Chapter Thirty-Six
Elle
I heard the door buzzer like it was coming at me from the other end of a tunnel, rather than the other side of the room.
I had a vague suspicion it had been ringing for a while.
Peeling my bare legs away from my desk chair, I dragged myself over to the door and tiptoed up to peek through the peephole.
Stephen was outside, the shoulder of his white shirt and the edge of his ear and dark hair just visible as he stared at the crack in the door frame like a cat waiting to be let out.
I passed my hand over my hair, shook off an empty bag of chips I realised was stuck on my elbow, and shook my head. What was the point? He was going to look like a movie star, and I had more important things on my mind.
‘You are home,’ he said by way of greeting when I opened the door.
‘Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It occurred to me on the way over you might be celebrating with your family.’
‘Celebrating what?’
He tilted his head. ‘The Fourth of July.’
‘It is?’ My eyes widened, both because I couldn’t remember if I’d told my family I wouldn’t be there for our annual picnic and because that meant I only had two more days before my editor expected my manuscript in her inbox.
‘Are you all right?’ His brow furrowed as he took in my dishevelled appearance. ‘Are you ill?’
I forced a laugh. ‘Some people might call it an illness, but it’s not contagious. You wanna come in for a coffee?’
He nodded and followed me into my kitchen.
I could see him throwing side-eye glances at the state of the place and I knew his fingers must’ve been itching to start tidying up.
I got to the sink and found there were no clean cups.
There was a row of them along my desk behind the laptop but I got side-tracked from collecting them because I remembered I needed to save and back up.
‘So, what’s going on, Elle? Beth asked me to swing by and check on you because she was worried.’
Oh. Beth had been worried. Not him. I slumped back down on my desk chair.
I mean, why would he be worried? We’d only just seen each other last weekend.
There were some clattering noises and I realised he’d come over, collected the mugs and gone back again to take over the coffee-making duties.
I forced myself to close the lid on my laptop.
My eyes were gritty and barely able to focus.
‘It’s no big deal, I just hit pay dirt on the edits for this novel and thought I’d better get some actual words written.
It can’t all be Pinterest boards and aesthetics.
’ I drummed my fingers on top of the laptop.
That night babysitting after the barbecue had unlocked something and new scenes had flooded me when I woke up at 4am on the Sunday morning.
The first day and a half had been a crazy flow of ideas, and when that ended, I started the work of trying to figure out where they fit. Some had, some hadn’t. The bones of the novel ended up being replaced and it was all I could think about.
He leaned on my kitchen counter, his dark eyes flicking between my drumming fingers and my face. ‘Why do you always do that?’
‘Hmm…do what?’
‘Make out your writing is no big deal.’
‘Do I? No. I don’t do that. Do I?’
‘You do to me. Whenever I ask you about it, you make a quip about procrastinating and move on. Apart from when we were talking about your dating break and having kids. What’s the real deal here? What do you need in order to get this done on time?’
‘Oh. Well, my editor is expecting me to send her the revised manuscript in two days and…’ I exhaled in a whoosh. ‘I might actually be able to get it done in time. It’s going to need revisions again, but that’s OK, because it’s better now. Or at least, I think it is…’ My brain was a muddle.
Stephen frowned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. ‘You sound like you’re up against it… Where are your family?’
‘What? They’re at the picnic. You said it was the Fourth of July, right?’
He half laughed but his eyes were sober enough. ‘I just mean, why aren’t they helping you out while you’re under this pressure. You could do with someone…er…looking after you while you’re working this intensely.’
‘Last time I checked, I was a grown-up who could look after herself. Who looks after you?’
He straightened back up. ‘It’s different for me.’
‘Of course it is,’ I scoffed.
‘It is, because I don’t have a veritable army of people at my disposal.’
‘They are not at my disposal — they’re busy too.’
‘So, it wasn’t true, what you told me? That it goes both ways?’
I groaned. ‘Yes. No. Look, they would. My mom would be dropping off mac ’n’ cheese every evening and calling me every morning to make sure I’d showered.
Then Lucy would come over to pick up my laundry, but of course she’d have to have the baby with her, and I couldn’t ignore the baby and the last thing that woman needs is more laundry.
And Tim would call me up and try to give me advice on what to do even though the last time he read a work of fiction was back in college.
Sam would want to look into why my laptop was making such a loud whirring sound and…
It’s too much. I can’t breathe let alone think when they are all trying to help me at once, and the one thing I really, really need is space. ’
He nodded slowly. ‘Do you need me to go?’
‘That wasn’t a hint.’ I chewed my lip. It should have been though. I was barely able to believe he was actually here anyway; I’d spent far too much time on my own, inside my own head with my characters.
He shook his head and smiled. ‘I’ll finish making you coffee and get out of your hair.’
‘I’m sorry, I just—’
‘Elle, you don’t need to apologise. I’m not offended. I wouldn’t think twice about kicking someone out of my office when I was trying to work.’
When he brought a coffee over, I realised I’d been staring at my notes again.
‘Who is that?’ Stephen stepped over to the window.
‘Huh?’ I looked over. Crap, I’d left the blind open. How long had it been like that? ‘Oh, that’s Mr Biggins.’
‘Does he always stare at you?’
‘Only when I leave the blind open.’
I watched Stephen glare across the narrow alleyway at my neighbour until Mr Biggins actually retreated. Seemingly satisfied, he went back into the kitchen and brought out a sandwich. On a clean plate and everything.
‘Oh wow, is that for me?’
‘Uh-huh. Judging by the packets of crisps and chocolate bar wrappers everywhere, I’m guessing you haven’t been eating too well.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s fuel.’
‘It’s terrible fuel.’
‘Don’t judge me, please.’
‘I’m not judging, I’m…’ He paused. ‘I’m speaking from experience.
When I got my graduate position at my firm the pressure to work twenty-four/seven was intense; I used to eat terribly.
Picking up burgers on my way home before I fell into bed and then a muffin on the way to work.
It feels easier but it leaves you sluggish and you don’t work as efficiently. ’
I nodded, a little too freaked out by the way he was comparing the demands of my career to his, like it was of equal importance – not just a hobby.
I couldn’t think what to say in response, so I picked up the sandwich and took a massive bite.
Cheese and tomato. My favourite. Was I dreaming?
Had I actually passed out in the middle of writing?
I hoped I hadn’t accidentally deleted all my progress if that was the case.
‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come over to my place for the day?’
‘Why?’ I mumbled around a mouthful of food.
He sat on the arm of my sofa. ‘It’s ridiculously hot in here, Elle.
If you’re not eating and drinking properly and you’re sitting in this heat, you’re going to get ill.
My air-con is fully functioning and I have work of my own to do, too.
I’ll make sure you are fed and watered while you write.
You’re making your brain work twice as hard this way. ’
Good Lord, the thought of being ten degrees cooler was very tempting. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I hate to think of you sweating yourself into dehydration over here, existing on nothing but Hershey kisses and coffee, whilst your perverted neighbour leers at you. Beth would kill me if she knew I’d left you here like this. What do you say?’
So Beth was the reason again. He just wanted to keep his soon-to-be-sister-in-law happy. ‘I don’t know.’
The smile slipped from his face as though he was reading my mind. ‘See it as a sign of appreciation for how much you’ve helped me. I swear I won’t bother you.’
I tugged the crust free from my sandwich.
He was pretty good at keeping to the rules and he seemed to get how important it was for me to get back to work.
If he started distracting me, I could always come home again.
It would be so amazing to get out of this heat; now I wasn’t concentrating on my writing, I felt so tired.
I had to keep going and a change of scenery would really help.
A few weeks ago I’d never contemplated a situation where saying “yes” to an invite back to his place would be a sensible decision, but bizarrely, here we were. ‘OK.’