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"Hey," she answered.
"I assume this is better." His voice was cool. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Hannah let herself feel happy for a second that he seemed genuinely concerned for her well being.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It was making noise and smoking and whatnot. I was still in town luckily so I got Eric. He's the mechanic," she clarified, remembering he wouldn't know all the town members, "and he towed it and said that it's pretty much beyond repair. So I am stuck here for a few days until I figure this all out."
"No, I'll come get you," Elliot said, sounding like it was already settled. No room for argument.
"No that's really not necessary. I will figure out a car situation and..."
"I'll be there in about... two hours," he said as if she hadn't spoken at all.
"Really it's not..."
"Stop," he broke in, firmly but in a kind voice. "I am coming to get you. We can figure out your car situation later. Where will you be?" he asked.
We. He said we. As in they would both figure out the car problem. Hannah wanted to smile, but wouldn't let herself. She. She would figure out her own problems. He had just misspoken. That was all. He certainly didn't see them as a we.
"I guess I'll be at the bookstore," she said, not wanting to have to say goodbye to everyone else twice.
"Right. Okay. Two hours," he said and hung up.
He really had awful phone manners Hannah mused as she walked toward the door. Eric had already piled her bags outside the door and she picked them up, looking for him. She spotted him toward the sidewalk, talking to a woman. Standing too close. Hannah was about to smile. Typical Eric. But then she realized who it was that he was speaking to. Annabelle. The pretty girl from Sam's kitchen. Hannah let herself worry on that for a second before starting off toward the bookstore.
Elliott showed up two hours and fifteen minutes later, looking slightly disheveled but alert.
Being stuck in a car with him was even more uncomfortable than she had prepared herself for. The silence drug on and on until she reached and turned the radio on, flipping through his saved channel settings with curiosity. She even ejected the CD from the player. Seeing Billy Joel, she smiled and put it back in, turning it on and cranking the volume louder than he would have probably liked.
A few tracks in, she found herself settling into the comfortable seat, watching the landscape fly by out her side window and singing along. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Elliott was smiling and she sang a bit more quietly for a few minutes.
He wasn't used to women being in his car. At least not for extended periods of time. He felt itchy under his collar watching her fiddle around his stereo like she was trying to get to know him. No one ever really cared enough to try. Then watching her relax against her seat, slipping out of her shoes and pulling her legs to her chest, singing every Billy Joel song that came on, he had a strange rush of emotions. Amusement, certainly. Ease, he realized how comfortable he felt right then and there in a situation that with another woman, would have made him squirm. Then lastly, something strange and foreign. He could only describe it as a warmness, a genuine non-sexual heat toward her.
Elliott shook his head free of the thought, focusing his attention back on the drive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She had gone back with him that night, feeling like a fish out of water. But they fell into bed and had sex. Fast, punishing, pounding sex that had her leaving scratch marks across his back and blood under her fingernails. Then they had both fallen asleep, the long drive having worn them both out.
Hannah woke up early, confused about her surroundings for a long minute. She padded over to the bathroom, closing the door quietly though it seemed like nothing would wake the sleeping Elliott. She took a long, hot shower and dressed in the most appropriate outfit in her suitcase- a pair of black skinny-leg jeans and a plum long sleeve t-shirt.
She wrapped her hair in a bun and went carefully downstairs, through the dark and cool house. Finding the thermostat on a wall in the hallway, she cranked it up and went into the kitchen. It took her several minutes to locate a coffee machine which, oddly, was stashedaway in a cabinet under the sink. She found the coffee stored way back in the fridge and made a mental note to tell him that wasn't the best place to keep it.
Elliott woke up, groggily looking for Hannah. But her space was long abandoned. He sighed, getting out of bed and going to take a shower. Was she ever going to stop running away? How had she even left without her car?
He made his way down the stairs dressed for his day, bothered by how warm the house was. He was about to walk out the door. He wasn't the kind of person to hang out in the morning, drinking coffee over a newspaper. He preferred to get up and get to work.
With renewed focus, he realized Hannah hadn't left at all. There was clanging coming from the kitchen and he could smell fresh coffee. He wasn't even aware he had a coffee machine. With a smirk he made his way to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Hannah was dressed and ready for work and dancing around his kitchen to whatever top-forty pop song that was on the radio.
"Good morning," he said and she stopped mid hip-shake, her mouth falling open and looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"Hey," she recovered and gave him a rare charming smile.
"There's coffee?" he asked, a part of him completely at awe of his home seeming even the slightest bit domestic.
"And toast," she said, motioning toward the stack of rye bread on the counter. "You had nothing else anywhere."
"I'm pretty sure that bread isn't mine," Elliott clarified, reaching for the rye and biting into it. "I don't do grocery shopping."
