Chapter 12 Eleanor
ELEANOR
It had been a week since coffee with Alex, and I was still thinking about it.
Not in the obsessive way I used to think about things when I was younger, just in that soft, constant hum of memory that lingers when something good happens.
Ava had gone straight into rehearsal today, already waving to Leo and his moms before I’d even finished signing her in. She was getting comfortable here, something that still amazed me every time.
I hadn’t seen Alex yet. Part of me tried to pretend I wasn’t looking for him, but my eyes kept flicking toward the door anyway.
When the minutes stretched, and he still hadn’t appeared, I decided not to wait. I carried my coffee over to one of the corner tables at the café next door and opened my sketchbook.
The page was blank for about thirty seconds. Then the pencil moved.
A little girl on skates, knees scuffed, hair wild, grin wide enough to split the page appeared, Behind her was a swirl of color full of freedom, joy, motion.
The character had been whispering in the back of my head all week, waiting for me to listen. She wasn’t Ava, not exactly, but she had Ava’s courage. She wasn’t me, either, but she carried something of me in the way she kept getting back up.
Before I knew it, the coffee had gone cold, and I was surrounded by smudged graphite and a growing sense of peace I hadn’t felt in ages.
Then a warm voice broke through my focus.
“Is this seat taken?”
I looked up.
Alex stood there, sunlight catching the edges of his hair making it look like he almost had a halo, a chocolate-chip cookie in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His smile was cautious but hopeful.
“Thought I’d bribe the artist with snacks,” he said, holding up the cookie like a peace offering.
For a second, I just stared, the way you do when your brain short-circuits between oh and wow.
Then I smiled. “Depends. Are you offering that cookie or using it as collateral?”
“Depends,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Would it help my chances of joining you?”
I gestured to the empty chair across from me. “I don’t know, that’s prime real estate. Might cost you half a cookie.”
He laughed, settling in across from me. “Deal.”
He tore the cookie in half and pushed the plate toward me.
He glanced down at the sketchbook, eyebrows lifting. “That's her?”
I followed his gaze. “Kind of. She’s . . . a work in progress.”
He smiled softly. “Looks like she’s having a great time.”
“She is,” I said, surprised by the warmth in my own voice.
For a heartbeat, everything else, the chatter, the clatter of cups, the hum of the espresso machine, faded away. There was just the two of us, coffee cooling between us, cookie crumbs scattered on the table, and a small, electric feeling that maybe we were both exactly where we were supposed to be.
As time passed, we sat there talking. He told me about Leo and his latest obsessions. I commiserated with how many times I’ve watched Nightmare Before Christmas in the past month. Things were easy. I can’t remember the last time I connected with someone with this amount of ease.
It felt easy.
It felt safe.
And underneath it all, it felt like the start of something dangerous in the best possible way.
Alex took a sip of his coffee, setting the mug down carefully before saying, almost too casually, “So, um . . . I was wondering.”
I looked up, pencil still in her hand. “Yeah?”
“There is an art show on Friday. It is one of the women on the reapers, and she has an art show in the back room of Bread Zepplin.”
“Bread Zepplin?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s a bakery, but in their back room, they have a little open mic area, and they showcase local artists. I thought you might like to see it. Friday, maybe?”
The words landed between them, warm and careful.
“Yeah, I’d love to see some local art. That sounds amazing.”
He stopped and picked up his phone to check the time. “Well, I’m on snack duty after rehearsal, so I have to head over. There will be mutiny if there are no snacks.”
I smiled as a little laugh bubbled out. “Well, we can’t have a mutiny.”
“No, we can not,” he said, tucking his phone into his pocket and clearing the empty dishes from the table.”But I’ll see you Friday.”
“Friday,” she confirmed, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest.
“Seven?”
“Seven sounds perfect.”
He smiled, eyes soft and hopeful. “Then it’s a date.”
I froze and watched him carry the dishes to the tub next to the trash can by the door. He turned and smiled and waved before he headed to the community center for the end of rehearsal.
I sat there frozen.
A date. I had not seen that coming.
The emotional storm in me kicked up. I was not ready for a date .
. . was I? I mean, if there ever was someone whom I would want to date again, it would be Alex.
But I didn’t know if I was ready. How does one even know?
Just the thought of being with someone else felt like a betrayal to Ethan, but I also knew Ethan would want me to live my life.
He would not want me to be alone forever.
Maybe it was time for something new.
I guess I will find out on Friday.