Chapter 7
Ellis is active on social media. He posts at least every week, and mostly about plants.
I’m in my big reading chair by the window overlooking a canyon dotted with oaks and chaparral. I’ve lit several scented candles and am sipping from a mug of steaming decaf coffee. My foolproof method for sobering up before crawling into bed.
Betty is grooming herself and chirping happily for once as I scroll through Ellis’s feed.
He likes to document the progress he’s making on the river restoration project.
But he also likes taking pictures and videos of him and his friends going out, playing D he likes to touch and taste and enjoy things.
This observation being, of course, absolutely inconsequential in any way.
When we reach my bedroom, I am properly fuzzy headed and from the pink in his cheeks, so is he. We kind of hover in the doorway, looking at the navy-painted walls, the brass light fixtures. My bed is large and soft and the sexy music from the living room is a light strain in this part of the house.
My bare feet touch the edge of my soft antique rug. I feel nervous suddenly. Ellis obviously showed interest in me the other day, but is it still there now that he’s here? With me—a lady with her own house on the cusp of her fortieth birthday?