Chapter 24 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Ishut Ava’s door gently after dropping her off with Becca and Leo, my heart a little lighter than usual. Hearing Ava say, “I’ll be fine, Mom,” before darting into their house was . . . new. A good new.
On the drive home, I’d texted Alex:
Eleanor: What should I wear tonight?
His response came fast.
Alex: Whatever you’re comfortable in. I just want you there.
Which, of course, didn’t help at all.
So here I stood, in my bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by three rejected outfit options and one chosen one, I kept smoothing down nervously.
Simple jeans. A soft, navy top that made my eyes look a little brighter.
And a cardigan I wore like armor.
My stomach fluttered, traitorous and excited and terrified all at once.
The mirror caught the slightest flush on my cheeks, the way my hair curled gently around my shoulders, the shine on my lips. I looked . . .
Hopeful.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that yet.
I exhaled and reached for my earrings, small silver hoops Ethan had bought me years ago, when something caught my eye in the mirror.
The picture.
Tucked into the corner of the frame, just where I’d left it the night after our date.
Me and Ethan at nineteen.
My hair was blue.
He was missing a tooth after a skateboarding accident.
We looked ridiculous and young and in love.
My hand trembled slightly as I touched the edge of the photo.
There was no ache. Not the sharp kind, anyway. Just a soft pull. A gentle remembering.
“Hey,” I whispered to the boy in the photograph. “I’m trying.”
My throat tightened.
“I think . . . I think you’d want this for me,” I murmured. “I think you’d like him.”
I didn’t know if the universe answered back. But something inside me loosened the guilt like a held breath finally let out.
Ding-dong.
I startled, nearly dropping my earring.
He was here.
Of course he was. Alex was always on time.
My pulse kicked up. I gave my reflection one more look. Not perfect. Not polished like my mother’s standards. But me. Soft. Blushing. Nervous. And, for the first time in so long, genuinely excited.
I smiled, a small, uncertain, hopeful thing, and headed downstairs.
With every step, my heart beat louder.
By the time I reached the front door, I had to steady myself with a breath.
Then I opened it.
And there he was.
He looked even more handsome than I remembered.
Only a couple of inches taller than me, something I’d always liked, with shaggy brown hair that brushed his eyebrows, a scruffy beard that framed his jaw in the most distractingly handsome way, and those eyes.
God, those eyes.
Warm, steady, kind in a way that felt rare.
“Hi,” he said softly, holding out a bouquet of tulips. Soft pink ones. My favorite.
My breath caught. “Tulips?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I . . . remembered you said you liked them.”
The warmth that bloomed in my chest was almost physical.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “They’re beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.” He cut himself off, cheeks flushing. “Uh. Yeah. Anyway.”
I smiled so hard it was embarrassing.
“Come inside for just a second,” I said. “Let me put these in water.”
He followed me in, standing politely near the door while I filled a vase. From the corner of my eye, I could see him looking around with a curious but respectful gaze, as if he didn’t want to intrude.
When I set the tulips on the counter, they looked . . . hopeful. Like I felt.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, grabbed my purse, and we headed out to his car.
His Prius was older, a little scuffed, the kind of car that had seen years of school pickups and art project spills. A Leo mobile. But clean, like he took pride in the life he built.
He opened my door for me.
A small gesture. But no one had done that for me in a very long time.
When he started the engine, the unmistakable jangly guitar and frantic energy of the Violent Femmes burst from the speakers.
He startled, nearly smacking the dial as he turned the volume down. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t think—”
“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “I love the Femmes. I saw them in concert when I was younger.”
His head whipped toward me, eyes wide. “You did?”
“Yeah,” I said, settling into the seat. “My friends and I snuck into Columbus once for a show. We told our parents we were at a sleepover.” I grinned at the memory. “Worth every second.”
A slow, delighted smile spread over his face.
“I knew you were awesome,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I didn’t have proof, but I knew.”
Heat curled low in my stomach at the way he said it, like a secret between us.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “So . . . where are you taking me?”
He kept his eyes on the road, but the smile stayed.
“You’ll see.”
I groaned playfully. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Nope.”
I crossed my arms in mock indignation. “You could at least give me a hint.”
“Okay,” he said, tapping the steering wheel. “It’s somewhere I think you’ll like.”
“That’s not a hint.”
“No,” he agreed, lips twitching, “it’s not.”
I shook my head, laughing under my breath as the Femmes played softly between us.
Warm air from the vent brushed my cheek. The tulips were sitting in a vase at home. Ava was safe and happy with people who cared about her. And I was on a date I actually wanted to be on.
The miles slipped by in an easy, companionable quiet. Music hummed softly between us, The Cure now, low and dreamy, and the headlights painted long strokes of gold across the two-lane road.
We passed the edge of town.
Then the turnoff for the lake as we passed the old market, where everyone went for cider in the fall.
My brow knit. “Alex . . . seriously. Where are we going?”
He grinned sideways, the kind of grin that sent warmth curling low in my stomach.
“You,” he said, “are just going to have to wait.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
But then he did something I absolutely did not expect.
He reached across the console and set his hand gently on my leg.
Not high. Not presumptuous. Just . . . warm. Real. Intentional.
My breath stuttered.
It was such a simple touch, his fingers resting against the soft fabric of my jeans, but it sent a flicker of heat through me so sharp, so surprising, I had to tighten my grip on my purse.
He kept his eyes on the road, casual as anything, but the corner of his mouth lifted like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You okay?” he asked lightly.
I managed a nod. “Uh-huh.”
He chuckled under his breath. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Before I could fully recover, his thumb pressed in the slightest, softest squeeze at the curve of my thigh.
Not enough to be bold. Just enough to say, I’m here. I want you. I see you.
A rush of warmth swept through me, dizzying, unexpected, embarrassingly intense. I couldn’t remember the last time a touch that simple made my whole body flare awake.
My pulse fluttered.
I forced myself to breathe. “That’s not fair,” I muttered.
“What isn’t?”
“You doing that and not telling me where we’re going.”
He laughed, a low, warm sound that wrapped around me like a blanket.
“You’ll survive.”
I tried to glare at him. It came out closer to a smile.
His hand stayed right where it was, steady and warm against my thigh, anchoring me and unbalancing me all at once.
Outside the window, the world dimmed into twilight blue, and the road stretched ahead like an invitation.
And for the first time in forever, I wasn’t afraid of where it might lead.
I was only afraid of how badly I wanted it.
We drove deeper into the quiet stretch of countryside, the world narrowing into soft curves of road and shadows of trees arching overhead. The canopy above filtered the fading sunlight until it felt almost like twilight inside a cathedral made of branches.
Then Alex slowed the car.
Turned onto a narrow frontage road I’d never noticed before.
My breath caught when, after a few more twists, the trees suddenly opened into a clearing, and I saw it.
A blanket spread across soft grass.
A string of warm fairy lights woven between two tall oaks, swaying gently in the evening breeze. A little cooler. A small lantern. And the lake just beyond, the water catching the first streaks of pink from the setting sun.
My throat constricted.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh, Alex . . . ”
He put the car in park and was out before I could even fully take it all in. The passenger door opened, and he stood there, gentle, steady, a little nervous, offering his hand.
I slid my hand into his, and the warmth of his palm grounded me instantly.
“You did all this?” I managed, voice barely above breath. “You didn’t have to—”
His smile softened, the kind that felt like it wrapped around my ribs. “I most certainly did.”
He helped me out of the car, steadying me even though I didn’t really need it or maybe because he just wanted to.
“Two single parents,” he said quietly, “don’t often find themselves kid-free for a whole night. It felt like something worth celebrating.”
The words hit me square in the chest, sweet, honest, unexpectedly emotional.
I blinked rapidly, trying not to tear up. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Really . . . it’s one of the most beautiful things anyone’s ever done for me.”
His thumb brushed delicately along the back of my hand.
“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured.
We walked toward the blanket hand-in-hand, and every step felt like a slow, tender sort of falling.
He knelt beside the cooler and flipped it open.
“Wine or water?” he asked with a grin.
“Wine,” I said instantly, surprising even myself.
He laughed softly, pulled out a bottle of red, and poured carefully into two stemless glasses. The fairy lights glowed against the deep ruby liquid, and the sky behind him was turning lavender and peach and gold.
He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine in a way that made heat swirl low in my belly.
I took a sip.
The sun began inching toward the horizon, casting light over the water like a path made of fire.