Page 24 of Left of Forever

CHAPTER 12

WREN

The shock sends the phone careening down my chest, and with my hands still clutching the tray, I have to pitch my shoulders forward to catch it… right in my cleavage.

The moment stretches painfully. Ellis looks at where it sits, snug in my décolletage, then drags his eyes back up to my face.

“Wren?” comes Sage’s voice. “What paper? Why is everything muffled?”

I wince. Somewhere along the journey down my chest, the speakerphone button has been pressed.

“You’re in my tits,” I say dully, still staring at Ellis. He’s got a fresh haircut and shave. My eyes go to the indent on his chin, and his mouth quirks. “Your brother is here,” I quickly add.

“Oh…OH. All right. I’ll, uh… see you at the ceremony.” Thank god she’s observant enough to infer that it’s not one of the other two brothers. She trills her lips loudly and says, “Nice motorboating you!” before she hangs up.

Ellis and I blink at each other. Three feet of counter space and three decades between us.

“May I?” he asks, nodding to where I’m still squeezing the phone.

“All right,” I squeak.

He deftly plucks it from my chest and places it on the counter, his jaw ticcing.

“I thought I would come see if you needed help getting everything over to the school,” he tells me. His voice is like having my back scratched. That perfect combination of grit and slide, deep enough to feel. I remember when it changed from boy to man. The new, confusing thrill I’d experienced when I heard it for the first time. I remember so many other new discoveries over the years, too. When I turned fifteen and saying his name felt different, all of a sudden. Like it left a taste on my mouth. How I realized I wanted to be so much more than his friend.

“Ellis, we have to talk,” I say quietly. I set the tray on the counter and start piling in the pastries. Today, Mom and I made raspberry lemonade blondies and strawberry custard tarts in addition to our regular lineup.

“I did find your paper on the counter,” he says abruptly. “If that’s what you’re going to ask.” Our gazes catch and hold. “I do want to help, but I also wanted to talk about it. That’s why I’m here. And yes, I did read it. I’m… sorry.”

I feel my eyebrows crash together. “You don’t sound sorry at all.”

He struggles to suppress a grin, and I have the sudden urge to mash a poppy seed cupcake in his face. “Iamsorry that I violated your privacy, but I promise it was an accident,” he says more genuinely. “At least, at first it was.”

I’m… Dammit, I’m embarrassed nonetheless. I don’t care ifthis man’s been eight inches deep in me in every conceivable way or that he once was etched onto my heart and soul. Him seeing into my mind, seeing himself still living in there after so long apart, is different.

“It’s a journaling exercise,” I explain, avoiding his eyes and going back to my task. “It’s… With Sam heading off to school and everything, new stage of life and all that. It’s just something I’m going to do for… for closure.”

I can’t bring myself to look at him, but I feel the shift ripple through the space between us, the notch of tension clicking up.

“But you’re not,” Ellis rasps. “That means you’re not alreadyclosed. Not entirely.” My head whips his way, and I mark something restrained in his eyes. I’m suddenly not breathing well at all.

“Is that—is that a question?” I ask. It comes out like a gasp.

He swallows heavily, and a searing look of longing flashes across his face. It’s gone, and he’s composed just as quickly, but if I closed my eyes, I’d still see it, outlined in neon against my lids like I stared at something too bright. “Yes, it’s a question,” he states.

I’m immediately flustered. I think of that kids’ movie where emotions are all represented by their own characters, and mine are rioting. They’re throwing chairs and falling to the ground wailing, and there’s one in the background screaming, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO SAY!” on a loop.

“Ellis, I’ve been dating,” is what I go with. “Not like one person or something serious, but I’ve been trying to date and go out, and I’ve been working on opening myself up to something new.” I pick up the tray and turn to flee. “That’s the only reason I was starting that letter—journalthing.”

He comes around the counter in a few ground-eating stridesand follows me to the back kitchen. “But are you over us?” he says urgently. “Seems like if you were, you wouldn’t care about writing us down.”

“We’re divorced,” I say helplessly. “We already gave up. And, hold on, haven’tyoubeen seeing people?”

“No,” he says, baffled. “What would make you think that?”

I can feel my pulse in my palms. I can’t see a way to sidestep the truth. Whatever, he already saw my stupid paper. This isn’t any worse than that. “Last Thanksgiving. I had your phone when Micah called and—and a woman texted you a picture of herself.”

His eyebrows go up, and his lip juts out like this is news to him, too. “What was her name?”