Chapter 11 #2
The fry slips inside my mouth, slowly, and for the briefest moment, his fingers brush my lip, lingering as I close them. Sparks flare in a way I can't ignore, heat pooling, pulse hammering.
Thank goodness nobody is around to witness whatever this is.
Slowly, I chew, the salt and grease hitting my tongue and making my mouth water. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until now. Elijah doesn't touch his food. Not at first. He just watches me, eyes steady, unreadable, waiting until I swallow.
Then he grins.
“Good girl.”
It's quiet. Casual. Like it means nothing.
It absolutely does not mean nothing with the way my ovaries just flipped, and my vagina melted.
I have to look away before he sees just how badly that single phrase wrecked me.
I tighten my hold around the edge of the table like I need grounding.
Possibly to stop me from doing something stupid.
God, get it together, Willow.
He nods once to my chips, telling me to carry on before he picks up one of his burgers. He takes a bite so casually, like he hasn't completely derailed my ability to think straight.
“So,” I say lightly, even as I try—and fail—to ignore the way my body keeps betraying me, “this is your idea of a proper meal?”
I dislike this man. Or at least… I did. I remind myself of that while Elijah licks his lips, slow and absentminded, and my brain very helpfully supplies a thousand inappropriate thoughts about what that tongue could do.
Jesus Christ. I need an orgasm. Or two. That has to be it. I’m touch-starved, deprived of feeling good even if it is for just a few minutes, and he's the only man I've been around for weeks. That's all this is.
Obviously.
“Compared to the plastic crap you were eating? Yeah. It qualifies, but while we’re not in the house, you can tell me what happened between you and Rose.”
I eat another chip, and I don't miss the flash of satisfaction that crosses his face when I actually eat more.
“What’s stopping you from asking her?”
“Because I don't believe her.”
Simple
I pause. “And you believe me over your wife?”
He doesn't answer right away. Finishes his burger and wipes his hands as he thinks.
“Try me. Tell me what she said, and I’ll let you know.”
I exhale through my nose, irritation prickling. “Fine. She trashed my dad. Told me I need a full makeover because I look like shit.” I roll my eyes. “And apparently she wants to set me up with some idiot so I can give her a bunch of grandbabies.”
The second the words leave my mouth, Elijah sucks too hard on his straw and chokes, coughing as his drink splashes across the table. I stare at the spreading mess while he continues to cough, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” he manages hoarsely. “She what?”
I calmly pick up a mozzarella bite. “Congrats,” I say dryly. “You really won in the wife department.”
A small, bitter laugh slips out of me as he wipes the drink up. “My dad did the right thing by leaving her.” What I don't understand is how Elijah, who was my dad's best friend, could do something like that to him.
His jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line.
“She’s my ex-wife.”
“Wait—what?” I stare at him, the words not quite landing. “That doesn't… that doesn't make sense.”
Elijah leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the empty seat next to him. “It does,” he replies quietly. “Think about it. Have you actually seen us together since you moved in?”
I open my mouth, then stop. He has a point; they haven't been together. He's spent most of his time with me.
“No,” I admit. “But you went away together.”
A muscle in his cheek tightens. “Believe me, it was a shit holiday.”
“Then why is she still living there?”
This time, he doesn't answer me straight away. He reaches for his drink, turns the cup slowly between his hands, before finally meeting my eyes. “River doesn't know. And legally, we’re still married; she just won't sign the papers.”
Of course, she won't.
I nod once, more to myself than him, and brush my thumb over a loose thread on my sleeve. “Can I ask why you're divorced?”
“You can, and I might just give you an answer.”
I shoot him an unimpressed look, and his mouth twitches, holding back a smug grin. “I realised I hadn't loved her for a long time.” His jaw sets. “And she cheated.”
The words land heavily.
My shoulders stiffen before I can stop myself.
“I know,” he adds, watching the reaction I try to hide. “You're probably thinking I deserved it.”
I glance down, press my lips together, then look back up. “Maybe… a little.”
That earns a quiet huff of a laugh. He nudges my foot with his under the table. “I deserved that.”
His expression shifts, the humour draining away. “Just don't tell River yet.”
I hesitate. “You're asking me to lie to him.”
“No.” He immediately shakes his head. “I’m asking you to wait. I need to be the one to tell him. Rose doesn’t want him to know, and she doesn’t even want the divorce.”
I sink back in my seat as I think it over. I can see how much this eats at him—how unnatural it feels for him to keep anything from his son.
I never kept anything from mine.
“Okay, I won't say anything.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
I meet his eyes, a small smile pulling at my lips. “You do. And I will never forget.”
We finish our meal in a comfortable silence, one that feels natural rather than awkward. As we make our way home, a wave of exhaustion wraps around me like a cosy blanket. For the first time in what feels like ages, I drift off into a deep, restful sleep.