Chapter Nineteen – Elliott
I don’t want this day to end, Elliott’s bear said as they followed Rachel’s car back from the creek.
Neither do I, Elliott replied, his eyes on her taillights ahead of him.
By the time he pulled into the driveway behind her, Lucy was already out of the car, still talking about the creek and the fish she was sure had been watching them from under the rocks.
Aria climbed out more quietly with the folded blanket in her arms, looking sun-tired now while Lucy still seemed to be running on pure momentum.
Elliott took the pastry box from the passenger seat and followed them to the door.
“We beat you,” Lucy announced.
“You did,” he said. “I never had a chance.”
Rachel opened the front door, and the girls went in ahead of them, scattering damp shoes across the floor as they filled the house with happy voices. Elliott stepped inside and took a moment to fully absorb the moment. Because this time it was different. It felt different.
Before, when he came here to bake the cake, Rachel had held him at arm’s length. Not wanting to hear the truth about their connection.
Tonight, he was here because Rachel wanted him here. Because she had accepted him and the truth about their connection.
“Okay, girls,” Rachel called to her daughters, who had gone upstairs. “Bath, clean clothes, and then we’ll have dinner.”
“Okay,” Lucy called back. “We’ll be quick because I am starving.”
“Do you want me to help cook dinner?” he asked.
“I got most of dinner ready before we left,” she said, taking the pastry box from him and setting it on the counter. “I thought we’d all be too tired to start from scratch once we got back.”
“That was smart.”
She glanced at him, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I’ve learned the hard way to think ahead. There is nothing worse than getting back from a lovely day out and cooking a meal with two hungry girls hovering in the kitchen, believe me.”
“I do,” Elliott replied. “As one of six brothers, I can still recall raiding the fridge while my mom tried to cook dinner. She’d often send us back out for half an hour on some errand just to get us out from under her feet.”
“I can’t tell you how much I admire your mom. Six boys.” Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think I’d survive that.”
Rachel opened the fridge and took out a bowl of pasta smothered in a rich tomato sauce, a plate covered in foil, and a jug of orange juice. “You can help if you like.”
Elliott stepped closer at once. “Tell me what to do.”
For a moment, she looked at him, then handed him a knife and nudged the tomatoes toward him. “Slice those. And there’s salad leaves to wash.”
“On it.”
This is how it should be, his bear said happily. With one difference.
And that is? Elliott asked as he sliced the tomatoes while she slid the pasta bake into the oven and set out plates.
I should have been playing in the creek with them, his bear said wistfully. Just imagine, I could shake and shower them with water. That would make them laugh.
It sure would, Elliott agreed.
By the time the girls came down in their pajamas, hair damp and faces clean, dinner was on the table, and they all settled down to eat.
“Next time you come for dinner, can we make one of the recipes you learned when you were abroad?” Aria asked as she forked pasta into her mouth.
“Yes, something… exotic,” Lucy said, as if testing the word. “Like, maybe a dragon fruit.”
“A dragon fruit?” Rachel glanced at her daughter. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s just a fruit, I read about it, it’s pink,” Lucy replied.
“I bet our fairies would like to try dragon fruit,” Aria said, glancing toward the window.
“Did you know we have fairies in the garden?” Lucy asked Elliott.
“I did not,” Elliott replied in all seriousness.
“Well, we haven’t seen them,” Aria said solemnly.
“But we built such a wonderful fairy house, they must have moved in. But they are secretive and don’t like to come out when people are around,” Lucy said. “But I’m sure they’d come out if we had dragon fruit pie.”
“Or dragon fruit cookies,” Aria said.
“Or maybe even your orange cookies,” Lucy said, looking toward the cake box.
“But not my pasta bake?” Rachel teased, looking a little offended.
“Mom,” Lucy began. “I love your pasta bake, but it’s not exotic, is it?”
“No, but it’s really good,” Elliott said, raising his fork to Rachel.
“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now, eat up, girls, or else no one will be getting a cookie.”
As they ate, Lucy asked whether people really ate bugs anywhere, and after that, he found himself in a serious discussion with Aria about whether a creek fish would rather live beneath a flat rock or near the reeds.
Through it all, Rachel listened more than she spoke, and he could feel that something in her had eased since the last time he shared dinner with them.
She wasn’t watching every moment anymore.
She was simply enjoying this time they shared.
When their plates were cleared, Rachel set the cake box down on the table and flipped it open. They each took a cookie or a cake and ate in companionable silence. Mainly because the girls were starting to flag. Their day at the creek had finally caught up with them.
Rachel stood first. “Right. Teeth.”
Lucy groaned as if this had come as a personal shock. Aria slid from her chair without protest and headed for the stairs.
“I can clear the table,” Elliott said, reaching for the plates before Rachel had a chance to.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Rachel looked at him for a second, then nodded. “All right.”
Elliott carried the plates to the sink while Rachel wrapped leftovers and put the orange juice back in the fridge.
“They’ll sleep well tonight,” he said.
“They’d better.” Rachel opened the cake box, looked at what was left, and then closed it again. “Though the sugar may have been a tactical error.”
“I’m not sure. They looked pretty done in.”
“Ah, but a sugar rush can give them a second wind. Believe me, I have experience in this area of parenting.”
He laughed softly, and she smiled without quite looking at him.
“I should go and check they are getting ready for bed.”
Elliott dried his hands. “Go on. I’ve got this.”
She hesitated, then said, “Thank you,” and headed upstairs.
He stacked the plates, covered the remaining pastries properly, wiped down the counters that didn’t need it, and found himself smiling at nothing.
He could picture it all without seeing it: Lucy still talking with her eyes half closed, Aria dozing over her book, Rachel moving between them with that quiet patience that held the whole house together.
By the time she came back down, the kitchen was spotless.
She stopped on the last step and looked at the room, then at him.
“You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had practice.” He met her gaze. “I worked at the restaurant for several years growing up. As you know, my mom runs a tight ship.”
“That she does,” Rachel agreed. “It’s what I like about working there. You know exactly what is expected, and everyone works to that high standard. It’s a refreshing change.”
He set the cloth down, not wanting to talk about the restaurant. “How are they?”
“Asleep. Even though Lucy insisted she wasn’t tired. But by the time I had gone into Aria, she was snoring quietly, in the way tired kids do.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Then the house went still again.
Rachel came the rest of the way into the kitchen. “It was a good day.”
“It was.”
“The girls will be talking about it for weeks.”
“They’re not the only ones,” he murmured as he saw, with sudden clarity, how much he wanted more evenings like this.
Dinner. Sleepy children upstairs. Rachel in her kitchen, him beside her.
The thought must have shown somewhere in his face, because something changed in hers.
“Come here,” she whispered.
How could he not obey?
When he stopped in front of her, Rachel lifted her hand and rested it against his shirt. “I kept thinking about you all through dinner.”
“Only through dinner?” he murmured, teasingly.
That earned him a soft breath of laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Her fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt. “I mean it.”
He slipped his arm lightly around her waist, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
Instead, she tipped her face up, and he kissed her.
The first touch was gentle, almost careful, as if both of them still felt the nearness of the sleeping girls. But Rachel made a quiet sound against his mouth that swept away any doubt, and when she moved closer, he drew her fully against him.
He kissed her again, slower this time, tasting orange on her mouth, feeling the warmth of her, the slight unsteadiness in the breath she took when his hand moved over her back. Rachel’s hands slid up to his shoulders and then into his hair, and the faint pull of her fingers sent heat through him.
“Rachel,” he said against her lips.
She answered by kissing him more deeply.
That was enough.
He gathered her in closer, his arm tightening around her waist, the other lifting to cradle the back of her head.
Rachel drew back just enough to look at him, her cheeks flushed now, her mouth soft from kissing. “I should probably tell you to go home.”
“Probably.”
She smiled a little, but her hands did not leave him. “I’m not very good at doing the sensible thing.”
“No?” he murmured.
“No.”
She took his hand then, simple as that, and led him from the kitchen without another word.
The house had gone dark and quiet by the time they crossed the hall. Rachel paused once, listening, but the house was quiet. Then she led him upstairs to her room.
He stopped just inside the doorway.
Not because he was uncertain.
Because this was different.
Not the privacy of his cabin. Not a night made possible because the girls were elsewhere. This was Rachel’s room. Rachel’s bed.
And she was bringing him into it.
Rachel turned back when she realized he had gone still. “What is it?”
He shook his head once. “Just this.”