“You’re not done with me?” Ella asks softly, her eyes wide. Panic is in her gaze. I’m not dumb, I know I shouldn’t have said that.
“I didn’t say that correctly,” I reply hastily. “I meant that I didn’t want to throw away the memories we had. Regardless of where we are now, you were my first love. I spent half of my life loving you. I’m not going to ignore that.”
“Oh,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to Violet. When Violet refuses the canned goo Ella attempts to feed her, she grabs the bottle, and walks to sit on the couch. I turn away, choosing to focus on the boiling pasta. I have so many things I could talk to her about, but I can’t find the words. There’s so much she doesn’t know.
How she was the last thing I thought of before I assumed I’d die.
That I built this house with her in mind.
How I have an entire closet full of gifts I’ve bought for her over the years, because I never stopped thinking about her.
And most importantly, how I know about the baby she lost. Our baby.
Arianna called me in tears. My baby sister has struggled with her health since she contracted Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome as a kid, requiring two kidney transplants before she turned twenty-five. At a routine checkup, she saw Ella at the hospital, and overheard Ella’s friend Whitley talking about the miscarriage.
I was two days out from a deployment, desperate to come home, with no alternative but to push forward with my guys. It’s the main reason I kept my phone and number the same. I missed one call from her, but she didn’t leave a message. We were overseas at that point, and I was on a mission for a month. By the time I got back, I couldn’t find the courage to return her call.
If you ask anyone in Eternity Springs, I’m sure they’ll tell you I’m the bravest guy they know. Sure, I’m brave when it comes to protecting people from dictators, providing aide to those who need it, and taking out the bad guy. But in matters of the heart, I’m a complete pansy. Hell, I watched Ella for months before I could even say hello to her. The thought of calling her an entire month after she first called me made my heart rate skyrocket, and I broke out in hives. I was terrified of what she might say. Would she tell me about the baby? Maybe tell me she’d changed her mind, and didn’t want to break up? What if the baby wasn’t even mine? We’d been broken up for a few months. She could have slept with someone else. That thought alone is what kept me from calling her back.
Instead, I went into denial. I did anything that could take my mind off Ella. Doubled my workouts. Read self-help books. I rarely spoke to my family, because thinking about them inColorado meant I’d inevitably begin thinking about Ella. Frankly, I wasn’t strong enough to do that.
And now she’s here, in my house, where just about every inch of the space was created with her in mind. I pretended she didn’t exist, then built a fucking shrine for her.
Now I’m here, feeling like this is as close to a family as I’ll ever get, and I want to demand she never leave, then take her into the bedroom so I can put a baby in her belly.
I have seriously lost my damn mind.
“Did you eat anything at your place?” I ask gruffly, stirring the macaroni. Grabbing the colander, I place it in the sink, then drain the pasta.
“No, I usually just munch on whatever Oliver doesn’t eat.”
“That’s not a meal, Ella. That’s table scraps.”
“Well, sometimes it’s all I can handle,” she replies, a bite to her tone.
“I’m going to make myself a sandwich. Do you want one?” I ask, ignoring her comment.
“Sure.”
I prepare the mac and cheese according to the box directions, then dump the contents into a bowl for Oliver. He happily tells me thanks as he shovels the first spoonful into his mouth, and I chuckle as I pull out lunch meat and vegetables for sandwiches. Almost without realizing I’m doing it, I begin to make Ella’s favorite sandwich. White bread, toasted. Mayo on one piece, with a one large piece of lettuce. Mesquite turkey and two pieces of salami, with American cheese. Simple. Standard. And so Ella.
Sliding it in front of her, I notice her stare at the sandwich, then subtly shake her head. I grab Violet out of Ella’s arms while I wait for the inevitable.
“Can I have a —” she begins to ask, then stops when I slide a knife in front of her. She’s going to cut the sandwich in half. In the past, I never knew if she’d cut it across or diagonally, which is why I give her the knife. I stifle a laugh as I watch her out of the cornerof my eye. First, she positions the knife across. Biting her lip, I hear her mumble, “no,” before repositioning it diagonally. She gives a satisfied nod after slicing through the sandwich, then picks up one half. She struggles to hide her smile as her gaze meets mine, and I throw my head back in loud laughter. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. Even with how off the rails my family gets, they’ve never made me as joyous as Ella does without even trying.
“So,” I say, once my sandwich is complete, “tell me about the bookstore. When did you add the café?”
“About five years ago. Whitley came up with the idea. She’s always loved the bookstore, and thought a little café would be a great addition. People love getting a cup of coffee, and whatever sandwich of the day Whitley comes up with, and then perusing the bookstore. In the summer, she sells out of almost everything before noon.”
“How do you keep the cats out of there?” I ask. I sit Violet on the counter, with her back against my chest, keeping my sandwich well out of her reach. She happily slaps the quartz as El and I eat. “Surely that has to be a health code violation.”
“Next time you’re in, you’ll see that we have a half-wall separating the café and bookstore, then netting hangs down to contain the cats. We have a door that goes between, and Whitley also has an outside entrance to get people straight off the street. It’s worked really well. Plus, the cats love the netting. Makes it look like they’re dangling in midair,” Ella explains with a giggle. I can imagine that’s quite the sight.
“Leo,” Oliver says suddenly, and I turn to him. “What do you do all day?”
What a question. Pondering it for a moment, I respond, “Well, I do a lot of things. My family owns a hotel. Do you know what a hotel is?”
Oliver shakes his head. “No.”
