I’ll take whatever orgasms she wants to dole out, but I just wanther. In ways that defy logic and are borderline insane after only going on one date. In ways that I’ve never wanted anyone else before.
It’s hard to look at Elsie and not picture what she’d look like with my ring on her finger. Andthatis a topic of discussion for my next therapy appointment, because what the fuck?
I didn’t say any of that to Elsie when I finally called her at 8 a.m. the morning after our date. It was a work day for her, so I knew she’d be up. Definitely wasn’t expecting a call from me that early, though, judging by the surprise in her voice when she picked up.
“Declan,” she said, skipping right over ‘hello.’ “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I laughed, though it was forced and awkward. “Sorry, I know it’s early. I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s okay,” she cut me off. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath, wondering when the fuck I turned into someone who getsnervousto ask a woman out.
Or when I turned into someone who actually asks a woman out.
The thing is – it’s not just any woman. It’sElsie. She’s not just some woman, she’sthewoman. The only one now, and fuck, maybe the only one ever.
Goddammit, I’m a goner.
“I didn’t ask you out again before I left your house last night. I should have.”
Elsie laughed and the sound was like windchimes over the phone. I wanted to bottle it up and listen to it again and again. “Was there a question in there?” she teased.
“I’m getting there.” I grinned, wishing she could see it. Wishing she was there to witness how happy she makes me. “Will you go out with me again?”
“Of course I will,” she said softly. “Declan, I… this… well.” She paused, and I waited for her to continue.
She didn’t.
“Yeah?” I prodded.
“What I’m trying to say is – you’ve got a date with me anytime you want one.”
Her words were a balm to my frayed nerves. She didn’t say it outright, but I took it for what it was – Elsie telling me that she’s as all in on this as I am.
Which is good, because she just might be the only thing I’ve ever been sure about in my entire life.
Around lunchtime on Tuesday, I stopped by to see Elsie during her lunch break and found her eating pad thai at the tiny table in the break room. I sat on the couch and talked with her and Noah for a bit, though what I really wanted to do was grab Elsie by the hand and drag her out back so I could kiss her properly.
I was only halfway out the break room door, headed back for my next appointment, when I heard Noah demand, “What was that all about?”
By the end of that day, I could tell that the gossip mill had reached him. He popped over to our shop to drop off a package that had ended up on their doorstep – we really needed to talk with the postmaster and make sure they know which door is whose – and the knowing look he gave me spoke volumes.
If Elsie hadn’t filled him in, someone else had. Apparently, the people who were at the park during our date are a bunch of nosy busybodies, because word spread through town quickly. It’s been mentioned to me by at least five customers since then.
Noah was heading back through the door between our shops when he called over his shoulder, “It’s about freaking time!”
I could only laugh when the assholes I work with voiced their agreement.
It’s Wednesday now and I haven’t talked to Elsie yet today, though she gave me a quick wave when she noticed me staring earlier this afternoon. Ty had stopped by to visit her and the sound of her pealing laughter kept drawing my attention to the glass separating us.
“Are you going to go out again?” Pops asks. He’s been hanging out with Gran and my mom for too long. He’s normally the one who leaves me alone about these things.
“Yeah,” I tell him, leaving it at that. We haven’t made plans yet, not since our conversation on Monday, but only because my family has kept me busy this week. On Monday we spent my day off sightseeing around the town, and Tuesday after work I somehow got roped into going to late-night bingo with Gran and one of her friends from Portland. She didn’t win anything, but shedidenjoy the free pitchers of sangria that littered every table.
The sound of the shop door opening has me looking up to see Sasha and Gran sauntering through the door with an array of shopping bags dangling from their wrists. Normally it’s so loud in here with music thumping and everybody practically yelling to be heard over it that we’d never hear someone walking in, but it only took one complaint from Pops for Sean to turn down the volume.
“Are you done defiling my husband yet?” Gran calls out.
