Chapter Nineteen
Julia woke to pale morning light filtering through the kitchen curtains and spent approximately three seconds in blissful ignorance before the previous night came flooding back.
The kiss.
She sat bolt upright.
She'd kissed Elliott. In the kitchen. After Elliott had cried in her arms. While covered in flour and hospital anxiety and the general chaos of the day.
She groaned.
She'd kissed Elliott, and Elliott had kissed her back, and now Julia was here on the world's most uncomfortable couch trying to figure out if she'd ruined everything or made it better.
The flat was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that suggested someone else was also awake and also pretending not to be.
Julia stared at the ceiling and considered her options.
She could get up and act normal, like nothing had happened.
She could hide under the blanket until Elliott left for the bakery.
She could climb out the window and start a new life somewhere far away where she'd never have to make awkward eye contact with anyone ever again. Papua New Guinea sounded good.
Option three was looking increasingly attractive.
The bedroom door opened.
Julia lay back down, her entire body rigid. She heard footsteps. The soft pad of bare feet on floorboards. The click of the kettle being filled.
Then silence.
Julia counted to ten. Counted to twenty. Counted to fifty before she finally worked up the courage to sit up again.
Elliott was standing at the kitchen counter, her back to Julia, doing something with the kettle.
Her dark hair was messy from sleep. She was wearing an old t-shirt and shorts that showed off the tattoos on her arms and legs.
She looked soft and rumpled and completely unlike the controlled, sharp-edged Elliott that Julia had come to know.
She also wasn't turning around.
"Morning," Julia said, her voice coming out rusty.
Elliott's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "Morning."
And that was it. No mention of the kiss. No acknowledgment that anything had changed. Just two syllables and a whole lot of silence.
Julia's stomach sank.
She'd done something wrong. Obviously. She'd misread the situation.
Elliott had been emotional, vulnerable, not thinking clearly.
The kiss had been a mistake, and now Elliott was going to pretend it never happened, and Julia would have to go along with it because that's what she did.
Went along with things. Made everyone else comfortable.
The kettle finished boiling.
Elliott poured two cups, added milk to one, and finally turned around. Her expression was carefully neutral as she crossed the small space and held out a mug.
"Coffee," she said.
Julia took it. Their fingers brushed, and she felt the contact like an electric shock.
Elliott pulled back immediately. "I should get downstairs. Start the morning bake."
"Right. Of course."
"Right."
Neither of them moved.
"Elliott…"
"I'll see you down there."
And then she was gone, disappearing through the door that led to the bakery stairs, leaving Julia alone with her coffee and her confusion and the impression that she might have done something wrong. But the coffee in her hands was the first morning coffee that Elliott had ever made for her.
THE BAKERY SMELLED like fresh bread and pastry cream when Julia finally made it downstairs, which meant Elliott was hard at work. The display cases were already half-full, neat rows of croissants and scones and the delicate fruit tarts that had become their bestsellers.
Julia took her place behind the counter and tried to act like everything was normal.
It wasn't normal. Nothing about this was normal.
Every time Elliott emerged from the kitchen, Julia's heart did a complicated gymnastics routine. Every time their eyes met, she felt heat creep up her neck. Every time Elliott handed her a tray of pastries, their hands carefully not touching, Julia wanted to scream.
The bell above the door chimed.
"Good morning!" Tara swept in, already pulling on her apron. "How's…"
She stopped. Looked at Julia. Looked toward the kitchen where Elliott had just disappeared. Looked back at Julia.
"Oh my God."
"What?" Julia's voice came out too high.
"Something happened." Tara's eyes went wide. "Something actually happened between you two."
"Nothing happened."
"You're a terrible liar." Tara was grinning now. "Finally. I've been watching you two dance around each other for ages. It's been exhausting."
"We haven't been dancing around anything. We have an arrangement. A business arrangement."
"Sure." Tara's tone dripped with skepticism. "A business arrangement that involves longing looks and unnecessary touching, and the way you both light up when the other one walks into a room."
"I don't light up."
"You absolutely light up. It's like someone's plugged you into the mains." Tara patted her shoulder. "It's sweet, actually. Real, for once. Instead of all that fake girlfriend rubbish." She paused, a confusing look on her face. "Pretending isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Huh."
The door chimed again before Julia could ask her what she meant.
Jamie walked in carrying a container of something that smelled incredible and wearing his usual easy smile. He took two steps into the shop, looked at Julia, and stopped dead. Tara took the opportunity to escape to the storeroom.
"What?" Julia asked.
"Something's different." Jamie's eyes narrowed. "You look different. Why do you look different?"
"I don't look different."
"You look like someone who's had a revelation. Or a really good night's sleep. Or…" His expression shifted into understanding. "Oh."
"There's no 'oh.'"
"There's definitely an 'oh.'" Jamie set down his container and studied her. "Something happened with Elliott."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Because you've got that look. The look of someone who's crossed a line and doesn't know how to cross back." He leaned on the counter. "Spill."
Julia glanced toward the kitchen door. "I can't. She's right there."
"So whisper."
Julia hesitated. But this was Jamie, who'd been nothing but kind since she'd arrived.
Jamie, who'd smoothed over awkward moments with her mother and offered advice without judgment. Jamie, who might actually be able to help. Jamie who’d let her mother touch his bum and not sued her for harassment or sold the story to the press. She sighed.
"We kissed," she whispered. "Last night. After Milly was taken to hospital. Elliott was upset and I was comforting her and then we just… um… kissed."
Jamie's eyebrows rose. "And?"
"And nothing. This morning she handed me coffee and ran away. She won't look at me. She won't talk about it." Julia's voice cracked slightly. "I think I've ruined everything."
"Or," Jamie said thoughtfully, "she's just as scared as you are."
"Elliott doesn't get scared. Elliott is controlled and confident and knows exactly what she wants."
"Elliott is also human. And from what I've seen, not particularly experienced at letting people in." Jamie straightened. "You know what you need to do."
"Run away and join the circus?"
"Talk to her." Jamie grabbed Julia's arm and started steering her toward the kitchen. "Come on."
"What? No. Jamie, I can't just—"
"You absolutely can." He stared at her. "Do not learn about love from the media. There is only one thing that matters in a relationship, and that’s communication.
End of story." He pushed open the kitchen door.
Elliott looked up from where she was piping something delicate, her expression going wary.
"Right. You two are going to talk about the fact that you kissed. "
Elliott's piping bag went still. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Jamie released Julia, who stumbled slightly. "You kissed. Last night. And now you're both acting like awkward teenagers at a school dance. It's painful to watch, and I've only been here thirty seconds."
"This is none of your business," Elliott said flatly.
"It became my business when Julia started looking like a Victorian swooner and you started stress-baking." Jamie pointed at a tray of what appeared to be croissants so perfect they belonged in a museum. "You've made forty-seven croissants. The shop doesn't need forty-seven croissants."
"There's no such thing as too many croissants."
"There absolutely is, and this is it." Jamie was already backing toward the door. "Talk. Communicate. Use your words like adults. I'll watch the front."
The door swung shut behind him.
Silence.
Elliott set down her piping bag very carefully. Julia stood frozen by the counter, acutely aware of the space between them.
"He's insufferable," Elliott said finally.
"He means well."
"He means to meddle." But there was no real heat in Elliott's voice. She sighed. "Fine. We should probably… talk."
"Probably." Julia's heart was hammering. "About last night."
"About last night."
More silence. Julia watched Elliott's jaw work, the tension in her shoulders, the way she was gripping the edge of the counter.
"The kiss was nice," Elliott said abruptly.
Julia blinked. "It was?"
"Really nice, actually." Elliott's eyes met hers. "Which is the problem."
"How is that a problem?"
"Because this complicates things." Elliott gestured between them. "We have an arrangement. A deal. Your mother thinks we're dating, and we're not, except now we've kissed, so maybe we are? And I don't know what that means or what you want or what I'm supposed to do about any of it."
"What do you want it to mean?"
Elliott let out a frustrated breath. "I don't know. I'm not good at this. Relationships. Feelings. Any of it." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm too cold. Too distant. I push people away before they can get close enough to hurt me. It's a whole thing."
"You are cold and distant," Julia agreed.
Elliott's expression flickered.
"But it's part of your charm," Julia continued, and was rewarded with a surprised laugh.
"My charm. Right."
"You have charm. Hidden charm. Like an Easter egg you have to really search for." Julia took a step closer. "Elliott, I—"
Elliott held up a hand. "Wait."
Julia's stomach dropped. "Wait?"
"You kissed me last night. You took the first step." Elliott's voice was quiet. "So now it's my turn to be brave. My turn to take the reins."
She took a deep breath and closed the distance between them. Reached out and took Julia's hands. Her fingers were warm and slightly flour-dusted, her grip gentle but sure.
"I like you," Elliott said simply. "That's all. Whatever happens next, whatever this turns into, I like you. The real you. The one who watches medical videos at two in the morning and can't cook toast without setting off alarms and somehow makes everyone feel welcome just by existing."
Julia's chest went tight. "Really?"
"Really." Elliott's mouth curved into something almost soft. "You're annoying and optimistic and you talk too much. And I like you anyway. Maybe because of it. I haven't figured that part out yet. I don’t know what any of this means, and I don’t know how it will end, and I don’t even know if it’s something that I want at this stage in my life.
The one thing that I do know, the only thing I know, is… Is that I like you."
"That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Your standards are concerningly low."
Julia laughed, a surprised burst of sound. "How about this? We keep it simple. One day at a time."
Elliott considered this. "One day at a time," she agreed. "We see where this goes. No pressure. No expectations. Just… this." Her eyes were dark.
"This works for me."
"Good." Elliott squeezed her hands. "We should probably seal the deal. Officially."
"With a handshake?"
"I was thinking something else."
She leaned in and kissed Julia softly, deliberately. Intentionally. A choice made in daylight with clear heads and open eyes.
And Julia melted into it.
The kitchen door banged open.
"Oh, ew." Tara stood in the doorway, her face screwed up in exaggerated disgust. "I came to ask about the scone display and now I need therapy."
Elliott pulled back but didn't let go of Julia's hands. "You could try knocking."
"Where's the fun in that?" Tara was grinning despite her protests. "Seriously though, get a room. Some of us have to work in this kitchen."
"This is my kitchen," Elliott pointed out.
"And I have to use it. Without the image of you two snogging burned into my retinas." Tara grabbed a tray of pastries and headed back toward the door. "I'm happy for you, by the way. Even if you are disgusting."
The door swung shut.
Julia looked at Elliott. Elliott looked at Julia.
"Actually, it’s my kitchen," Julia said, breaking the silence.
"Actually, your mother’s kitchen. Technically," said Elliott.
Julia snorted a laugh. "This is a mess."
"Our mess?"
And Julia’s heart beat a little faster. "Our mess," she agreed.
And standing there in the flour-dusted kitchen, holding hands while croissants cooled on every surface and the morning light streamed through the windows, Julia thought that maybe, just maybe, things were finally going right.