Three
KYLE
I sit back in the leather chair in my office, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. My fingers are drumming lightly against the polished surface of the desk, the rhythmic sound filling the otherwise quiet space. The air is thick with the smell of old books and paper, two things I’m oddly attached to, despite my newfound wealth and the demands of my publicist, Lina.
Speaking of Lina, she’s scheduled a phone call with me in five minutes. She’s a whirlwind of organization and ambition, and I have a love-hate relationship with her. She’s been a godsend in managing my career, making sure I’m in the right places at the right time, but sometimes I just want to tell her to back off and let me breathe.
The truth is, I’ve been avoiding her, and not just because she drives me crazy with her relentless scheduling. I’ve been avoiding her because of Elodie.
Elodie.
I still can’t believe I kissed her. Or that she agreed to go with me to the Valentine’s Gala, of all things. I don’t know what possessed me to ask her. Hell, I don’t even know what possessed me to invite her to coffee. But there I was, sitting across from her at Esther’s Café, struck by her warmth and honesty, and suddenly the whole world felt less heavy. It’s ridiculous, really. A crime writer with a reputation for his cold, gritty thrillers, what am I doing, getting all soft and sentimental over a woman who doesn’t even like my books?
But it’s not just that she doesn’t like my books. It’s that she doesn’t care about the fame, the money, the persona that’s been built around me. She doesn’t know who I am beyond the covers of my novels, and maybe that’s exactly what I need.
The phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I lean forward to pick it up.
“Kyle, you’ve got to stop disappearing on me,” Lina’s voice crackles through the line, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You’re scheduled for an interview tomorrow, and you’ve got a few meetings with the movie producers next week. Where are you even right now?”
I wince. “At home. In my office. Trying to get some writing done. I don’t need to do any interviews this week.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and then Lina laughs. “I knew you were avoiding me. I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking right now, but I’ll ask anyway: What’s going on, Kyle? You’ve been a little... distracted.”
I hesitate, then run a hand through my hair. “I met someone.”
Her tone immediately shifts, curiosity piqued. “Someone? As in, a woman? You don’t do ‘ someone ,’ Kyle.”
“I know.” I let out a breath, glancing out the window at the snow falling in gentle flurries outside. “She’s... different. And I’m trying to figure it out.”
She snorts. “Different how?”
I think about Elodie, and about the way she smiled at me, about her soft laugh and bouncy curls, and the way she wasn’t intimidated by me, or fan-girling over me. She’s warm and grounded, nothing like the people I usually attract. It’s disarming in the best way. “She’s real. She’s grounded. And... she doesn’t like my books.”
I hear Lina’s amused snort. “So let me get this straight: you’re falling for a small-town woman who doesn’t care about your fame, doesn’t care about your money, and probably wouldn’t recognize a best-seller if it slapped her in the face?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that. She does read.”
“Right.” She pauses, a sly tone creeping into her voice. “So, when are you seeing her again?”
I blink, taken aback by her sudden change in focus. “I... haven’t really planned anything yet.”
“Good. Ask her out on an actual date then.”
I hesitate again. “I’m not sure she’s even interested in that.”
Lina sighs loudly, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Kyle, I know you’re a bit of a recluse, but you need to get your act together and invite her out for dinner or something.”
Dinner. I hadn’t thought about that, but now that she mentions it, I realize I want to. I want to spend more time with her, hear her laugh again, and get lost in stories about her life.
“I’ll figure something out,” I say, already making a mental note to text Elodie later and ask her.
“Good.” There’s a pause at the other end, then Lina’s voice softens slightly. “Just be careful, Kyle. You’re not used to this. Don’t let your fame or your wealth get in the way of something real.”
I think about Elodie and the way she made me feel like I wasn’t just some product of my own creation. She didn’t know who I was other than a man interrupting her romance. And in that moment, I knew she was something I wanted to hold onto.
“I won’t,” I promise.
~
Later that evening, after a bit of persuasion she agrees to join me for a casual dinner, and the entire drive to her house I notice my adrenaline pumping in anxious excitement.
When the door swings open, Elodie hesitates for just a moment, her eyes flicking over my casual outfit. I can tell it wasn’t what she expected, but when she meets my gaze, a smile pulls at the corner of her lips. It’s tentative, but real. She’s wearing her wild curls in a loose messy bun with a few strands escaping to frame her face, and a soft sweater that makes me want to wrap my arms around her. She’s beautiful.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but it betrays me just a little. I feel a tightness in my chest, but I push it down. “I thought we could keep it simple tonight. No fancy places. Just pizza, if you’re up for it.”
Her eyes soften, and for a moment, the world seems quieter. “Pizza sounds perfect.”
We head to Antonio’s, a local spot that’s been a fixture in town longer than anyone can remember. The moment we step inside, the scent of garlic and melted cheese fills the air, warm and inviting, and Antonio himself greets us like we’ve walked into his home.
We settle into a corner booth by the window, the gentle hum of conversation around us like a soft background melody. A fire crackles in the corner, sending flickers of light dancing across the worn wooden tables. When the waitress sets down our pizzas, I lean back in my seat, my eyes on Elodie. She digs into her pizza sighing over the melted stringy cheese.
I’ve never met someone so unapologetically themselves.
We fall into an easy conversation. She talks about her childhood, about growing up in a small town not far from here, and how she moved to this one a few years ago to take the job at the quarry. I find myself hanging on every word, intrigued by the simplicity of her life.
I tell her a little about myself, about how strange it’s been to adjust to the fame, how disconnected I sometimes feel from everyone around me. The whole author thing still feels like a costume I’m trying to figure out how to wear. I don’t know if she really understands, but I can tell she’s listening. And it’s... nice.
By the time we finish dinner, the sun has dipped behind the mountains, and the chill of the February evening settles around us as we walk through the town square and toward the river that defines our town border from the foothills of the mountain.
I take her hand, our fingers intertwining naturally. For a moment, it’s just the two of us walking in silence, listening to the faint sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the gentle dinging of metal on the boat’s masts in the distance, and the crunch of snow under our boots.
“This place is beautiful,” she says, her voice soft as she glances around at the small shops lining the square.
“It is,” I agree, squeezing her hand. “It’s... peaceful.”
We walk along the river in quiet companionship, the frozen water mirroring the pale moonlight, its stillness strangely soothing. The night is a breath, a slow, steady inhale that promises something yet to unfold. Every step feels like it belongs to this moment, to us.
When we reach the end of the boardwalk, I stop, turning to face her. I place my hands gently on her shoulders, the soft fabric of her coat warm beneath my fingers. Slowly, I pull her closer, just enough that the distance between us feels like nothing at all. She looks up at me, her face glowing in the soft amber light of the streetlamp, her eyes soft, uncertain, but trusting.
I lean down, letting the world slow around us, and my lips brush against hers. The kiss is light, tender, as if time itself has paused just for us. It’s quiet, just us and the pulse of the night.
When I pull back, her eyes are closed, a quiet smile lifting the corners of her lips. I smile too, something deep and unspoken filling me. It’s a fullness I haven’t known in years, a quiet kind of peace.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I murmur, my hands still resting on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric.
“Me too,” she says, her voice soft, like a secret shared only between the two of us.