Letter Nine #3
Inside, I wandered into the kitchen, feeling a strange mixture of relief and defeat at the same time. You turned from the stove, where you were busy prepping your kettle for our tea. “Are you okay?”
“Yep,” I said, flinging open the fridge. “Just peachy.”
“Are you sure?” you asked softly. “Seemed like Michael might’ve hurt your feelings earlier.”
There you were again, trying to tug the truth loose when I only wanted to give you the lie.
I didn’t know how to explain the crushing fear that you’d been lying when you said you didn’t feel stuck with me, or that I felt stuck, too, doomed to repeat the same things over and over, because Nic kept me locked in that house.
I didn’t know how to explain the way you made me feel—crazy, powerless, sometimes desperate—because I didn’t completely understand those crazy new feelings myself.
I lowered my water bottle, propped my hip against the island, and turned your truth-pulling shit back around on you. “I’m fine. Why are you trying to avoid coming to the Cape with us this summer?”
You shrugged. “I feel my time might be better spent working at the pub back home.”
“Better spent? Is hanging out with us really that awful?”
“No,” you said, head shaking. “I don’t mean to imply that. I just don’t feel comfortable letting your dad pay my way when I’m fully capable of paying it myself.”
“But he wants to, Casey. Paying your bills is nothing to him.”
“It’s something to me. I’m not his responsibility.”
“That’s fair. But he does consider you part of our family now. So it would be cool to have you there this summer.” I looked down. Shrugged. Shuffled my feet. “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Yeah—if you want to, I mean. No pressure or anything.”
You chuckled under your breath. “Tell you what. I’ll go—but only if you want me to go.”
I lifted my head to look at you. “I literally just said it would be cool to have you there.”
“Yes, but I need to be sure you actually want that,” you said, your expression turning serious.
“I just said I did.”
“I want you to say it, Elliot.” A challenge glimmered in your gaze as it held mine. Or maybe it was more like a dare. Whatever the hell it was, that—coupled with the rough timbre of your voice—made my stomach flutter.
I swear, Casey. It’s like you always knew how to ask for the very thing it pained me to give you.
To ask for the word want, specifically, was like asking me to rip out my own tooth.
I had to mentally prepare myself, and even then, my chest burned as I said it.
Not because I didn’t want you there. Because I wanted it too much.
“I actually”—I closed my eyes, forcing air through my nose—“kind of want you there.”
“Kind of?” you asked, eyebrows lifting. “Fine. Suppose I’m better off going back home.”
“Wait,” I said as you turned back to the stove, and you paused, grasping the burnished brass handle of your kettle. “I want you there, okay? Please”—I took a deep breath—“please come.”
“Okay,” you said with a smile, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll come. But only because you want that.”
I held back the retort inching across my tongue and reached for my water bottle, needing the distraction. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped.” I rolled my eyes. “Again.”
You studied my face for a moment, then said, “I meant what I said before. I don’t feel stuck here with you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I really don’t,” you said with a small smile, hands jammed in your pockets.
“It feels a bit like I’ve acquired a small, yappy dog—you know?
At first, there was loads of growling, and she threatened to bite me a time or two.
But now that she’s sniffed about and realizes I don’t mean her any harm, she snuggles real close when we watch TV, lets me teach her new things, and gets particularly excited when I offer her treats.
I think I’ve finally won her over, and I feel pretty good about that. ”
It was my please. It had made you cocky. I blinked, fighting the urge to take it all back. “Did you just compare me to a dog?”
“Oh, is that not alright?” you asked, a hand pressed to your chest. “It’s just that you recently likened me to a golden retriever or something. So I thought it might be okay to return the sentiment.”
I gaped. I crossed my arms. I might have even snorted.
“Listen,” you said with a grin so gorgeous my pulse skipped, your eyes twinkling again, back to that dazzling ocean blue, “all I’m trying to say is, I enjoy being here.
In some strange, unexpected way…it feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
” Your gaze gently swept over me. “I’m glad I came back to you. ”
My heart beat faster at the reminder of that text I’d sent on your birthday. I guess it kind of cheered me to know that it had also meant something to you.
Still, I said, “Well, I was, too. Until you basically compared me to a chihuahua.”
Still grinning, you ushered me into a stool. “Here, sit down. I’ll give you extra biscuits with your tea.”
I huffed—but laughed—as I swatted your arm. “That doesn’t help your case right now.”
You laughed, too, and the sound was glorious.
Maybe, I thought, being stuck in this house isn’t so terrible, after all.