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“I have a feeling you won’t let it go until you find something more permanent. I’ve noticed that once you get fixated on a problem, you sink your teeth in. You won’t let go.”
I almost flinch at those words.
Charisma once threw them at me in a much more accusatory light.
My single-minded laser focus was why I couldn’t see her as anything more than another problem to fix.
It may make me good at my job, yes.
It also makes me a shit human being.
Yet Elle said it fondly, still smiling as she took the handkerchief.
I watch her, puzzled. “You don’t find it off putting, how I am?”
“No.” No doubt, no uncertainty, her smile warmer than ever as she dabs her eyes. “It just means once you’ve set your mind to it, you won’t quit until you do what’s right.”
How does this girl have more faith in me than I have in myself?
She laughs, looking down at the damp handkerchief. “This is the second one of yours I’ve ruined. I still need to give you back the first.”
“I have too many. It’s one of those things I picked up from my aunt and her southern upbringing. A gentleman always carries a handkerchief, especially in case a lady needs it.”
The change of subject is almost welcome, easing the crushing weight on my mind.
I’ve never been able to talk about what happened with anyone like this.
Not even with Deb or Aunt Clara.
I never wanted them to feel obligated to comfort me. Yet I didn’t feel like Elle was taking on a burden or an obligation. She genuinely wanted to know, and some part of me craved her acceptance.
Still, I think I’ve had enough honesty for one night. Especially when I realize that as I’ve been watching her, I’ve slowly been stroking my thumb over the engagement ring on her finger.
Goddamn, I need to get my head on straight.
Oblivious to my brooding, Elle squeezes my hand lightly and delicately folds the handkerchief on the table.
“Should I start calling you Rhett? I’d say Ashley, but he’s way too mild mannered. You’re a walking storm cloud.” She grins teasingly. “And just as rude as Rhett too.”
“And you’re just as impetuous as Scarlett O’Hara,” I counter. “You just put a brighter face on it.”
“Hey!” She laughs, even though her eyes are still red rimmed, her lips swollen from crying. “C’mon. Scarlett O’Hara was an absolute wildcat. I thought you said I was a kitten.”
“Kittens have claws too,” I point out.
“Teeny claws!”
“Small claws still hurt. And before you say anything, bunnies also have claws.” I arch a brow. “So if you call me Rhett, I will most certainly call you Scarlett.”
Elle sticks her tongue out, a little pink barb.
It’s suddenly like the spontaneous confession never happened.
We’re back on even footing, except we were never on such even ground before. I kept myself close, while Elle was willing to let me into her world from day one.
The more she knows leaves us on a level field.
I do think, given time, I could call this woman a friend.
