Chapter 11 #2
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The kitchen is warm, the only sound the clinking of forks against the ceramic plates.
“I’m beat,” I say, finally setting my fork down. “These interviews are draining my soul. I think I scared that last kid away just by staring at him.”
“Same,” Eli admits, finishing his food. “My feet are killing me. And I think I burned my arm on the oven door earlier.”
I glance down at my own arms. My left arm is a tapestry of blue and gray—the lighthouse standing guard on my shoulder, the waves crashing around my bicep, the vintage compass on my inner forearm guiding me forward.
My right arm tells the story of the land and my family—the cluster of herbs, the five interlocking rings for my siblings, the sturdy oak branch. And over my heart, beneath my shirt, the driftwood tree grows.
I was supposed to add to it today. Or this week, at least.
“Are you still heading down to the shop for that tattoo?” Eli asks, following my gaze.
“No. Dax called me an hour ago. Double booking. Again.”
“Again?” Eli frowns. “Isn’t that the second time it’s been postponed?”
“Third time, actually.” I push my plate away.
“He has this new receptionist, some girl who can’t read a calendar to save her life.
She booked a four-hour session for some guy getting a full back piece right in the middle of my slot.
Dax apologized, offered me a discount on the next one, but it’s just… frustrating.”
“Maybe the universe is intervening,” Eli suggests, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe you’re not meant to get this tattoo.”
He is in fact talking about the dice tattoo that I wanted to add on my wrist.
I look at him, deadpan. “Since when do you believe in the universe? You’re a man of science and exact measurements.”
“I believe in signs.” He shrugs. “And you’ve been talking about this new piece for months. Maybe the hold-up is a sign to rethink the design.”
I shake my head. “It’s not the design. It’s the principle. Although… I did fuck this tarot reader three weeks ago who told me I was blocking my own chakras with indecision.”
Eli chokes on his water, coughing. “You slept with a tarot reader? How did I not know this? Did she read your palm or… other things?”
“She read my fortune in more ways than one.” I smirk, leaning back.
“And you didn’t know because you’ve been a little distracted lately, brother.
You’ve been walking around with your head in the clouds, smelling like a flower shop.
I haven’t had a chance to tell you about my love life because you’ve been too busy hiding yours. ”
Eli adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit I’ve noticed him doing more often lately. He picks up his water glass, taking a long sip to avoid my eyes. “You, Fallon McKenna, do not have a love life. A sex life? Sure. Love life? No.”
“You’re deflecting. Give me details about the florist. Go.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” I stand up, rinsing my plate in the sink. “When are you going to tell me about Amber? And don’t say ‘there’s nothing to tell,’ because I saw your face when you brought those flowers home. You looked like a lovestruck teenager.”
Eli sighs, setting his glass down on the counter with a clink. He looks down at his hands, then up at me. A faint flush creeps up his neck.
“She’s… she’s pretty,” he admits, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s funny. And she’s incredibly hardworking. She runs that shop mostly on her own, deals with crazy brides, takes care of her daughter. She’s resilient.”
“I know all that. I met her, remember?” I dry my hands on a towel. “The question is, why aren’t you with her right now? It’s Sunday evening. It’s almost seven o’clock. Shouldn’t you be wooing her with more lemon tarts?”
Eli’s smile fades slightly. “She had a crisis at the shop. Some big wedding order went wrong, or a supplier messed up. She’s been handling it all day. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“So you like her.”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, the word heavy with emotion. “Fuck. Yeah, I do.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “I don’t know what we are yet. We’re just… having fun. We’re taking it slow. I don’t want to rush her. She’s… she’s got a past, Fallon. Things she’s working through. I don’t want to be another source of stress in her life.”
I study him. Eli is the gentle one, the nurturer. It makes sense that he’d fall for someone who needs healing.
But he doesn’t do casual well. He wears his heart on his sleeve, even when he tries to hide it behind a recipe book.
“Just be careful,” I tell him, my tone softening. “You’re a good guy, Eli. Don’t let yourself get hurt if she’s not ready for what you’re ready to give.”
“I can handle it,” he says, though he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
The silence stretches between us, loaded with unspoken worries. I need a break from the heavy atmosphere. I need butter and salt and flashing lights.
“Alright, enough of the heart-to-heart,” I say, clapping my hands together. “I need to get out of this house. I looked at the listings for the Fox Hollow Cinema. They’re doing a screening of How to Train Your Dragon tonight. The animated one.”
Eli looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “The kids’ movie? Didn’t that come out like ten years ago?”
“It’s a repeat screening. Probably some nostalgia night.” I grab my jacket from the hook by the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Eli wrinkles his nose. “Fallon, we are grown men. We can go to a bar. We can go to the Smokehouse, play darts, you can pick up women. Why do you want to go see a cartoon?”
“Because I’m too tired to deal with people. I don’t want to shout over music. I don’t want to dodge drunk patrons. I want to sit in the dark and eat overpriced popcorn.” I look him dead in the eye. “I miss movie theater popcorn, Eli. Come with me.”
Eli stares at me for a long moment, then glances back at the dining room, at the wilting flowers on the table. He sighs, a long, dramatic exhale.
“Fine,” he says, grabbing his own coat. “Fuck it. Let’s go see the dragons.”
“Excellent choice.” I open the door, grinning. “I’ll even buy the extra large bucket to share.”
“Deal.” He steps out into the cold night air, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But if this sucks, we’re going to get beers.”
“Deal.” I lock the door behind us. The night is clear, the stars bright over the mountains. It’s good to get out, even if it’s just for a cartoon and some popcorn.
The air inside the Fox Hollow Cinema smells like artificial butter, carpet cleaner, and the collective breath of a hundred people waiting to be entertained.
It’s a scent I’ve loved since I was a kid, back when going to the movies felt like an event. Now, it feels like just another thing people do while scrolling on their phones.
“You know,” I say, gesturing around the lobby, “when I was a teenager, going to the movies was a whole thing. It was about the scene. You went to see people, to be seen. Now? Look at this place. It’s sweatpants and hoodies as far as the eye can see. The romance of the theater is dying, Eli.”
I look over at my companion, expecting a nod of agreement or at least a sarcastic comment about my nostalgia for a time that barely existed, but Eli isn’t looking at me. He’s staring past my shoulder, his body language rigid, eyes fixed on the line snaking around the velvet ropes to the left.
“Eli?” I wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Baker Boy. You listening to my cultural critique?”
He blinks, dragging his gaze away from the other line. “What? Sorry. Yeah. Tragic. The death of theater fashion.”
I follow his line of sight, curious about what could drag his attention away from a rant about the good old days.
And then I see her.
Amber.
She’s standing about ten people away, looking different than she did the other morning in the shop. Her hair is pulled up in a high, messy ponytail that exposes the long, elegant line of her neck.
She’s wearing a simple sweater, but she’s got these bright green earrings dangling from her lobes that catch the fluorescent light every time she moves her head.
Next to her is a little girl. She can’t be more than ten, with a wild mass of curls and a pair of oversized red glasses that make her look like a tiny, serious owl.
The kid is talking a mile a minute, her hands flying as she tells a story, and Amber is listening with a smile that seems to reach all the way to her toes.
“Ah,” I say, nudging Eli with my elbow. “I see what’s happening here. That’s your florist.”
Eli flushes, adjusting his glasses nervously. “Yeah.”
“Go talk to her,” I tell him, jerking my chin in their direction. “What are you waiting for?”
He hesitates, clutching his own bucket of popcorn like a shield. “I don’t know, Fallon. They look occupied. It’s family time. I don’t want to intrude.”
Before I can call him a coward, Amber looks up. Her eyes sweep the room, and when they land on us, they widen in surprise. She leans down and says something to the young girl beside her, then they leave the line. She walks toward us, her movements graceful despite the crowded lobby.
“Hey,” she says, stopping a few feet away. Her gaze flickers to Eli, softening instantly. “Hey, Eli.”
“Hi, Amber,” he replies, sounding a little breathless.
“Hi,” I chime in, stepping forward. “I’m Fallon. We met briefly at the restaurant the other day. I’m the one you gave the flowers to. I promise I didn’t read your note.”
Amber laughs, the sound bright and unselfconscious. “I remember. Thank you for that. And this is Maisie.”
The little girl steps up, wrapping her hand around her mom’s fingers. She looks up at me with those giant red glasses, completely unafraid.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Maisie. I lost a tooth yesterday.”
I crouch down so I’m eye-level with her. “No way. That’s a big deal. Did the Tooth Fairy come?”
“Yes! She left two whole dollars under my pillow.” Maisie grins, revealing a charming gap in her bottom row of teeth.