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“Yeah. That sounds great.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” She heads for the car.
Before I follow her, I glance back.
Elliot’s already looking at me.
Epilogue
Auden
The onions hit the hot skillet with a sizzle, and I stir them with one hand while I shake spices into the bowl of meat. My phone buzzes on the kitchen table. I abandon both tasks to check who’s calling, worried it’s Elliot calling to say he got held up and he’ll be back late. But it’s not him; it’s my mother.
I sigh and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Auden. How are you?”
“Good. Just making dinner.”
“Good, good.” She’s looking at something else. I can hear the distracted note I grew up with. “What were you saying?”
“Youcalledme, Mom.”
“Oh, right. Vanessa said she sent you some sketches to approve. Did you get them?”
We both know this is something Vanessa could have called about if I was expected to still be online at eight p.m. She’s making an effort, so I indulge her. “One second, I’ll check.”
Working for my mother’s company has been interesting, to say the least. I majored in business at Stanford to go along with my art electives, and Elliot encouraged me to apply to artistic jobs after graduation. Rather than have the opposite reaction and dissuade the idea, I was shocked when my mother offered me a job in her marketing and design department. I wasn’t sure if it was the right decision at the time, but it’s gone better than I expected. I enjoy the work, and it’s resulted in more conversations with my mother than I’ve had in years. She still prioritizes work, but she seems to prioritize me more now that I’m associated with work. Baby steps, I suppose.
I log into my computer and scan the emails that have piled up since I logged out three hours ago. “Yes, I got them. I’ll take a look first thing.”
“Good. I’ll let Vanessa know.” She pauses. “Is Elliot back?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well, give him my best when he’s back.”
“I will.” I wouldn’t say either of my parents have embraced Elliot with open arms since first meeting him three years ago, but that’s just not who they are. They don’t say anything negative about him, which is their equivalent of a gold stamp of approval.
“All right. Night, dear.”
“Night, Mom.” I hang up and head for the kitchen.
I wash and chop the mushrooms for my tacos, then start them sautéing in another skillet. Elliot’s voice echoes in from the entryway. It sounds like he’s on the phone with someone.
I glance at the clock and smile. He’s home early.
Elliot enters the kitchen a couple of minutes later, still talking on the phone. He flashes me a grin as he saunters over to the stove and kisses the side of my head. “Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m home. I’ll try to give you more than three months’ notice on our summer plans.” He rolls his eyes at me as he grips the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. You, too. Bye.” He hangs up and tosses his phone on the counter. “Hi.” He steps forward, caging me between the counter and his hard body. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, and I can feel the ridges of his abs through it.
“Hi.” He kisses me, and I forget about the hard edge of granite pressing into the small of my back. Elliot’s tongue has the power to make me forget just about anything. “Dinner is going to burn,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Let it.”
“I’m making tacos.”
“Fine. I’ll kiss you later.” He kisses my forehead, then steps away and heads for the fridge.
I pull in an unsteady breath as I stir the onions.
