Chapter 13 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Istood in front of my mirror, eyeliner in one hand and nerves in the other.
I hadn’t done this in years. My hands felt unsteady, and I’d already changed shirts twice.
Behind me, Ava sat cross-legged on the bed, watching like it was a nature documentary.
“Why do you keep making your eyes smaller?” Ava asked.
I laughed under her breath. “It’s called eyeliner, baby. It’s supposed to make them stand out.”
“Oh.” Ava tilted her head, unimpressed. “They already stand out. You don’t need black paint.”
“Noted.” I set the pencil down and smoothed her hair. “You ready for your movie with Grandma?”
Ava nodded. “We’re watching Addams Family Values. Grandma said she doesn’t really get it, but she’ll try.”
“That’s very brave of her.”
Ava grinned. “You look pretty, Mom.”
That made me pause. Not just because it was sweet, but because it had been a long time since anyone had said it.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
I slipped on her shoes just as her mother appeared in the doorway, arms folded, expression deceptively mild.
“Well,” she said, tone crisp. “Don’t you look nice. Off to dinner with . . . what was his name again? David?”
Ava's eyes widened. “You’re going on a date?!”
I winced. “Ava, it’s just dinner.”
“With a very nice man,” my mother said.
My stomach dropped. “Mom, enough. I exhaled, steadying herself. “I’m not going on a date. I’m just meeting a friend. We’re going to an art show.”
This seemed to appease Ava, but my mom gave me a knowing look. After all these years, you would think I’d be able to read her looks, but I never could. And as I looked at the clock above the fireplace, I saw I didn’t have time to try and figure it out.
“I’ll be home by ten. Ava, be good for Grandma, okay?”
Ava gave her a little wave. “Have fun, Mom.”
The air outside was cool against her skin, smelling faintly of rain and honeysuckle.
For a moment, I stood on the porch, heart racing, and whispered to myself, It’s just friends hanging out.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just that for him. He’d said date . . . but did he mean date or like ‘it’s a date’? People say that, right?
But when I thought about the first time she saw him at the roller derby match. And the way he’d been so easy to talk to at the coffee shop during rehearsal. If there were a person to start dating, it would be him. But was it the right time? Would it ever be the right time?
The bakery was small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop with warm light spilling out of its windows like a promise.
I spotted Alex as soon as I stepped inside. He was at a corner table, standing when he saw me, smiling in that open, genuine way that made something in my chest go soft and mushy.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He grinned. “I would’ve picked you up, but—”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said quickly, sliding into her seat. I didn’t add that my mother would have made it a nightmare. “I like driving. Gives me a chance to breathe.”
“Fair enough,” he said, settling across from me.
In the back room of the bakery, there was a little stage surrounded by exposed brick walls.
On those walls was art by a local artist. The pieces were bold and funky with thick lines, exaggerated shapes, and colors so bright they almost vibrated.
The kind of art that didn’t apologize for taking up space.
The café buzzed quietly around us. As we stood close, taking in the pieces. A couple whispered in front of a neon-bright portrait that looked like it had been painted with equal parts joy and spite.
And I still couldn’t tell if this was a date.
Or just two people standing too close and pretending it wasn’t anything more.
I drifted toward a painting near the stage, all sharp lines and unapologetic color. “I love this,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Alex stepped closer, studying it with me. “What do you like about it?”
The question surprised me, not polite interest, but real curiosity.
“It doesn’t try to be pretty,” I said slowly.
“It just is. And somehow that makes it beautiful.” I paused, looking at him, half expecting him to be confused or not even listening, but his full attention was on me.
The feeling was both calming and unnerving, and those were feelings I didn’t know could exist together, so I continued.
“The way the colors pop. It’s messy and intentional at the same time. Like . . . confidence in paint form.”
Then something clicked into place in my chest. “I’ve been working on an idea lately. Something different from my usual stuff. This kind of energy—bold, playful, a little unhinged—it’s been living in my head.”
His eyes lit up. “That sounds like you.”
I laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning.”
“It’s definitely a compliment,” he said easily.
The conversation flowed from there, easy again, and that surprised me more than anything.
We talked about the kids. About music. About how small towns had a way of growing on you even when you swore they wouldn’t. About art that made you feel something, even if you couldn’t explain why.
And the whole time, I kept catching myself staring at him. Not at his hands or his jaw, though those were lovely, but at his eyes.
Deep brown. Kind.
The kind that made you feel seen.
Every time he looked at me, my stomach did a little flip, like my body remembered something my heart had been too afraid to name. Too afraid to want.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to date. I wasn’t sure this was a date.
But standing there with him, surrounded by loud color and quiet music and possibility, the space between us hummed with something unspoken.
Outside, the night was soft and cool, the kind of evening that made the world feel alive.
We stood by my car, lingering like neither of us wanted to break the spell.
“I had a really great time tonight,” he said, his voice quiet, earnest.
“Me too.” I smiled, feeling the truth of it in her chest.
For a moment, he just looked at me, eyes searching, waiting, and then he leaned in.
My breath caught.
He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of soap and coffee and something uniquely him.
But as his lips neared mine, the world blurred and shifted. Another face, Ethan’s face, flashed in my mind, sharp and bright and gone too soon.
My chest tightened.
“Wait,” I whispered, her hand coming up between them.
Alex froze instantly, pulling back just enough to give her space. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . ” I swallowed. “It’s been a long time.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. He nodded slowly. “Hey. It’s okay. We can take it slow.”
I exhaled, some mix of relief and longing tangling in her chest. “Thank you. I want to explain.”
“There is no explanation necessary,” he said, ready to let it go.
But I was ready to tell him, let him in.
After a deep breath, I finally said, “The reason Ava and I moved back in was that my husband died a little over a year ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I mean . . . it’s not okay, grief is a work in progress, but I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to think I was anything you did or didn’t do. Or that I didn’t like you like that . . . gah, I’m rambling.”
“Thank you for telling me. And I meant what I said, I’m in no rush.”
He smiled, that gentle, grounding smile that had undone me from the start.
“I had a really good time tonight,” I said, my voice a little steadier.
“Me too,” he said. The kindness shining in his eyes was enough to take my breath.
He hesitated, then reached out, brushing his thumb lightly across her knuckles, a barely-there touch that somehow said I see you. I’ll wait.
And I knew, in that small, electric moment, that I wanted to kiss him.
Not because I should. Not because I missed the past.
Because I wanted to.
I took hold of his hand. It felt strong in mine. His gaze pinned me in place, questioning and hopeful. I leaned forward, and he did too. I licked my lips, and the world stood still.
"Are you sure?" he asked, barely loud enough to hear.
I was. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. Heat built inside of me as the whole world melted. His arms came around me as I thought I might turn into a puddle right there in the parking lot.
He pulled away with his eyes still closed as he took a deep breath.
"Can I take you out again?" he asked.
"I'd like that."
He opened my car door and gave me a final wave as he made his way to his own car.
When I finally drove away, I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. It was a promise I didn't know if I was quite ready for, but maybe, just maybe, was finally brave enough to want.