Chapter 20
“I don’t believe you’ve been doing this all by yourself,” Elijah said.
“No wonder you have a collection of knots along your shoulders.” We were walking the path around the hospital while my mom was in therapy.
It was tree-lined, with a large pond in the center.
In the middle of that pond, a filtration system sprayed water into the air, like a geyser.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “It’s getting better.”
A family of ducks paddled across the water, weaving in and out of the cattails.
“Have you thought about hiring someone to help?” he asked. When we’d arrived at the hospital, he’d lifted my mom out of the car and into her wheelchair. I wasn’t going to lie, it was nice to have someone stronger than me around.
“It’s expensive,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I bet it is.”
“I hired someone that first night I met you. I was supposed to…”
“What?” he asked when my sentence trailed off. “What was supposed to happen that night when you looked like a goddess?”
I gave a breathy laugh. “Stop.”
“You really don’t like compliments.”
“I don’t trust them.” Maybe I was more like my mom than I realized.
“Compliments? Or me?”
“Words,” I said. “Words are nothing. Easy to say. Easy to give away. They can mean very little to the person offering them.”
“Or they can mean a lot.”
“But it’s hard to tell the difference. And one time they could mean a lot and the next very little.”
“How does one prove themselves to you then?”
“Actions,” I said. “What you do is much more important than what you say.”
He nodded slowly. “I can agree with that. But I don’t think that means that what someone says should be completely discounted.”
“Words need history,” I said.
“Will you come to a party with me this weekend?”
“What?” I asked, his subject change leaving me confused.
“My parents are throwing this fancy party. They do it every year. A fundraiser. This year for the community boys and girls club. And I just … will you come?”
“I didn’t bring anything to wear to something like that,” I said. We passed a flowerbed on our right of pink and purple and white flowers.
“Maybe Tara has something you can borrow? Women do that, right? Borrow things from each other?”
I laughed. “Yes, we do.”
“Wait, what about that dress from the first night I met you when you were supposed to be doing something? You can’t wear that?”
“Would that work?” It seemed too … sexy? Too slinky. I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to wear to meet parents for the first time. Not that I was meeting his parents, I was just meeting them.
“It would work very well.” A little smile was on his face, like he was imagining me in it now. “So what were you supposed to be doing that night in that dress?”
“Meeting my boyfriend,” I said.
His head whipped in my direction. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Had. He broke up with me that night.”
“Is he an idiot?”
“No, unfortunately. He’s not. He made the right decision.” I kicked at a rock on the path in front of us, and it went skittering across the sidewalk until it was stopped by the edge of the grass.
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve been very wrapped up in my restaurant and hadn’t been so wrapped up in him.”
“He was needy?”
I chuckled. “In that he needed me to want him occasionally, yes. What about you? Why aren’t you in a relationship … or are you?”
“I am not. Maybe your mom has me figured out. Women see through my pretty words.”
“So you don’t ever mean what you say?”
“I feel like I always mean what I say, but maybe I lack sincerity. I don’t know, Sutton. My last girlfriend left me because she said I would never be ready to settle down.”
“Was that true?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe. I had been feeling unsettled.”
“And now?”
“Well, I imagined myself as a child and gave that child a pep talk and now I’m cured.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nobody is claiming it’s that easy, smartass.”
“What was that about then?” he asked. “The speaking to our childhood self exercise?”
“I think a lot of the problems we carry with us originate from childhood trauma, and she wanted us to have a good, hard look at our past.”
“Did it help you?”
“She thinks I’m too independent.”
“Dr. Franklin?”
“Yes. She thinks that the good thing I thought I’d learned from my childhood—self-reliance—is a weakness.”
“I wouldn’t take her thoughts too seriously. She doesn’t even know that we’re strangers.”
I smiled in his direction. “We’re not strangers. Our bet should’ve just been one session. That was the only time we were actually strangers. After that, it became muddy.”
“We’re muddy?” he asked with a teasing smirk.
There was a bench under a tree along the path, and he pointed to it. I thought he just wanted to sit down, but when I did, he moved behind me.
“What are you doing?” I looked up and the top of my head met his stomach.
His hands went to my shoulders, his thumbs immediately kneading at the knots there. “Helping.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, but I was already putting my head down and closing my eyes, my actions not matching my words.
He let out a soft, deep laugh. “I want to.”
I drew in a breath as his hands continued to move along my shoulders and neck.
His touch was firm and sure. His thumbs traced lines on either side of my spine, then worked along each knot.
Images of the shower that morning flooded my brain, and a tiny moan escaped before I could suppress it.
My cheeks went warm again. I was glad he was standing behind me.
“Feel good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to downplay just how good.
His touch lightened and his spread fingers ran a path from the base of my neck up into my hair. A jolt of pleasure rushed through me, settling between my legs. It really had been too long since I’d been touched, and my reaction was embarrassing.
“What time is it?” I asked, grabbing for my phone. “Has it been an hour?”
“No,” he said.
I shifted, turning toward him, and his hands fell to his sides.
He must’ve sensed that meant I was done because he walked around the bench and took a seat next to me.
He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and staring out at the pond with its ducks and spouting water feature.
“So will you?” he asked.
“Will I what?”
“Come to the party with me this weekend?”
“I can’t leave my mom alone for too long,” I started. “But if the fact that I might have to leave at a moment’s notice isn’t an issue for you, then sure.”
“It’s not an issue. I understand,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck.
“Your parents will be fine with me crashing the party?”
“It’s open house style. There will be a lot of people. They won’t mind at all.”
“Okay.” I tapped his knee with my closed fist, a weird impulsive move on my part. I’d just felt the need to touch him, and that was the best way I could think of.
He tapped my knee back, teasing me, I could tell. “Okay.”
But instead of a short tap, like I had done, his closed fist stayed on my knee.
I stared at it, innocently existing there, like it belonged.
Then slowly, I reached out, and as I was about to place my hand on top of it, he flipped his hand, palm up, fingers splayed, waiting for me.
My heart picked up speed as I rested my hand on his and he threaded our fingers together.
I wasn’t sure why that single action made my eyes sting. I looked away, down the path we’d been walking, trying to regain my composure. I squeezed his hand, feeling it in mine. Soaking in the connection to another human.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, still not looking at him.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” he said. “Your life is kind of overwhelming right now.”
I shook my head as more emotion rose to the surface.
“Sutton,” he said softly. “Come here.” He tugged on my hand and pulled me to his chest, where I held on like the world depended on it.
I rested my face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in.
He smelled amazing, soap and a clean, sharp scent.
His hand pulled on the ends of my hair and then ran slowly up and down my back.
“Thanks for helping with my mom today,” I said.
“Of course. Tell me when her appointments are. I can be your transport guy.”
“No, that’s too much. Thank you, but that’s … no.”
“I changed my mind,” he said.
“About what?” I asked. I probably should’ve sat up, but it felt good to be in his arms, to feel his voice vibrate along my cheek when he spoke. To have his hand make patterns on my back.
“I agree with the therapist. Your self-reliance is a weakness.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not working on it.”
He let out a low, rumbling laugh, then pulled me tighter against him.
It took me too long to hear his name being called or to register that the voice in the distance was directed at us. It wasn’t until it was closer and saying my name as well that I sat up. It seemed to click for Elijah at about the same time because we both looked in the direction of the hospital.
Tara was fast-walking our way, waving. “Eli! Sutton!”
I straightened up even more, smoothing my hair and planting my feet firmly on the ground in front of me.
“I thought that was you two,” she said when she reached us.
“Hi,” Elijah said. “You on break?”
“I am.” Her eyes went back and forth between us. “This doesn’t look good for me. I’m sure the therapist is really picking up on the no connection thing.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
“No, this is nothing,” I said. “Just stuff with my mom.”
“Oh, speaking of. Your mom is looking for you. I found her in the hall. She said you might be out here.”
I jumped to my feet. “You found her in the hall? Is the time up?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think she’s done though.”
“I’ll go get her.” I started walking. “I’ll text you later, Tara!”
“Okay!” she called after me. I didn’t look back.
It wasn’t until I was inside, almost to the elevator, that Elijah’s teasing voice was next to me saying, “Are you afraid of Tara?”
“No. What? No.”
“What are you afraid of then?”
You, I wanted to say. This. These feelings I’m having that I don’t want. It’s too much right now. Too much when I’m already overwhelmed. Too much when I’m leaving as soon as my mom is better.
The elevator doors slid open. Two people walked out, one in a white lab coat.
We stepped inside the now empty elevator.
I backed into the far corner, holding on to the handrails.
As the door slid shut again, he walked to my corner, facing me, his hands settling onto the rails outside of mine. I looked up at his teasing eyes.
I wanted to wipe that smug, knowing look off his face.
The one that made it seem like he knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I would or, more likely, wouldn’t do.
I wanted to show him that he didn’t know.
And maybe it was those thoughts that spurred my actions or something completely different.
But I slowly moved forward until our lips were millimeters apart and said, “I’m not afraid of anything. ” Then my lips met his.
He sucked in a surprised breath of air, but it took less than a second for his surprise to be replaced with action.
He wrapped his arms around me and pressed my back against the corner of the elevator.
His tongue easily gained entrance to my mouth, eliciting a moan from me.
I used my hands to pull him more tightly against me, where I could feel that I wasn’t alone in my desire.
It took my brain too long to catch up to my emotions—to what we were doing, in a public elevator, in a hospital, where my mom was waiting—but it finally did.
I wedged my hands between us and pushed, just as the elevator settled into place on the fourth floor.
I gulped for air as he stepped back and away from me.
Then he turned to face the doors, just as they slid open.
In a bad twist of fate, my mom and her wheelchair and a nurse were waiting on the other side.