Chapter Twenty-One
Milly answered on the fourth ring, which was three rings more than usual and enough to send Elliott's heart rate spiking.
"Before you ask," Milly said, "I'm fine. Stop worrying."
"I wasn't worrying."
"You were absolutely worrying. I can hear it in your breathing.
" There was a rustling sound, like Milly was settling into a chair.
"The doctors have released me with a clean bill of health.
Well, clean-ish. Apparently my heart is 'performing adequately for a woman of my age,' which I think was meant to be reassuring but really just made me feel ancient. "
Elliott leaned against the kitchen counter, phone pressed to her ear.
Downstairs, she could hear the faint murmur of Julia chatting with customers, the occasional bright peal of her laugh.
The bakery had been busy all morning. Actually, the bakery had been busy all week.
Word had spread about their pastries, and they'd had to increase their supply orders twice.
"You scared me," Elliott said quietly.
"I know, love." Milly's voice softened. "But I'm not going anywhere just yet. Too stubborn to die, apparently. That's what the nurse said, though I think she meant it as a compliment."
"She probably did."
"How's the bakery? How's your Julia?"
Elliott's cheeks warmed. "She's not my Julia."
"Mmm. That's not what Shay tells me."
"Shay needs to learn the meaning of the word 'confidential.'"
Milly chuckled. "Shay's never met a secret she didn't want to share. It's part of her charm." A pause. "You should come and visit. I'd love to see you. Properly, I mean, not while I'm attached to various beeping machines."
Elliott's stomach tightened. She'd been avoiding this conversation. Seeing Milly in that hospital bed had been bad enough. Seeing her in a place that screamed 'end of the road' felt worse.
"Soon," she said. "I'll come soon."
"I'll hold you to that." Milly's tone said she knew exactly what Elliott was doing. "Now go. Make something beautiful. And stop brooding."
"I don't brood."
"You're brooding right now. I can hear brooding."
Elliott hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment. Then she shook herself and went back down to the bakery kitchen, where a batch of bread dough was waiting to be shaped.
She had to stop herself from stopping by the front of house just to see Julia.
Her Julia. She hadn’t minded the phrase as much as she would have a month ago.
She grinned to herself. Julia. Infuriating, beautiful, confused Julia.
One day at a time. One day at a time was nice, good, perfect even.
As long as she didn’t think any further ahead than that.
The knife was right where she'd left it. The problem was, she wasn't paying attention.
One second she was reaching for the dough scraper, the next she was hissing through her teeth as pain lanced across her palm. She looked down. Blood was welling from a deep cut, red against her flour-dusted skin, dripping onto the counter.
"Bugger."
She grabbed a tea towel and pressed it against the wound, but the blood was already soaking through. More than a plaster was going to fix, probably. Definitely more than she could deal with one-handed.
"Elliott?" Julia appeared in the doorway, took one look at the blood-soaked towel, and transformed. "Sit down."
"I'm fine, it's just…"
"Sit. Down."
Elliott sat.
Julia was already moving, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink. She pulled up a stool, took Elliott's hand, and peeled back the towel.
"Deep, but clean. No glass or anything in there." Julia's voice was calm, clinical. Completely at odds with the woman who'd managed to burn toast three times last week. "Keep pressure on it while I get the supplies ready. Wrap it and lift it to your shoulder, above the heart."
Elliott watched her work. Julia's hands were steady as she laid out antiseptic, gauze, butterfly strips. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, lower lip caught between her teeth. She looked… competent. More than competent. She looked like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"This might sting," Julia said, and then she was cleaning the wound with gentle, practiced movements, her touch light but sure.
It did sting. Elliott barely noticed.
"You should be doing this," Elliott said.
Julia glanced up. "I am doing this."
"No, I mean…" Elliott gestured vaguely with her non-injured hand. "This. Medicine. Helping people. Not running a bakery you hate."
Julia's hands stilled for just a moment. Then she resumed her work, carefully pressing the edges of the wound together and applying butterfly strips. "I don't hate the bakery."
"You don't love it either."
"No." Julia's voice was quiet. "I suppose I don't. But… I don’t hate it. Not now. Not… with you."
She finished bandaging Elliott's hand, her fingers lingering on Elliott's palm longer than strictly necessary. When she looked up, her eyes were soft. Vulnerable in a way that made Elliott's chest ache.
"You're good at this," Elliott said. "Really good."
"I've tol you, I watch a lot of YouTube videos, that’s all."
"It's more than that." Elliott reached up with her uninjured hand and tucked a strand of hair behind Julia's ear. "You come alive when you're helping people. Your whole face changes. You're not…" She searched for the words. "You're not performing. You're just… you."
Julia's breath caught.
Elliott kissed her.
The kiss was deep and certain, Elliott pouring everything she couldn't say into it. I see you. I want you. Stay. Even if just for now. Stay.
Julia made a small sound against her mouth and leaned in, her hands coming up to cup Elliott's face. The kiss went on, warm and searching, until Elliott's good hand was holding onto Julia's shirt and Julia was half out of her chair.
Then somewhere in the shop, a customer coughed.
They broke apart, breathing hard.
"It's the middle of the day," Julia said, her voice slightly strangled.
"I noticed."
"There are people."
"Also noticed."
Julia laughed, a little breathless. "We should… um, probably…"
"Probably." Elliott didn't move. Neither did Julia.
The customer coughed again, louder this time.
"Go," Elliott said, releasing Julia's shirt reluctantly. "Before someone calls the health inspector."
Julia pressed one more quick kiss to her lips, then fled to the front of the shop, her cheeks pink.
Elliott sat there for a moment, cradling her bandaged hand and grinning like an idiot.
Then she looked out the window and stopped grinning.
Candice Green was standing on the pavement opposite, arms crossed, staring at the bakery with an expression that suggested she was mentally cataloguing evidence. Her eyes met Elliott's through the glass.
Elliott, feeling particularly mature, poked her tongue out.
Candice's face went red. She turned on her heel and marched away.
Elliott went back to her bread dough, still smiling.
SHAY BURST THROUGH the flat door at half past six, carrying wine and wearing the expression of someone who'd just discovered gold. "You're glowing," she announced.
Elliott, who was arranging the last of the cookbook photos, didn't look up. "I don't glow."
"You're absolutely glowing. You look like someone who's had really excellent news. Or really excellent—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
"—pastry." Shay grinned and set the wine on the counter. "What did you think I was going to say?"
"Something inappropriate."
"Me? Never." Shay grabbed two glasses and poured without asking. "So. Spill."
"There's nothing to spill."
"Elliott Sinclair, I have known you for seven years. I have seen you through three disastrous relationships, one spectacularly ill-advised haircut, and the time you thought you had appendicitis but it turned out to be wind. I know when something's happened." She thrust a glass at Elliott. "Spill."
Elliott took the wine. Sipped. Considered her options.
"Julia and I…" She paused, searching for words that wouldn't send Shay into hysterics. "Things are good."
"Good how? Holding-hands good? Sharing-meaningful-looks good?"
"Just good." Elliott said. She could feel the blood rushing up to her face. She hadn’t meant to say this, but then, if she wasn’t going to say it to Shay, who could she say it to?
Shay was right, she’d been there when nearly no one else had been.
"It’s, um, really good, actually. I… like her. Properly."
Shay's eyes went wide. "Elliott."
"Don't make it a thing."
"It's already a thing! You said you like someone! Properly! That's huge!" Shay set down her glass and grabbed Elliott's arms. "This is amazing. This is wonderful. This is everything I've been hoping for since you two started doing your weird fake-dating dance."
"It wasn't weird."
"It was extremely weird. You're both terrible actors." Shay released her and took a long drink of wine. "So what's the plan? Are you official? Have you talked about it? Does she know how you feel?"
"We're… figuring it out." Elliott traced the rim of her glass. "One day at a time."
"That's very mature of you."
"I can be mature."
"You poked your tongue out at Candice Green this afternoon."
Elliott blinked. "How do you know that?"
"Mrs. Monmouth saw it through her window. She called it 'delightfully juvenile.'" Shay grinned. "I'm proud of you, honestly. Six months ago you would have just glared until Candice spontaneously combusted."
"I've grown as a person."
"You've got a girlfriend."
"We haven't—" Elliott stopped. Girlfriend. The word felt strange in her mouth. Good strange, but strange. "We haven't used labels."
"But you want to." Shay's voice softened. "Don't you?"
Elliott didn't answer immediately. She thought about Julia's hands, gentle on her wound. Julia's laugh, bright and warm. Julia falling asleep on the couch with her tablet showing some medical documentary, her face soft in the blue light.
"Yeah," she said finally. "I think I do."
"Then don't mess it up."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean it." Shay's expression went serious, which was alarming in itself. Shay was rarely serious about anything. "You have a habit, El. When things get good, you push people away. You find reasons to sabotage it. You convince yourself you don't deserve it."
"I don't."
"You do. I've watched you do it three times." Shay held up three fingers. "Naomi, Alex, Rachel. Every time things got real, you found an exit."
Elliott's jaw tightened. "That's not fair."
"It's completely fair. I love you, but you're a nightmare." Shay took her hand. "Julia's different. I can see it. She's got past your walls somehow, and that terrifies you. But don't let the fear win. Don't push her away just because being happy feels dangerous."
Elliott stared at her wine. "I'm going to see Milly," she said. "Tomorrow. I've been avoiding it, but… I'm going to go."
Shay blinked at the subject change. "That's good. She'll be happy."
"She's been asking." Elliott set down her glass. "I've been making excuses. Telling myself I'm too busy, or it's too hard, or…" She trailed off. "But if I can let Julia in, I can let Milly's aging in too. I can't just… avoid everything that's difficult forever."
Shay was quiet for a moment. "What changed?"
Elliott thought about it. About Milly collapsing. About Julia, calm and competent, saving her. About kissing Julia in the kitchen and feeling, for the first time in years, like maybe she didn't have to do everything alone.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."
She did know, though. In her heart, she knew.
She'd spent so long building walls. Keeping people out. Telling herself that independence meant isolation, that strength meant never needing anyone.
But Milly was getting older. And Julia was getting closer. And Elliott was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, letting people in wasn't weakness.
Maybe it was the bravest thing she could do.
"Come on," Shay said, breaking the silence. "Let's finish this wine, and you can tell me more about how much you like Julia. Use details. Be specific. I want to live vicariously."
Elliott rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.
And for once, she didn't feel like she needed to hide it.