He reached across the table, took my hand, and rubbed it softly with his thumb. “If you ever feel like youareready, let me know..”
“I have a feeling you’ll be long gone by then but it’s nice of you to say” I said, because it was only a matter of time before someone else snatched him up.
It was only a week before Cabo. When Julián dropped me off, Elliott wasn’t home. Steve was curled up in a ball inside his little teepee, giving me the cold shoulder—either because he knew exactly where I’d been or because he smelled the tacos on my breath. Either way, I was a traitor.
My sketching had stalled, a sure sign of burnout, so I took a break. I paced the house. Wandered idly around the house, made an attempt to try and clean but the place was spotless. I thought about packing for Cabo, but it felt so far away and I didn’t feel like doing laundry.
Instead, I flipped through TV channels. Nothing stuck. I scrolled social media, remembered how much I loathed it, and tossed my phone across the bed. I turned out the lights, but sleep wouldn't come. Tossing, turning, checking the clock. Rinse and repeat.
Am I really this restless because of a date?
By two a.m., I gave up and headed for the freezer. The house was silent—just me and my footsteps. For a second, I considered texting Elliott just to make sure he wasn't in somebody’s trunk, but I stopped myself. He hadn't texted since earlier, so why bother?
I dug through the freezer until I found a pint of rocky road. Spoon in hand, I sat on the counter in an oversized, threadbare T-shirt and boy shorts. If he wasn't home by now, he wasn't coming home. He was out with someone. Probably in someone’s bed. A shudder racked through me.
I was only a few spoonfuls in when I heard muffled voices and a giggle at the front door. My brain screamedRun. Hide.But I was frozen on the counter.
The door opened. Everything slowed. Elliott walked in with the woman from the fundraiser. They were laughing, leaning in close, her hand on his arm. Tipsy. Happy. He shut the door, guiding her farther inside with his hand on the small of her back. She kept giggling, even though nothing was funny anymore—at least not to me.
Her eyes landed on mine. Record scratch. Busted.
Elliott followed her gaze and froze, too. I jumped off the counter, pint and spoon in hand, making a beeline for the bedroom. That was when his eyes swept over me, and I remembered what I was wearing. His date probably thought the worst.
“I was just grabbing a late-night snack,” I muttered.
They both stood there, silent. I took in the woman—she was still gorgeous, maybe even more than before. A rival to Elliott’s beauty. They were perfectly matched.
“You guys have a good night,” I said, because they still weren't moving.
She looked away, covering her mouth awkwardly. He just looked … smug. Smug, like this was exactly what he’d wanted. Like he’d orchestrated the whole damn thing.
And the worst part? I was angry about it. Isn't this what we always did? Played until one of us tapped out? I had made my move earlier by going on the date. This was his.
The feeling unsettled me so much I decided to think about anything else. I dug in my bag for sleep aids, planning to drown myself in loud TV. Because if I heard that woman moaning through the walls, I was going to lose my damn mind.
For one second—one millisecond—I thought …
Never mind what I thought.
twenty
VANESSA
It wasthe next day when I stepped into my makeshift design studio and realized something was truly, truly off.
If Elliott was home, he was still in his room; I hadn't heard him moving around the house at all. But things in my studio had been touched. Panic hit me like a physical blow. Several of my designs had been pulled off the mannequin and laid out on the desk, as if someone had been studying them as a set. If it wasElliott, this wasn’t like him. Even when he did come in, he never moved a single pin.
The only other person who had been in the house last night was Emma. But surely, she wouldn’t be snooping… right? I was still trying to piece together what had been disturbed when Elliott walked in.
“Ness, we have to talk about a lot of things, but first?—”
I spun around, cutting him off before he could find his rhythm. “Was she in here last night?”
He knew exactly who I meant. When his eyes landed on the sketches spread across my desk, the realization hit him, too. His face sank—and so did my heart. My chest tightened, my pulse spiking into a frantic rhythm.
“Please tell me she wasn’t in here, Elliott. Please,” I begged, my voice cracking.
“She was in here,” he confirmed.
