“The other thing you had to do wouldn’t have had anything to do with a certain Fionn O’Connor, would it?” I smirk, nudging his knee.
He sips his coffee with a nod, a cheese-busting grin peeking out behind the lid. “Seems a month away was all I could handle, and Harry needed somebody here since...”
“I fucked up.”
“You said it. I didn’t. But yeah. It’ll be a lot more work for me than the normal wining and dining I do, but I said what the hell, Fionn’s worth the risk, you know?”
I swallow. Because I do know. Kind of. Except when it was my turn, I wasn’t brave enough. I’d been burned too many times and I didn’t want to get hurt again, so I shut down instead.
Eli lightly taps my shoulder with his. “Do you remember when you promised me you wouldn’t let your shit take something it had no right taking?”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. “Yeah, but I suck, so did we really think I’d keep it?”
“Evie.” Eli presses his lips into a thin line, pinning his emerald eyes on me in a dead-serious fashion.
“Eli.” I try to conjure a similar intense glare his way, but tiny giggles bust out of me.
“No more of this ‘I suck’, shit. Liam told me what you said to him. And you know me, I stick up for my friends, and right now, you’re being an asshole to one of my favorites.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I mumble.
“I’m not talking about him, even though he is a fucking wreck, by the way. I’m talking about you. Evie, if you can’t see how amazing we all think you are, you’re never going to figure this out with Liam or anyone else who wants to have a relationship with you. Think about the friends you’ve made here. Why do you think you only have a few?”
“Because I can’t offer much, so why bother trying?”
“And why do you think that?”
“I mean—you know what happened with Harmony. We were solid, and then shit got worse, and so did we.”
“Yeah, because Evie... Harmony sucks. She’s the shitty friend, not you. Not the person who drove across multiple state lines in the middle of the night in college to watch a stupid movie with me when my heart was breaking for the millionth time. Or never complains about my drunk FaceTimes at three in the morning because Drunk Eli can’t do time zones. Don’t let someone who never appreciated you dictate your self-worth.”
“I mean, it’s notjusther.” I fiddle with my hand on my lap. “You’ve met Caroline. She hasn’t exactly kept my deficiencies a secret. I guess I just figure people will see them eventually and get sick of me.”
“And you believe her?”
I shrug.
“Look, I could try to convince you that you’re so much more than what Caroline’s tried to sell you or what a few shitty friends made you think. But if you couldn’t trust Liam or those who’ve stayed by you for years before now, me saying this today won’t make a difference. You have to figure this out for yourself—otherwise, you’re going to run into this again, needing love and affirmations from someone else while living in the fear that they’ll ‘see reality’ and run.”
My mouth drops. Eli. Eli Blythe is saying this? The guy that asked me if there was a Bob Ross in the Louvre only a little over a month ago? Where the hell did this come from? “When the hell did you get this smart?” I ask, my voice dripping in disbelief.
He shrugs. “Therapy. There’s a reason I used to act like a desperate lovesick puppy when I met someone who showed a passing interest. Now, why don’t you close that mouth back up because it’s mildly insulting, and we go get a crêpe,” he says, standing and offering out his hand.
His terrible Boston accent butchers what Ihopeis his attempt at sayingcrêpe,anyway.Otherwise Eli just asked me to go get a crap with him, and hard pass.“You want to try that one more time?” I smile. “It’s a crêpe.”
“That’s what I said—crap.”
“Not even remotely close.” I stand. “But thank you for restoring the balance. I was scared I was turning into the clueless one.”
“Definitely are.” He wraps me up in a huge hug and lays a kiss on my cheek. “Your turn to be on the receiving end of break-up protocol fucker.”
I sigh, walking into the bedroom. After years of driving the ten hours up to Notre Dame to rescue Eli from whatever break-up destroyed him and endless FaceTimes full of movie nights and wine where I’d tell him he was so much better than the latest prick who broke his heart, I’m not exactly looking forward to this role reversal.
“So what’s this bridge called again?”
“Pont de l’Archevêché. It technically translates as Bridge of the Archbishopric or Archbishop’s Bridge.” I lift my chin, raising my face to the sun peeking out in the late July sky, leaning against a wall of glittering locks on this nineteenth-century bridge.
“Yeah, I don’t even know what the hell that means in English.” Eli snorts. His shoulder bumps against mine, and he grasps the rail along with me.
