Chapter Forty
Evan
“Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.”
—Othello
Because our work schedules didn’t align at all, we packed every weekend in December with as many activities as we could. Elizabeth found clever ways we could combine or stack some things, and she’d been smart enough to add in relationship-building tasks that we could do any time.
In fact, we knocked off the honest conversation on day one—and every day thereafter.
In the first week, I requested a personal day on Friday night since the observatory was only open to the public then, and we joined with a small group to geek out about astronomy.
I’d been wanting to visit, but I’d needed a little nudge to take the time off.
As much as I’d been awed looking up through the telescope, my mind couldn’t even handle the earthly body of Elizabeth leaning back against me and letting me wrap my arms around her.
It was by far the best date I’d ever had.
The following morning, we strolled through the university, visiting the classrooms where I’d taken physics and calculus, and Elizabeth showed me where she’d studied Chaucer and Romantic poetry.
That night, with the help of one of the staff, we bested an escape room, laughing until we were crying at how bad we were at solving the clues.
Then on Sunday afternoon, we sat side by side at the Writer House, listening in as participants read snippets of their writing, braving feedback from the group. Elizabeth had been anxious until I invited myself along and promised to read something I’d written.
When it came time, I produced a page of a fantasy novel I had no intention of actually finishing, but I’d had fun creating a fake opening.
Even knowing it wasn’t good, I braced for the reaction from the others, expecting at most a pat on the head and an acknowledgment that I’d indeed written a series of words.
But they were kind and encouraged me to keep working on it. I would not. Writing was awful.
Elizabeth took my hand, and I squeezed it tight, letting her know I was with her, sending her courage.
I thought she’d chicken out, but she surprised me by pulling out her phone and standing to read aloud from the novel she’d been working on.
She halted to glance at me after the first few sentences, but she gained confidence and read to the end of the chapter.
And I was mesmerized. I’d known she’d be talented, but she’d made what I’d written sound like a children’s book.
When she finished and sat, her mouth drew into a single line, like she was bracing for the fallout.
Aidan said, “Now that is what I’m talking about when I say you need to ground your characters and make the reader care about them if you want the inciting event to make an impact. This is truly excellent, Elizabeth.”
The rest of the group added kudos, and I couldn’t help think that this was probably the best date she’d ever been on. And with that we knocked off the scary point number nine. “I hope you’ll let me read the rest,” I told her as we left.
To my extreme shock, she said, “I will.”
During the week, when I had a moment free, I researched jobs in meteorology that weren’t at a TV station, wishing I’d turn up something close.
My entire spine tingled when I landed on an opening with the national weather service.
I read through the requirements, growing more excited about the prospect.
I knew I’d qualify, but there was one drawback: it was across the country, in Colorado.
I’d just signed a lease on an expensive rental, but I could afford to break it.
That wasn’t what held me in Charlottesville.
If I was being honest, Elizabeth was tugging me like the moon on the tides, and I found myself factoring her into the equation.
The job was a reach in any case; those serious scientists probably looked down on TV weathermen—like everybody else. Still, I bookmarked it.
Saturday afternoon, I picked Elizabeth up for the drive to Staunton.
We checked into the B&B, got gussied up for dinner at a fancy restaurant, then headed over to the Shakespeare theater for Much Ado About Nothing.
Elizabeth laid her head on my shoulder, and I took that as permission to drape my arm behind her and hold her.
She shook with laughter at the lines in the play, which I had no doubt she had memorized, and I was proud of myself for making her happy like this.
As we walked back to the inn, hand in hand, she said, “You really knocked this one out of the park.”
We hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, and I had no plans to pressure her, even if there was only one bed, but as soon as the door closed, I said, “Can I take a risk?”
“Point number twenty? So soon?”
“It doesn’t feel soon.” I held her hand and gazed into those beautiful blue eyes, summoning the courage to tell her the words I’d kept secret for weeks. “I’m falling in love with you.” That was a lie. Take a risk. “No, not falling. I fell a while ago. I am in love with you.”
She inhaled sharp, her eyes wide with surprise, like I hadn’t been trying to show her my love with every single action. Was it possible she hadn’t felt it? Were the words too soon?
“Looks like we’re going to have to fudge point number ten, then,” she said, lifting her hand to my cheek. “I’m supposed to kiss someone I like on New Year’s Eve.”
When she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine, I stupidly whispered. “You can still kiss me on New Year’s Eve.”
She laughed against my mouth. “But I don’t like you anymore.”
“No?” I needed her to say it.
“No. I don’t just like you.” She kissed me again, this time more sensually, tempting me to beg her, but she gave those words back to me freely. “I love you, too.”
At her confession, something deep inside me cracked open, like the last lie I’d been telling myself finally released itself from my psyche, and I accepted her admission as truth: she loved me.
She’d shown me in so much more than words how she cared for me, but I could have wept in relief that this amazing woman could find me worthy of her love.
My patience broke, and my hands dug into her hair so I could kiss her good and thoroughly.
Her fingers were on my tie, loosening the knot, unbuttoning my shirt, and I caught up with her, peeling the zipper down on the back of her dress.
Within minutes, we’d shed every article of clothing, and I didn’t hesitate to lift her up and carry her to the bed.
I’d intended on holding out until the end of the month, win at romance, earn her trust, then re-introduce intimacy, like some kind of prize for getting everything right, but as I lay beside Elizabeth, tracing her body, kissing her deep, I knew with certainty that everything already was right, that friendship, romance, and intimacy weren’t three separate things when I was with her. I liked her. I loved her. I wanted her.
Her back arched as I touched her, and I would have been content to satisfy her like this, then snuggle up and check off the sleep extra late point, but she reciprocated, dragging her hand up my cock.
And then she started whispering dirty, dirty things to me, and my need for her overpowered my chivalry.
“Flip onto your back so I can ride you like a cowgirl.”
I lived to serve.
She used my body, and it took all my willpower not to disappoint her by shooting too early, but I’d missed touching her. I’d missed the feel of her against me. I’d missed her. “Elizabeth, fuck. I love you.”
Despite what she’d said about words versus actions, as soon as I’d said it, she leaned forward, kissing me hard as she drove her hips harder. When she rasped my name, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
She slowed, eyes open, and asked, “You good? Or?” She rocked her hips, like she hadn’t noticed how good I was. Like I could have maintained any control with her looking that goddamn sexy.
I held her still. “I’m great.”
“Yeah, you are.”
We ended up sleeping extra late, but did it count if we were awake most of the night making up for lost time?
We kissed, snuggled, and talked about our hopes and dreams, checking off point number seventeen.
But at Elizabeth’s insistence, I fucked her from behind, and at my insistence, I sucked on her until she shuddered.
We fell asleep absolutely worn out and sated.
The next two weeks, we tackled the rest of our list from a whole new perspective.
We weren’t courting to prove anything. We just liked spending time together.
We checked off the wine tasting with Bas and Chelsea.
They’d worked things out and, to everyone’s surprise, Chelsea was giving Bas a real chance to romance her.
Over a glass of Pinot Grigio, she and I shared our experiences with therapists, trauma, and fucking up relationships in less than eight weeks.
We didn’t become best friends overnight, but we established a truce. Anything for Elizabeth.
Then we headed to D.C. to knock off two museums, but honestly, we’d bitten off more than we’d bargained for, and after the Word museum, we decided to relax in a bakery over coffee and chocolate croissants before admitting defeat. “We can go to your place and watch Twister,” she said. “Fudge it.”
I loved that idea.
Christmas week, Elizabeth told me about how she hadn’t spent a holiday with her family in a long time since her parents traveled so much, and her siblings had their own traditions.
I briefly flirted with the idea of bringing her to my parents’ house to celebrate, especially when Bas invited Chelsea back to Richmond, but it was a long drive, and I had to work the day after Christmas.
But I had Christmas day off so I said, “Let’s make our own traditions. ”
We went shopping and brought home a mishmash of holiday items: a tiny Christmas tree, a handful of ornaments, ingredients for sugar cookies, a board game, and two pairs of matching pajamas.
Christmas morning, we holed up in my house, sipping on hot cocoa in our green and red flannel PJs and exchanging gifts.
We’d agreed to keep things simple, so I gave her a joke present—a “signed” copy of Much Ado About Nothing—and something I knew she wanted to read.
She gave me a joke present, too—a mug that said, 100% chance of me talking about weather—but also a fat doorstopper of a fantasy I’d been curious about.
And so we ended up curled up under blankets on my sofa, reading all night.
She looked up and asked, “Hey, did we check everything off already?”
We had. “Guess we’re shopping early.”
“I think it’s only fair you get twenty minutes, too.”
I shook my head. “I’m just going to steal your books anyway.”
She slid over into my space. “Not twenty minutes to shop for books.”
“For what then?” I asked, suspiciously, hoping she was suggesting what it sounded like.
“Whatever you want,” she said. “Consider me a bonus Christmas present.”
“You know what I want?”
“For me to take off your clothes slowly while dragging my tongue across your skin?”
I choked a laugh. That would work. “Yes. That was exactly what I was about to say.”
So we read almost all night.
Saturday, she proved she wasn’t lying about how much damage she could do in a bookstore, and I counted myself every kind of genius for coming up with a reward that made her look so cute, shooting me devious glances, like she was getting away with something when she shoved an entire box set into my arms.
New Year’s Eve arrived at last, and I felt like we’d won something more than a silly scavenger hunt.
We’d made memories together and forged a deep friendship, one that I hoped rivaled Elizabeth’s and Chelsea’s.
I was going to need her loyalty when I dropped a bomb on her that would alter our future.
And I might end up losing her after all.