I don’t dignify Honey Carlisle by using her name. She doesn’t deserve to be anything more than a footnote. Even that’s being generous. But I know she hurt Ella, and that’s not something I take lightly.
“If she’d been a guy, I would’ve decked her.”
Ella smiles, shaking her head. “I’m good. She didn’t break anything that wasn’t already cracked.” She glances up, meets my eyes. “That’s the thing about scars. They’re strongest where they healed, right? Except when someone presses on the exact same spot, and then it turns out the scar tissue is just... thinner than you realized.”
The server returns with our coffee and tea. “May I bring either of you anything else this evening?”
I look at Ella and she shakes her head. “Everything was wonderful.”
“We’re all set,” I tell the man. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir. Miss.” He nods, then discreetly leaves us alone on the torchlit beach.
“What about the bill?” Ella asks.
I shrug. “It’s handled.”
She looks at me skeptical, but her smile is soft. “Thank you for this, Alec. I’ve never had anything like this.”
I know she’s talking about dinner, but she could just as easily be talking about us. About the week we’ve shared. God knows, I’ve never had anything like these past several days—and nights—with Ella. I’m not looking forward to seeing it end in a couple more days.
She picks up the tea, takes a sip, sets it down. Wraps both hands around the cup like she needs something warm to hold even though the night air is seventy-five degrees.
“You were asking me about what happened today with Honey,” she says, steering us back to safer waters. “Want to know the embarrassing part about what she said? She was right in a lot of ways.”
“Like hell she was.” The denial rushes out of me, coarse and bitter. “I heard what she said. She couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Ella squeezes my hand. “She didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before. Jake also liked to remind me I didn’t fit in.”
I practically growl. “Fuck that guy too.”
She shrugs. “Look, I’m basically a professional people-reader at this point. I can spot a difficult customer before they’ve unfolded their napkin. I can tell from the kitchen door if someone at table six is being talked over, talked down to, or quietly demolished by the person sitting across from them.” She says it lightly, but I know her well enough now to read the weight beneath her sunny exterior. “I’m great at reading everyone else’s situation. I’ve just never been great at reading my own.”
“You do fine, Ella. Everyone you meet loves you.”
As I say it, I realize I’m counting myself among that number as well.
She laughs, but it’s a soft, sad sound. “Definitely not everyone, but it’s kind of you to say that. As for my ex, he didn’t come at me with the big stuff. It was small at first. You talk too loud in restaurants. You don’t need to make friends with every person we meet. Just little... corrections. Friendly ones.” Her thumb traces the rim of her teacup. “Like he was helping me be a better version of myself.”
For not the first time, I have the sudden, deep urge to kill the man. I keep my thoughts to myself, because I can sense she needs to get this off her chest and I want to be the person she’s comfortable opening up to, no matter how enraging the subject.
The torchlight flickers across her face. Her jaw is set but her eyes are unwavering and locked on me, openly choosing this. Choosing to hand me this wounded part of her.
“And so I adjusted.” Her voice is quieter now. “I didn’t even notice at first. I just got a little smaller. I learned to read the room a little closer. I started running this calculation every time I walked through a door: which version of me is safe to be here? Which version is too much?” She looks down at her hands on the cup. “Two years later, I still do it. That reflex is Jake’s, but it lives in my body now. Today in the boutique, Honey hit me and the first thing I did was start to fold. I could feel it happening, the shrinking down, the getting smaller. Like muscle memory from being made to feel like I don’t belong.”
She stops. Looks up at me. Tries a smile that doesn’t quite work.
“Sorry. That got heavier than I meant it to.”
My hand is already on hers across the table. I don’t remember putting it there. My grip is firm and steady, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.
“You belong everywhere you walk into, Ella. Never let anyone make you feel like you don’t.”
She blinks. Hard. Once. Her mouth presses flat for a second. Then she turns her hand over under mine and holds on, palm to palm, and the surf fills the space where words would just get in the way.
I let the silence sit. The candle throws light across the tablecloth. Her thumb moves against my palm in a small, absent rhythm. I keep my hand on hers and watch the torchlight move on her beautiful face and sweet, tender gaze. My head fills withall the things I want to say to her—things I need to say—but I wait because what she just gave me doesn’t need a speech. It needs to be held gently, the way I’m aching to hold her now too.
“I can relate to everything you just said,” I admit after a while.
