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"When you're a kid, there's no shame in admitting that you need someone to look after you. And you’re totally allowed to live in the moment. To just be."
"You think maybe you won't wait four years before you take your next day off?"
I laughed.
I stayed the night at Elara’s again, and as she lay in my arms, I felt a wave of happiness that almost swept me away. The moment I felt it, I became terrified. Everything else in my life was safe and secure, but this precious new thing was suddenly so important and fragile, that it became wildly powerful. I knew, if I lost it, that it would tear me apart.
No. Not if. When.
In less than two weeks, Elara would be taking her interview. Not long after that, she'd be gone.
"Hey," the perfect woman who lay next to me whispered. "Do you remember when you asked what my dream day would look like?"
"Mmhmm."
"Today. Today was it."
She kissed my neck and nuzzled in close, and in that moment, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I'd lost my bet with Ethan.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elara
The next few days passed in a blur of painting and pleasure. By day, we were consummate professionals. By night, we consummated something else . . .
The more time we spent together, the more time I wanted to spend together. And it wasn't just the sex—it was everything. Like the way he always complimented my painting, even though I knew it was—at best—patchy. Like the way he told me he admired my desire to make something of my life. Like the fact he told me that my ambition was intoxicating.
On Thursday morning, before picking up his kids, Cole told me he'd been looking into part-time architecture courses online.
"I’m not sure I want to be a full-blown architect anymore," he explained as we worked in the main bar area. "But if I manage my time better, maybe I could at least learn the basics. Enough to draw up plans for a new build on this lot."
"That's a great idea," I encouraged him.
"The irony is, I know next-to-nothing about architecture and can only handle a part-time course. While you could probably teach pastry classes yourself, and you're going to be studying pastry full-time!"
I laughed. "I could not teach the course. I'm useless."
The ferocity of Cole's reply took me by surprise. "Don’t do that, El. Don’t talk yourself down."
"I'm just trying to be realistic."
"It's not realistic," he grunted, pushing his pry bar under a piece of metal that was screwed to the floor. "You're a genius. I'm telling you, I still dream about that apple pie."
"But you can't serve basic apple pie in a fancy New York patisserie," I argued. "That's the point. I'm not good enough."
"Basic doesn't mean bad," he said, straining to pull a section of the bar away from the floor. "Speaking of which, I'm hoping for a favor. It’s for something basic."
"Oh?"
Cole sighed. "The funfair is coming to town."
"Funfair!" I squealed. "I love the funfair. Dad always used to take me to the funfair. I love cotton candy and toffee apples and soft toys and—"
“The girls love it, too. I, on the other hand, am not such a fan. I was hoping you might come with us tomorrow. They'd have more fun with you there."
Taking a trip to a funfair with his girls didn't feel that basic. It felt quite advanced—like the kind of thing that a girlfriend would do.
Cole sensed my hesitation. "Don't feel like you have to. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. If you want to keep your distance, I get it. We both agreed that we wouldn't let feelings grow, so—"
