Chapter Eighteen
Elodie! We love Elodie!
Lyra
It’s been six days – nearly a full week – since I last saw Jove, and I am… confused. So. Flagging. Confused.
I thought we were doing the fake dating trope? So why does it feel like I’m in a miscommunication trope instead?
Except… he did communicate. Clearly. He showed up to my house, gave me the best letter I have ever received, told me he wants me in his life forever and ever, and asked me to be his fake girlfriend. At no point was he anything but straightforward.
“Do you think he changed his mind?” Elodie asks through the phone, dishes clinking in the background as water runs.
“Maybe?” I reply, speaking loudly for the speakerphone to pick up my voice as I clink my own dishes. “But he seemed so sure , you know?”
She does know, of course, because I have explained it to her. At length. Repeatedly.
“Maybe he’s trying to give you space, then? Or he’s in his writing cave doing writing cave things. Big grumpy men kind of just do whatever they want to, I’m learning. It’s like the height and the shoulders have replaced their brains. ”
“Uh.” My clinking stops. “Jove isn’t really all that grumpy, honestly. Just… big. And not very worried about the law.”
“What is it about giant men that think they are above the rest of society’s rules?” she asks as her clinking escalates to more of a clunking.
Um. “El, is there something you’d like to talk about?” I ask, wondering why my happy-go-lucky, carefree cousin is suddenly sounding not so happy-go-lucky or carefree, and doubly wondering why it seems like this shift is because of a man .
Elodie is not a man-hater. Elodie is, in fact, often so loose with her affections as to cause me concern.
Not for her, of course, but for the trail of broken hearts she leaves behind her, totally oblivious to the yearning she inspires.
With a single look, she can have a boy so wrapped around her finger he won’t know which way is up without her telling him, but she has no clue.
She’s sweet, kind, funny, and so bright it’s nearly blinding.
A welcome light in a world full of darkness.
So why is she sounding more grump than sunshine right now?
On the other end of the phone, Elodie takes a huge breath in, then blows it out. “No, sorry. We’re talking about you right now.”
My brows furrow. “But-”
“It’s fine, Ly,” she interrupts. “I’m just being my usual drama. You know me.”
My mouth opens, ready to refute whatever nonsense that was, but she keeps going.
“He probably wrote you back, right? Maybe the issue isn’t Jove. Maybe the issue is the postal system?”
Huh. “The postal system,” I repeat, mulling it over. “Usually Brianna is pretty quick with it, but… I could see th at.”
“There we have it, then!” she declares. “Problem solved! Your best friend doesn’t hate you, isn’t ghosting you, and definitely still wants you in his life. All of your problems are because of what usually causes all our problems. The government.”
I snort. “You’re so right.”
She laughs too, her pretty fairy laugh, and I remember all over again why Elodie has always been my favorite.
“Don’t think I forgot about your man troubles,” I tell her as our laughter dwindles down. “I want a run down on that.”
She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. When I know something, you’ll know something.”
“Oh?” I ask. “So there is something to know?”
“No,” she says. “There is absolutely not one single thing to know.”
My reply is cut short by a distant, distinctly masculine, “Sweet? You home?” coming from my phone. Possibly I choke on my shock.
“Oop,” Elodie squeaks. “Gotta go! Tell Jove I said hi! Love you, bye!”
A beep, and she’s gone.
“Sweet?” I ask the suds in my sink. “He calls her sweet?” I’m not swooning, you are.
The rest of my chore time is spent daydreaming my dear cousin’s whirlwind romance to a man who calls her sweet. These pleasant musings see me through my evening and late into the night, where they lull me to sleep, replacing worries about Jove’s lack of contact, which is sure to end soon.
Right?