Will
Chapter Fifty-One
Iwasn’t much of an internet stalker, but I could safely admit that I’d Googled Elsie Cameron a few times since she got to town, to no avail.
Apparently, I’d been chasing a dead end, because after realizing I had the wrong name all along, plugging Elspeth Cameron into Google sent me down a rabbit hole of a world I never dreamed my Elsie could be part of.
There she stood, in picture after picture, same red hair, same green eyes—not really the same smile—but it was definitely her.
In gowns. In pearls. At charity events. With politicians. With celebrities. In cities far more glamorous than little old Colbridge could ever offer her.
Apparently her father was from some big name, old money family in Boston and was some higher-up in an investment firm.
I didn’t really understand the logistics, but even without the job, the guy clearly came from money. The type you’re born into, and somehow never really seem to lose.
I couldn’t quite equate the image I had of a coffee-stained, cheeky-grinned, overall-wearing Elsie with the Elspeth Cameron I saw in the photos, but it was her just the same.
At first, I panicked because how could Colbridge—how could I—ever compete with this world she had come from?
But after taking a breath, I realized Elsie sure as hell wasn’t even a fraction as happy in any of those pictures as I saw her every day.
I might not have known her for long, but it didn’t mean I didn’t know her.
This place, this town was meant for her, in a way that superficial social scenes with guys like the one back at her house with the permanently knitted brows never was.
When she came here, I would tell her that. Would spend the rest of my life showing her that this was where she was meant to be.
I was confident. More than confident. Because I was sure there was no other option that could possibly occur to her. Not after everything.
But then she knocked, and the sight of her on my doorstep put the fear of God in me, because what would I do if she wanted to leave?
“Elsie,” I breathed out shakily. “I’m so glad you’re here, because I gotta tell you I was sort of going out of my mind a little.”
She swept into the house, shrugging off her jacket—a good sign?—and pulling something from her satchel.
“Did you send that guy home?” I asked, desperate to know.
“Andrew? Yeah.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told her quickly. “All that matters is right now.”
“Right now, yeah.” She nodded. “But also the future. And I think it’s time I finally force myself to face it.”
“Hey,” I said, tilting my head down to get closer to her eye-level. “Everything’s okay. We’ll figure it out, right?”
Right? Please say yes.
“Well, that’s the thing, Will. I’m here because I think I finally did figure it out. What I have to do.”
I fought the urge to suck in a breath, because not knowing what she meant by that was scarier than anything I remembered facing in recent years.
“I started the night with a big problem.” She exhaled, hugging something to her chest, and finally I noticed it was a thick stack of papers cradled in her arms. “And I think I figured out the only option I have.”
“What do you mean? What’s the problem, Els? Everything is going good here, isn’t it?”
I thought it was.
“It is.” She nodded. “But here’s the thing. I’m skimming the bottom of my savings account. I can’t afford another month’s rent at Mr. Briggs’s place. These are real-life issues I needed to figure out a solution to—”
“That doesn’t matter.” I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Obviously, you’ll stay here with me.”
“So, I was sitting at home thinking,” she ignored me completely, “and I realized one of two things. I could either run home to my parents, apologize for ruining their master plan for my life and go back to the life I was living before.”
Nope. No. No way in hell.
“Or,” she continued, “I could do something else.”
“Or,” I said adamantly. “Whatever the ‘or’ is.”
“Well, that’s pretty much the same conclusion I came to tonight.”
“Which is?” I sounded desperate.
“Will,” she said, handing the heavy weight of papers over to my hands. “Just read. You’ll understand everything after you do. Apparently, I was way less subtle than I’d thought.”
I stared down at the papers, as if they were a bomb that might detonate my life.
“What is this?”
“It’s what I spent the last few months writing.” She stared at it as if it were something precious. “Every thought, hope, or dream I had since moving to town somehow made it in there.”
I traced my finger across the first page, amazed that this thick stack of papers filled with words came entirely from her brain.
“I had myself on a timeline, thinking that if I could somehow finish in three months, it meant I was dedicated, that I had what it took, that I deserved to follow my dreams.”
“And what happened? What conclusion did you come to? Because if it’s the wrong one—”
“Just read it,” she said. “We can talk when you finish.”
I thought it might be actual torture to sit down and read through who knew how many pages before I got to know what decision she made regarding both of our lives, but the other part of me was just as curious to know what type of product Elsie’s imagination could spat out.
“You have to stay while I read,” I warned.
“Of course.” She nodded.
“Okay.” I sighed and led us to the kitchen table. “I guess I better get started, then.”
With her sitting across from me, I brought my eyes down to the page and started to read.
“Wow,” I said, blinking, finally looking up after two hours and about sixty pages later of mine and Elsie’s relationship, chronicled from the very first day. “You really hated me at first.”
“I think it was repressed sexual attraction.” She rolled her eyes, but she looked nervous. As if my opinion meant something to her.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m picking up on that, too.”
“Shut up.” She laughed. “You are not!”
“You described my arms at least four times in the first twenty pages.”
“I took creative liberties.” Her face blushed crimson and tried to snatch the papers out of my hand, but I pulled them out of her reach.
“You also started crushing on me a lot earlier than I thought,” I said, feeling her manuscript and its ending hit me like a serotonin boost. “You could’ve helped a guy out and let me know. That would’ve been useful information.”
“I didn’t know myself!” she protested.
“You knew enough to write about it!” I countered.
“Writing helps me process, William!” She leaped up, still desperate for the pages. “That’s why therapists recommend journaling!”
“This is brilliant, Els. Really. I knew you spent all your time in the café writing, but I never really thought about what it might be like to have the proof of that in my hands. To read it? It’s like looking inside you, a little bit.”
“That sounds awful.” She scrunched her nose. “But…you liked it?”
“I loved it,” I told her honestly.
How could I not? It was practically a time capsule of our whole relationship.
“I loved the way you made me sound way harsher. I loved the way you described the town. I loved the way you wrote about your thought process—really helpful for me, by the way.”
She let out a magical laugh.
“But what I liked best about it all,” I leaned forward until my face was inches from hers, “was the ending. Where she decides to stay and build a new life here.”
“You liked that?” She smiled. “I thought I’d come run it by you first, to see if it’s an ending worth replicating in real life.”
“It’s not an ending,” I told her. “Not even close.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and I pulled her closer, relishing in the blissful feeling of relief.
“Jesus, Els.” I sighed, pulling her head under my chin. “When you got here, I was halfway convinced you were going to tell me you were leaving.”
“I didn’t know for sure myself, until I was writing earlier and realized, who the heck wants to read a book about a heroine that chooses to go back to her dull, unfulfilling life instead of staying with the man she’s in love with?”
I stilled, heartbeat pausing for a moment as her words settled over me.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.
And really, my decision isn’t even entirely to do with you.
It’s about me. And creating the life I want, for the first time ever.
And that just happens to be here. And you happen to be a big part of that. But not all of it. And—”
I couldn’t help it—the babbling sent me over the edge. I loved hearing her talk more than I loved the sound of my favorite song, or the jingling of my keys in the door at the end of a long day.
I pulled her in and kissed her, holding her steady as she nearly lost her footing from the shock of it.
“Elsie.” I pulled back, voice coming out a little breathless.
“Yeah?” She peered at me as if, somehow, even now, she didn’t know what I was going to say.
“I love you, too. You know that, right?”
Her face relaxed at once, and her exhale came out as a soft gasp of relief.
“I was hoping you did. Because otherwise it would make seeing each other around town a little awkward.”
I kissed her again, but somehow the words kept bubbling out of her. A trait I never seemed to get tired of.
“Especially because you’re the only place in town that serves good coffee. And if you didn’t know, I happen to run on the stuff, so—”
“Elsie?” I held her face in my hands.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” I just wanted to say it again.
“I love you, too.”
And it was nice hearing it, too.
“Can I really stay with you?”
I laughed.
“Did you think I’d let you go anywhere else?” I said and leaned in to kiss her.
“I don’t have any money to pay you rent yet.” She broke off from my lips far too soon.
“Elsie, I don’t even pay rent. My grandfather built the cabin.”
“But property taxes, and whatnot, right? We’ll have to pay for that stuff.”
“Not sure if you’re aware,” I said, running a hand down her arm. “But we happen to have a café in town that does decently well, last time I checked.”
“I guess I better learn to use that espresso machine after all.” She looked up at me with all the hope in her eyes that I felt for our future. “Because I was hoping that maybe you’d let me have a job.”
I thought about telling her that I’d pay her to just sit in the café so I could spend all of my days staring at and talking to and being near her, but thought she might already know that, anyway.
“I’m sure we can figure something out.” I landed on instead. “But what about what you want to do for you? Something you love?”
“Glad you asked, because I spent a long time thinking about that tonight,” she said smugly. “I love writing. Always have, always will. But I decided that I don’t need some arbitrary, self-imposed timeline to prove to myself I deserve to follow my passion.”
“Agreed.” I nodded.
“So, I figured, I could take my time, write a story I’m proud of when it comes to me, but in the meantime…I think a slow, quiet life of finding things I love in each day might be exactly what I need.”
“Colbridge is perfect for someone looking for a slow way of life.” My lip turned upward.
“My thoughts exactly,” she said, grinning. “And maybe, just maybe, I could build a life here, as well as anywhere else?”
“Better than anywhere else,” I promised.
“You might get sick of me,” she teased.
“Don’t hold your breath.” I huffed.
“I won’t.” She grinned. “So, what do we do now?”
“I guess we start living the rest of our lives.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what it would look like, but as long as she was there with me for it, I realized I didn’t really care.
She smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
I sighed into her hair. “I do, too.”
“Will?” she asked, voice small and hopeful.
“Yeah, Els?”
“Before we start the rest of our lives, can we get coffee?”
“Yeah, Els.” I laughed. “I think we can arrange that.”