Page 135 of The Truth of Us

Fear crept up that maybe this was all a dream and I would wake up alone. Elliot sat on the couch, me cradled in his arms. I snuggled in closer; no words were said because I couldn't face anything else right now. I couldn't face my anger and pain towards him because everything I was feeling right now eclipsed that, and I felt safe and at home in his arms. I wasn’t going to fight it.

He tucked me in as close as he could, his chin resting over my head that was nestled on his chest; the sound of his heartbeat must have soothed me. Because I had the most peaceful sleep.

I woke up alone and in a panic. Fuck had it all been a dream? But then I saw a glass of water on the table in front of me, and I was tucked in with one of my favourite fuzzy blankets, but something else was clutched in my arms, and it smelled like him. I looked down to see one of his suit jackets. But as I trailed my eyes around the space, I couldn't find him. I sat up, feeling a little woozy. When was the last time I ate or drank anything?

Just as that thought left me, I smelled it… a smell that was so familiar it caused a pain in my chest. Was my father home?

I drank the water and readied myself to face Elliot. What was he thinking after finding me on the floor? Had he come just because my dad sent him?

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand, passing a mirror on my way out of the room. I flinched.

Well, if my manic meltdown didn’t scare him away, this would…

When I made it to the kitchen, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Because the only person here was Elliot, and yet somehow he was making my mother's pasta dish. His back was to me, and that was when I realized he had her cookbook in his hands.

He set it down and checked on everything on the stovetop. I took a step closer, and his entire body froze. Elliot turned, and I was greeted by a version of him I don't think anyone had ever met before.

He looked wide open, raw, and vulnerable. Like seeing me this way broke something open in him, too. Whatever boundaries or walls existed between us couldn't exist now because there was no point.

His eyes raked over me, and he gave me a soft, gentle smile. I wanted to run into his arms, but I had to remind myself that a different version of Elliot had hurt me on purpose, and I didn’t know yet what him being here meant. We openly studied each other for a moment before my eyes trailed to his right, and I saw one wine my father had me trying out. Elliot followed my eyes and chuckled, breaking the silence, saying, “Your father told me where to find some of the wines he wants to invest in, told me to let him know if I was interested in partnering.”

I actually laughed and rolled my eyes, because only my father, who had more money than we could ever spend, would look for multiple business partners for a vineyard purchase that wouldn't even be a blip in our accounts.

Elliot smiled, his eyes twinkling as I laughed. I moved over to the wine, and almost took a sip straight from his glass; my hand reached out but then I remembered all the times we had shared a single glass and how that had ended.

I didn’t want to ruin whatever this fragile truce was, but I wasn’t ready to move past the hurt either. I pulled my hand back, and a flash of hurt moved over Elliot’s face, but he schooled the reaction quickly, turning to grab me a glass, pouring the wine in silence before setting it in front of me on the counter.

I offered him a tentative smile, with so many questions on my mind. But he was here; he came for me, after everything… he was here. So I settled onto a stool and took a sip after a whispered thank you. Elliot moved back towards the stovetop, ducking his head.

He cleared his throat while he worked, draining the pasta, saying, “I hope you don’t mind. I found the cookbook when I came into the kitchen and figured following a recipe was far better than me trying to figure out how to cook something on my own.”

She would have loved you.

The thought came at me so quickly; I had to mask my reaction by taking a sip of my wine.

Instead of that little nugget, I said, “It is my mother's. I am pretty sure my dad always has the ingredients stocked for that recipe.”

Elliot studied my reaction.

God, he is beautiful.

Holy crap, apparently my brain was going off the rails today. He smiled at me like he knew what I was thinking and then looked down at the book, his fingers trailing over something before he asked, “Are these her notes?”

His voice was so soft that I closed my eyes and nodded, because words would be impossible.

He chuckled, saying, “I hope I grated enough cheese.”

My eyes flew open and I actually freaking snorted a laugh because the look on his face to my reaction was… well, it was far too honest for me to touch right now.

I sighed and felt weight lifting off my chest as we chatted, well mostly him, casually about wine, the pasta, and if I had any other favourite recipes in there. He served me, and we ate right there at the counter, in quiet, companionable silence. We did not talk about us, or my family, or Northwell. Nothing heavy. Which left me feeling light for the first time in a very long time.

After we finished dinner, we cleaned up together. I showed him to a guest room down the hall from mine. I slept through the entire night and woke up with a smile on my face that I was not ready to dissect just yet.

After a few days of us quietly dancing around each other, him being present in any way I would allow. I finally decided that we needed to have the talk. Did I feel ready? Nope. I felt raw and exposed. But I knew avoiding this wouldn't help anyone, and my feelings were getting confused. So this needed to happen because I had quickly realized that I couldn't be around Elliot in half measures.

Which is why I stepped away from working with Northwell.

The way Elliot affected me, I needed to be in or out, and right now I felt like I was dangling in the unknown