7. Melody
MELODY
I’ve learned not to ask Eli anything personal. Our relationship is friendly but surface-deep. Every time I try to go beyond small talk, he shuts me down and out, leaving me feeling mildly frustrated, so I stop, accepting that we’re just friends—on the most basic level.
He asks me to dinner and out to skate and sled at Holly Ridge Park, but we don’t come close to kissing again, even though I catch him looking at me several times with wistful glances.
I just don’t understand him or why he’s not acting on the obvious feelings he has for me.
And every time we go out, I find myself looking at my phone ahead of time, waiting for him to cancel on me again.
But I have to remind myself that it’s probably a sign that I should work on my book and not fall for the handyman who is almost finished restoring my grandmother’s lovely cabin. Maybe I’ll actually get some work done when he’s gone.
On Thursday afternoon, he catches me in a rare bout of writing, and I’m almost startled when I look up from my desk to see Eli standing over me.
"Oh, hi," I say with a grin, looking up with a start. "I was in the zone for once. Finally making some progress."
He returns my smile. “That’s good, isn’t it? Strike while the iron’s hot, as they say.”
“Yeah…” I want to unload on him and tell him how unmotivated I’ve been feeling, how worried I am about this latest book, and how I’ll never make the latest deadline that Katie has given me.
“The last one, Mel,” she warned me.
But I say none of this as I stare up at him expectantly. I realize that he’s wearing his coat, and his toolbox is in his hands. My heart sinks slightly.
“Are you all done?” I ask, glancing at the freshly painted kitchen and newly varnished trim.
“All done, finally,” he answers. “Careful, though. There’s wet paint everywhere.”
Slowly, I rise from my chair and look around at his handiwork. As usual, it’s done to perfection. The color is exactly what we discussed, and the texture is beautiful.
“So that’s really it?” I still can’t believe it. I got so used to having him around I can’t imagine that he won’t be coming by every day.
“Unless there’s something else you need,” he offers.
“Oh, no. No, everything is amazing. Did my gran leave you enough to cover all your expenses? Invoice me if you need more?—”
“No, she left more than enough. In fact, I’ll cut you a check back for the rest once I’ve finished doing the books.”
“No!” I protest. “I don’t want it. Gran would have wanted you to have it, I’m sure.” He eyes me uncomfortably, but I insist. “Seriously. Consider it a gratuity. You deserve it.”
Gratefully, he nods and closes his hand tighter around the toolbox. “So I guess this is goodbye then.”
My heart sinks more.
That’s it? He’s going, and we’re done here?
I force a grin on my face. “Yep. I guess so. Thanks for everything.”
I walk him to the door and wait for him to put on his boots, trembling inside slightly as I wait for him to say something, anything. But he’s silent as he reaches for the door handle.
“Oh!” My pulse quickens, but he only reaches into his pocket for the house key, which he places on the kitchen counter. “I almost forgot.”
“Right. Thanks,” I drop my eyes
“Maybe we can grab a coffee soon,” he says as a cold gust of wind sweeps through the entranceway, and he lets himself onto the deck. “Of course, I’ll be back in the spring to stain the deck when it’s drier.”
“Yeah, sure! Coffee.”
He pads down the new steps and tosses his toolbox over the tailgate, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Well, that was fun while it lasted, I guess. I better get back to work and stop imagining what might have been with a man clearly not interested in me.
I force myself to write over the next day, every word excruciating on the page.
All I can think about is how empty the house feels without the constant pitter-patter of Eli’s hammer.
Several times, I reach for my phone to text him, but I put it down, reminding myself that if he were really interested, he would reach out.
I’m not going to chase an emotionally unavailable man.
Plus, I need to write.
Page by page, I churn through my book, but when I read it back, I groan aloud in frustration. It’s terrible, nowhere near my usual caliber of work.
Annoyed with myself, I stand, but as I do, my phone pings, and I immediately grab it.
Deflated to see it's not Eli, I scowl at my agent's text.
Katie: How’s the writing coming?
Me: Been working all day.
Katie: Glad to hear it. Should I pop in for a motivational pep talk?
That’s the last thing I need.
Me: No. I'm making real progress. I'll let you know when the manuscript is done.
Katie leaves it at that, and I head toward the kitchen for another cup of coffee when the phone buzzes again. But I ignore her response and stare out into the pine woodlands, looking for some kind of inspiration amongst the trees.
Good or bad, the latest book needs to reach the editor by the end of the year. I've exhausted my extensions, and Katie's patience has worn dangerously thin.
The phone buzzes again, and I grunt loudly, making my way back to the desk. To my surprise, it’s Eli.
Eli: It feels weird not seeing you today.
An unexpected bolt of pleasure snakes up my spine, and the second message gives me hope.
Eli: Dinner tonight? I could go for some risotto at Tasty Harvest.
I let out a contented sigh and sink back into my chair.
Me: That sounds perfect. It will be my treat to thank you for all your amazing work on the cabin.
He sends a laughing emoji.
Eli: No, it’s my treat. One of my clients just gave me an amazing gratuity.
I type out an enthusiastic acceptance, suggesting a time, and my pulse quickens when he immediately responds. We settle on meeting at Tasty Harvest at six o'clock sharp.
I've decided to take a chance tonight—to finally open up about my writing struggles, my fears about the book, and all the insecurities I've been hiding.
Perhaps if I lower my guard first, Eli might feel safe enough to do the same.
Today made one thing clear—my world brightens when he's in it.
The prospect of spending the evening with him has me really excited, a persistent smile playing on my lips that I couldn't suppress even if I tried.
And he obviously misses me, too.
I head directly into the bedroom to shower and pick out an outfit, taking extra care with my hair and makeup. Outside, the snow creates a blanket of ivory over the brilliant emerald of the mountain pines, and I can feel the charge of magic in the air.
It’s going to be a good night. I can feel it.
Taking a last look at myself in the mirror, I head into the living room to grab my phone and purse. I realize I missed a call from Eli ten minutes ago, while I was in the bathroom.
I call him back right away, but the number goes directly to voicemail. Frowning slightly, I text him.
Me: Sorry I missed you. I’m heading out to meet you. Need anything?
The message bubbles appear immediately, and I tap my foot, waiting for what seems like forever before he responds.
Eli: Something came up. We have to reschedule tonight.
Dumbfounded, I stare at the offensive message, anger and frustration swelling inside me.
What kind of game is he playing? Is this a joke to him? Am I?
I can’t bring myself to respond, afraid I might say something rude.
He texts again when I don’t reply, and I realize I have to say something.
Me: No need to reschedule.
That’s all I write, and I turn off my phone. I won’t keep doing this to myself. Whatever Eli is doing, he can do it by himself. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman, not a high school senior. I have all the signs I need that he’s just not that into me. And now I have to move on like an adult.