Chapter Twenty-Four
Seth
Even after a catnap, I’m still ninety percent sure I’m dying, but Ellie’s still here, making soup in the kitchen, taking care of me in ways nobody ever does. Not that I’d let anyone else. I probably rival her father’s attitude when I’m sick, and I’d rather be left alone in my misery.
Except when it comes to Ellie.
If I had it my way, we’d be together all the time.
My phone pings with a text. I reach for it, having silenced all notifications except family, and read the email from Flynn about my mother’s gallery opening. As I thumb out a response, I say, “Hey, El, what are you doing the third weekend in February?”
“The third weekend? Nothing special, but you have your mom’s gallery opening that Friday night.”
“I know. I was hoping you’d come with me to meet my family.”
She turns with a sweet smile. “I would love to, but are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“Ready to let the world know you’re off the market? Hell yes, I’m ready.”
Her smile widens. “In that case, consider me your plus-one.”
“Good. Think your dad and Becca would like to come?”
“Really? You want them to meet your family?”
“Yeah, why not? I think your dad will get a kick out of my grandfather, and Becca said she loves the city. I’ll put them up in a hotel for the weekend.”
“I think they’d love it. I’ll call them in a little bit. Now, will you please rest?”
I lie back down and take a minute to order a frame for the picture of me and Missick that Ellie sent this morning.
Then I scroll to her text so I can see it again.
The drawing hits me right in the center of my chest, just like it did earlier.
She drew us exactly as we were that day, right down to the seriousness in Missick’s eyes, his mischievous grin, the sunburn on my nose, and the way I would have held the whole damn ocean back for him.
She got all of that from a story and a few hours spent with my oldest friend.
I don’t know how she did it, but she captured the very heart of us.
I send the image to my printer and look at Ellie moving around my kitchen like she’s been here a hundred times, turning the faint sound of a spoon against a pot into the warmest sound of comfort.
The printer whirs to life, and she turns around with a stern expression. “You’re not supposed to be working.”
“I’m not.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove as the kettle whistles.
A minute later she heads out of the kitchen carrying a bowl on a plate and detours into my office.
I watch her over the half wall as she picks up the picture from the printer.
Her shoulders drop a fraction. I imagine her eyes warming and her heart climbing onto her sleeve.
“I ordered a frame for it. It should be here in a few days,” I say as she heads my way, but her heart isn’t just on her sleeve. It radiates from every inch of her.
“Do you really like it that much?” she asks as she sets down the soup and hands me the picture.
“I really do.” I look at it again, seeing all the definition I’d missed the first two times. The birds in the sky, the people in the distance, the specks of sand on my feet. “I love it, El. You could make a big name for yourself as an artist.”
“And take all the fun out of drawing? No thanks. I’ll be right back. I need to get my tea.”
I admire her drawing for another minute or two. Then I set it on my laptop and reach for the soup, but the elevator doors open, and Victory and Wells barge in, wearing parkas, surgical masks, and rubber gloves.
“We brought reinforcements for the world’s biggest man-baby,” Wells says, and tosses me a stuffed teddy bear and a box of Theraflu.
Victory peels off her parka and says, “You look like hell. What is it this time? Sniffles? A cough?”
“Jesus.” I groan. “As if that would keep me from anything? I didn’t send for a rescue mission.”
As they take off their gloves and masks, Victory says, “No, you sent your standard, I’m dying.
If you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, send hel—” Victory’s eyes widen, and I follow her gaze to Ellie as she approaches holding a cup of tea and wearing an amused grin.
“Well, hello,” Victory says in a singsong voice.
“Hi,” Ellie says sweetly.
“Victory, Wells, this is Taylor,” I say, thankful I remembered not to say Ellie.
“Hi, Taylor,” Victory says with too much interest. “How do you know Seth?”
Ellie puts her tea on the coffee table and says, “I’m his assistant.”
Victory blinks hard, like she’s trying to put the pieces together. “Wait. What? You’re Taylor Mitchell? As in his buddy T?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Ellie says.
“You’re the guy who basically runs his life?” Wells asks as he shrugs out of his parka.
“Yes, she is.” I push to my feet and put a hand on Ellie’s back. “She uses a guy’s persona in business for safety reasons. I had no idea she was a woman until we met on the island.”
“Okay, wow.” Victory crosses her arms, grinning. “I knew I felt a bromance between you two! I was beginning to think my brother might start batting for the other team, which would’ve been fine, of course, but this makes so much sense!” She waves her hand at us.
“Batting for the other team? Really, Vic?” I say.
Ellie laughs. “I’m glad you think we make sense.”
“Wait a second.” Victory’s expression turns serious. “Seth, you said you met Taylor’s sister on the island. If you met Taylor, why were you so pissy when you came home, and why did you say she was her sister?”
Why does she have to have a memory like an elephant? “It’s a long story.”
“And his bad mood was my fault,” Ellie says. “I freaked out about being with a client and left the island without an explanation.”
“Oh, man,” Wells says.
“Ah, now we’re making sense,” Victory says. “My brother got his ego stepped on.”
“Can we not do this right now?” I snap. “I feel like hell, and I really need to be better by next weekend, when Taylor and her dad start training for caving.”
“First of all, that’s cool that you’re going to do that together, and second, you’ll be fine in a day or two,” Victory says.
“I hope you’re right.” I move toward the couch and hold a hand out. “Come here, Ellie—”
Wells and Victory whip around and say “Ellie?” in unison.
“Fuck.”
Ellie blushes a red streak. “Seth calls me by my first name.”
Wells smirks. “No wonder the speakerphone performance was so inspired.”
“Ohmygod.” Ellie sinks down to the couch, covering her face.
Glowering at Wells, I say, “If you want to survive this visit, stop talking,” and put my arm around Ellie.
“Seriously, Wells,” Victory chides, then turns a softer expression on Ellie. “Sorry, Taylor. When Wells told me what happened, I died a little inside for you and made him swear never to tell a soul. I’m still recovering from hearing more than I needed to about my brother.”
“Hey, your brother deserves a medal,” Wells says. “He’s an overachiever in every department.”
“Wells,” I warn.
“He’s not wrong,” Ellie says softly.
The room goes quiet, but in the next breath, we all laugh.
“I’ve been on some really bad conference calls,” Victory says. “At least yours had a happy ending.”
More laughter ensues, and as we joke, I pull Ellie closer and say, “Sorry about all this.”
She tilts her head, bright-eyed. “It’s okay. This beats dying of awkward silence any day.”
“Yeah, it does.”
As I lean in to kiss her cheek, Wells says, “Remember, you can mute live action.”
“Jesus,” I say, and we all laugh.
“We’re never living this down, are we?” Ellie asks.
“Hell no,” Wells says.
Ellie puts her hand on my leg and says, “Good thing Seth’s worth the scandal.”
“Even though he’s a man-baby when he’s sick?” Victory asks.
“More like a drama queen,” Ellie says, then looks adoringly at me as she covers my lap with the blanket and says, “But I think I’ll keep him.”
As the teasing continues, our overheard tryst morphs into the kind of joke that holiday toasts are made over, and I hope to hell Ellie wants what she said as much as I do.