care of it. Look.”
He rolled up his shirt, revealing the small device on his stomach. My eyes flickered over it, but I couldn’t ignore the brief glimpse of his abs. I assumed the device was his insulin pump, though I’ve never seen one in person.
“See? It’s annoying as hell, but I’d rather have this over the needles.”
I swallowed, still unconvinced, but I let it go. “Okay.”
He tilted his head. “Still don’t believe me?”
I met his gaze. “I don’t know you, Elliot. I don’t know if you’re lying to me.”
He accepted that without offense, just nodding.
“Fair enough. I can tell by the look on your face that this means something to you, though I’m not sure what.
And I know you probably can’t trust my word yet, but I swear to you, El, I’m taking this seriously.
So please, put all those crazy thoughts to bed. ”
I searched his face, trying to find any sign of dishonesty. “You promise?”
“I promise. Okay?”
A moment passed. Then, I just nodded. “Okay.”
He smiled. “Good.”
But I still felt uneasy. My fingers twisted together as I muttered, “I’m sorry. I was being insensitive.”
“You’re fine. Really.” He smiled again, but I could only pout. “Still upset?”
“Only slightly.”
His lips twitched. “Would you let it go if I promised to only get sugar-free lattes from now on?”
I scoffed. “You have a surprisingly good sense of humor for someone pushing forty.”
“Well, as a comic book artist, I try to keep my childlike wonder.” He smirked. “Unlike you. You’re wound tight.”
I blinked at him. “I’m wound tight?”
“Only slightly,” he teased.
I shot him a look, and he grinned brightly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Wow,” I said sarcastically. “The perfect combo. A man-child and an uptight bitch.”
He chuckled. “I’m almost positive you’re not a bitch.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
He just looked at me, warm and steady. Then, he nodded toward the room ahead.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
He led me through the room, stopping every few feet to introduce me to someone new.
Everyone was welcoming, but there was a lot to take in. The conversations, the art, the energy—it was overwhelming. By the time we circled back to the main discussion table, my head was spinning.
Elliot pulled out a chair for me. “So, what do you think?”
I sat down, ready to reach for my flask but deciding against it. “It’s… a lot.”
He laughed, settling in beside me. “Yeah, it can be. But they’re good people.”
I glanced around at the group, who were now deep in conversation.
“How’d you even find out about this place?”
“A friend of mine is one of the organizers, so I pop in sometimes. It’s nice to see new projects from time to time. Inspires creativity.”
“I guess.”
As I spoke, I felt the lightest touch on my hair. My body tensed immediately, my breath hitching when I saw his hands near my head.
“Relax,” he said, holding up his fingers to reveal a tiny piece of lint. “Just a little fuzz.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to relax. “Oh. Thanks.”
He watched my reaction. “I’m not gonna hurt you, you know.”
No, I didn’t know. People always said that, but in reality, I had no way of knowing. I wish I could just ignorantly trust his word. I wish I could trust anything. But most of all, right now, I wished we had met before all the bad things happened to me. Maybe I would’ve given him a proper chance.
Nevertheless, all I could do in this moment was smile politely and look away.
“They’re starting a group discussion soon. Wanna stick around for that?” he asked softly.
I hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”
I didn’t know why I even agreed because I spaced out for most of it.
I was so interested in this event when I came here, but now I was wondering if it was even worth the trouble. It seemed like anything that had the potential to make me happy or be a possible ray of sunshine in my life was quickly smothered by the reality of being Elliot Sawyer.
I do not deserve nice things.
It has to be true because anytime I looked forward to something, it was always crushed.
Case in point: My wedding, the Expo, this event—all crushed the minute I had gotten my hopes up.
I thought back to a time when my excitement didn’t result in failure, and the closest I could come up with was EL’evations.
That fact had me ready to face the evidence piling up more than I could bear. It was possible the happiest moment of my life was already behind me.
“What about you, Ellie? Got anything you’re working on that you want to share?” A woman El introduced me to earlier asked. I couldn’t be bothered to recall her name.
I hesitated. “I don’t really have anything like this ready.”
“That’s okay,” she said, smiling. “Creativity comes in all forms. What do you do?”
I shifted in my seat. “I own a salon.”
A brief pause. Then she grinned. “That’s amazing. I don’t think people realize how much creativity goes into something like that.”
“Seriously,” someone else agreed. “Do you ever think about showcasing your work?”
Suddenly, a flicker of pride sparked in me. Maybe today wouldn’t be a waste. “Actually, I’ve applied for the Atlanta Hair Expo recently.”
The woman’s face lit up. “Period! That’s huge. When is it?”
“Five months from now. If I get in, it’ll be a big deal for my salon.”
“Well, you’ll definitely get in,” Elliot said confidently.
I smiled at the enthusiasm. For a moment, it almost felt… euphoric.
But then, Elliot’s hand landed lightly on my back and shattered the feeling.
My body went rigid.
Immediately, my breath caught in my throat, and my pulse hammered against my ribs. That spot—right there—that was where Jonathan used to hold me. Where his hand would rest, firm and possessive. My skin crawled like it was on fire.
I shot up from my seat so fast the chair scraped against the floor.
“Ellie?” Elliot looked up at me, confused.
I shook my head. “I—I need some air.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked—no, bolted—toward the door. My hands were trembling as I pushed it open, stepping into the cool evening air.
I pulled on my coat and fumbled into its pocket for my flask, twisting the cap off with unsteady fingers before taking a long, burning sip. The warmth spread down my throat, dulling the sharp edges of my panic.
Damn it. I had been fine. I had just been fine.
See what I meant? Nothing good ever lasts for Elliot Sawyer.
I leaned against the wall, pressing my palms flat against the rough brick, trying to steady my breathing. The air was cool against my skin, but inside, I was burning. My chest felt tight, my pulse erratic.
He wasn’t Jonathan, and this wasn’t my past.
But my body didn’t seem to know the difference.
The door creaked open fiercely behind me.
“Ellie?”
Elliot’s voice was careful, like he was afraid of startling me. I didn’t turn around, but I shoved the flask back into my coat pocket before he could see it. My hands were still shaking as he approached.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
He just stood there, looking at me as I tried to level my breathing.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I swallowed, still staring at the pavement. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Silence stretched between us before he broke it softly. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
I shook my head. “It’s not you.”
I heard him shift hesitatingly as he kept his eyes on me. “You wanna go?”
I sighed, pressing the heel of my palm to my temple for relief. “Yeah. I think I’m done for tonight.” I exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “I can drop you home.”
“No. I’m fine.” My voice was tight, leaving no room for argument. “Thank you for today. But I can’t do this right now.”
I turned to leave, my legs stiff, my body still coiled like a spring.
“Ellie?” His voice followed me, edged with something close to worry. “Can we talk about this, please?”
I didn’t turn back. I didn’t slow down. I waved down the next cab that passed, climbed in, and slammed the door shut behind me.
As the car pulled away, I couldn’t look back at him. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and pressed my forehead against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon and headlights.
I needed to rest.
My phone buzzed.
I glanced down, half-expecting a message from Elliot. But it wasn’t him.
New Email: Hair Expo Acceptance.
My stomach flipped as I unlocked my phone, my heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. The email sat open on my screen, the words glowing like a dream.
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that your salon has been selected to participate in the Atlanta Hair Expo.
I reread the email once. Twice. Five times. My fingers trembled as I scrolled down, taking in every word, every confirmation that this was real.
I had been accepted.
A slow, disbelieving smile spread across my face, my earlier emotions momentarily drowned out by this moment. This was real. This was happening. And it was possible I still had a few happy moments waiting for me in the future.