11. Elsie
Eleven
Elsie
Our waitress returns carrying another colorful plate.
“Rainbow Roll.”
“Ooh!”
I clap my hands once before I can stop myself.
“You have to try this.”
He looks from the sushi to me, clearly amused.
Before he can answer, I've already picked up a piece with my chopsticks and am holding it out toward him.
“Open.”
He blinks.
“You're feeding me?”
I grin.
“Sure, I mean, if you've suddenly forgotten how.”
“I was just making sure.”
“Quit talking.”
He laughs and leans forward, letting me feed him.
For one ridiculous second, my heart completely melts.
It's such a tiny thing.
Sharing food.
Something I've done with friends and family a thousand times.
But somehow...
This feels different.
Intimate.
His eyes close briefly as he chews.
Fresh tuna.
Salmon.
Avocado.
The corners of his mouth lift.
He hums.
“Okay...”
I beam.
“Right?”
He nods.
“That's really good.”
“I told you.”
The ridiculous amount of satisfaction I get from him liking something I picked shouldn't make me so happy.
And yet...
It absolutely does.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
“Oh?”
“You have to share yours now.”
He picks up a piece of his Crazy Dragon Roll and holds it toward me.
“This one has a little kick.”
“I like spicy.”
His gorgeous green eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I thought you might.”
“You did?”
“You don't strike me as someone who plays it safe.”
I tilt my head.
“What gave me away?”
“You quit a corporate career to open an occult bookstore in a small town.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Small town.”
I lean forward and take the bite directly from his chopsticks.
Our eyes meet for just a second before I look away.
Oh...
That was...
Dangerously intimate.
The spicy mayo hits first.
Then the crunch.
Then the warmth of the jalapeno.
“Oh...”
I chew thoughtfully.
“Oh, that's delicious.”
“I know.”
“Can I steal another one?”
His smile is immediate.
“You can steal all of them.”
I shake my head.
“No.”
I reach across the table anyway, plucking one from his plate.
“We're sharing.”
The words leave my mouth so naturally that I don't think about them until after I've said them.
Sharing.
Funny.
I've spent so much of my adult life eating rushed lunches at my desk, grabbing airport sandwiches between flights, or ordering takeout for one that I'd almost forgotten how nice it is to simply share a meal.
Without anyone looking at their phone.
Without checking the time.
Without feeling like there was somewhere more important to be.
Graham doesn't seem to mind one bit when I steal another bite of avocado from his plate.
Or when I insist he try a piece of my spicy tuna roll.
Or when I nudge my dessert menu toward him before I've even decided what I want.
Everything feels...
Easy.
Comfortable.
Like we've somehow skipped all the awkward getting-to-know-you stages, and landed somewhere warm and familiar.
It doesn't make any sense.
I've only known him for like an hour.
So why does sitting across from him feel...
Safe? Familiar? Right?
A flood of warmth fills my body, and I close my eyes for a moment willing my hormones to behave.
Whatever wacky hormone dump I’ve got going on right now? I simply can’t jump my lunch date, for fuck’s sake.
“So,” he asks after a sip of iced tea, “what made you leave corporate America?”
I laugh softly, turning my attention away from my aching center to his laser-like gaze.
“The short version or the really long one?”
“I've got time.”
Something about the way he says it makes me believe him.
No checking his watch.
No glancing at his phone.
Just...
Listening.
“The short version,” I begin, “is that I forgot what made me happy.”
He doesn't interrupt.
He just watches me with those impossible green eyes.
“The long version is that I spent years convincing myself happiness was something I'd get to later.”
I smile ruefully.
“After the next promotion. The next bonus. The next vacation.”
I trace the rim of my water glass with one finger.
“And then one day I realized...”
I glance out the restaurant window where people wander along Main Street without a care in the world.
“... later isn't promised.”
The words come out quieter than I intended.
“So I quit.”
“Were you scared?”
I laugh.
“Terrified.”
“But?”
“But...”
I meet his eyes again.
“I was more afraid of staying.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
He just nods.
Like he understands.
Really understands.
“So now,” I say with a smile, “I own a bookstore.”
“And a coffee shop.”
I laugh and nod.
“And a coffee shop.”
“And you're happy.”
My smile softens.
It feels different answering him.
Like the truth matters.
“Well, Graham, I think I am. Or I’m starting to be.”
His answering smile is small.
Warm.
Like hearing that somehow means something to him.
“So what about you?” I ask. “You've mentioned songwriting.”
His shoulders relax against the booth.
“Well, I've always written music.”
He tells me about winning a televised singing competition.
“Oh my God, you did? I am such a dope,” I say, embarrassed by my lack of recognition.
“You are no such thing. Not everyone watched reality TV, Honey,” he says with a grin.
“So, you’re famous?”
“Not really,” he lies. I know it’s a lie because, hello, he must be. But he’s trying to make me feel better for not knowing who he is, and I decide to let him.
He keeps talking, and I listen to him intently. I eat up his stories.
About touring.
About sold-out venues.
About fans who knew every lyric he'd ever written.
I blink.
“Wait...”
I point at him.
“How are you telling me you're not famous if you’ve got like mega fans?”
He winces.
“It’s okay, Elsie. Out on a stage, my fame might mean something but here? Nah. I’m just me.”
“Oh my God, I've been on a date with a celebrity this whole time?”
“I prefer musician.”
“I can't believe I didn't recognize you.”
“I kind of like that you didn't.”
I study him.
“Really?”
He nods.
“People think fame changes everything.”
“Did it?”
He thinks for a moment.
“It changed a lot.”
“But?”
“It didn't change what mattered.”
I don't know why that answer hits me so hard.
Maybe because it's exactly what I wanted him to say.
Maybe because he doesn't sound like someone chasing applause.
He sounds like someone looking for somewhere to belong.
“I like that answer.”
His smile deepens.
Not the practiced smile of someone used to posing for pictures.
A genuine one.
One that reaches those beautiful green eyes.
“Yeah? Well, I like you, Elsie Stevens. A lot. And I don’t want our date to end.”
My heart is pounding inside my chest. For a moment we just stare at each other.
Then, I nod.
Because I don’t want it to end either.
After lunch, Graham takes me to the Barvale Arboretum.
Summer is showing off.
Butterflies drift lazily through beds of lavender.
Bees hum between bright yellow coneflowers.
Children laugh somewhere near a koi pond while their parents sit on nearby benches.
I can't seem to stop wandering with him.
“Oh!”
I hurry toward a blooming magnolia.
“Look at this.”
He follows without complaint.
Every time I stop...
He stops.
Every time I kneel to admire a mushroom growing beside the path...
He crouches beside me.
When a family of ducks waddles across the trail...
He waits while I quietly count the ducklings.
“You notice everything,” he says.
I glance up.
“Don't you?”
He smiles.
“Not like you.”
I trail my fingertips across the velvety petals of a deep red rose.
“I spent years too busy to notice anything.”
The admission surprises even me.
“I promised myself I'd never live like that again.”
He doesn't answer right away.
He just...
Looks at me.
Not a quick glance.
Not the polite kind of eye contact people make during conversation.
He really looks at me.
Like I'm the only thing in the entire arboretum worth noticing.
The afternoon breeze stirs the leaves overhead, dappling sunlight across his face.
Somewhere behind us, a fountain trickles into the koi pond.
Children laugh in the distance, birds chatter from the trees, and a bee lazily drifts from flower to flower.
The whole world keeps moving.
Yet somehow...
Everything between us feels perfectly still.
Being looked at like this should make me self-conscious.
It should make me wonder if my hair is frizzy from the humidity or if I have soy sauce on my shirt from lunch.
Instead...
It makes me feel seen.
Like he's looking past all of that.
Like he sees me.
The woman who traded business suits for bookshelves.
The woman who still believes a little magic might exist somewhere in the world.
The woman who has somehow spent an entire afternoon forgetting to check the time because she'd rather listen to him laugh.
My heart does a funny little flip.
Then another.
Graham takes one slow step toward me.
Instinctively, I straighten.
Now we're standing so close I can smell him.
Fresh air.
Cedar.
Something warm and clean that reminds me of sunshine on flannel.
He's so tall I have to tip my chin up just to meet those incredible forest green eyes.
My pulse skips.
We're almost touching.
Almost.
The space between us couldn't be more than a few inches.
Close enough that every warm breath he exhales brushes across my skin.
Close enough that I swear I can hear his heartbeat...
Or maybe that's mine.
It feels like it's trying to escape my chest.
Come on, Elsie.
Say something.
Do something.
Anything.
Instead, I just stand there staring at him like an idiot.
He's looking at me with the same hesitant hope that's been hiding behind every smile he's given me today.
Like he wants this.
But he'll wait as long as I need.
The realization settles warmly inside me.
He's giving me the choice.
He's waiting for me.
And suddenly...
I don't want him to wait anymore.
Before I can lose my nerve, I lift my hands.
Slowly.
My fingertips brush the front of his shirt.
The soft cotton gives beneath my touch.
I smooth my palms upward over the solid warmth of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my hands before resting them lightly on his broad shoulders.
He draws in a sharp breath.
A low hiss escapes him.
His eyes flutter closed for the briefest second.
“Oh, Honey...”
His voice comes out rough.
Almost strained.
“You don't know what you do to me.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Maybe I don't.
But I think I'd like to find out.
“Then show me, Graham.”
My voice barely rises above a whisper.
“Kiss me.”
His eyes search mine one last time.
Checking.
Making sure.
Giving me every opportunity to change my mind.
I don't.
Not even a little.
He bends down slowly.
So slowly that every inch he closes feels like its own tiny eternity.
My stomach fills with butterflies.
Our breaths mingle.
Warm.
Unsteady.
My hands tighten ever so slightly against his shoulders.
His gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips and back again.
The anticipation is almost unbearable.
I feel stretched impossibly tight, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
Every nerve in my body seems to wake at once.
Waiting.
Wanting.
Just one more inch...
Just one...
Then—
Voices.
Loud ones.
And they’re getting closer.
The spell shatters.
Graham's eyes close briefly, and a quiet laugh escapes him, as if the interruption pains him as much as it does me.
Instead of the kiss I'd been bracing myself for, he gently presses his lips against my forehead.
The touch is featherlight.
Tender.
Unexpectedly sweet.
Warmth blooms all the way to my toes.
I let out the breath I'd been holding without even realizing it.
When he pulls back, he's smiling.
Not disappointed.
Not frustrated.
Just...
Looking at me like kissing my forehead was every bit as important as kissing my lips.
And somehow...
That makes my heart race even harder.
We continue the walk through the arboretum and somehow I fell like I’m in a fairytale.
Later that afternoon we're driving with the windows down.
Warm summer air fills the truck.
Rock music hums softly through the speakers.
Neither of us seems in any hurry for the day to end.
“This has been...”
I smile out the passenger window.
“... really nice.”
“It has.”
Silence settles comfortably between us.
Not awkward.
Peaceful.
I spot the sign ahead.
Lake Ursa.
“I've got a question.”
“Ask me anything, Honey.”
“Have you ever gone to Lake Ursa?”
He nods.
“I have.”
“I haven't.”
I turn toward him.
“I was wondering if we could go. Maybe sit by the water and talk.”
His eyes flick briefly toward mine before returning to the road.
“Of course.”
The smile that spreads across my face feels impossible to stop.
I have no idea why.
I just know I don't want this unexpectedly wonderful date to end.