None of that happened.
Before he even turned down Main Street, her music reached him, drifting in through his open car windows. He knew it was hers because the sound of Jerry Garcia—he was pretty sure—was accompanied by the soft scent of berries and jasmine. As he passed the bookstore end of Reads & Roasts, Elliott glanced up at the wide-open windows of the front apartment, the one that looked out over the town square. From his angle, he could only see the ceiling, but he was confident it was hers and she was home.
The small lot behind the building was nearly full, but a single spot remained beside Fern’s blue sedan. He put his car in park, then reverse, then park, then reverse, then park, before forcing himself to turn it off and rip the keys out of the ignition.
Elliottlivedhere. He grew up in this town. It was normal for him to go to the coffee shop or the grocery store or to visit a friend. This was normal. What wasn’t normal was sitting in his car in the summer heat with the windows rolled up, debating how best to approach Fern Walsh, how best to hold the bag with her gift, how best to knock, how best to—
Elliott’s bear lost his mind at that point, letting out all sorts of beastly noises from within his human chest. It sounded like a bad stomachache, really, but no one was around to hear it.
Letting his animal lead, Elliott hopped out of the car, grabbed Fern’s gift, and was practically propelled through the side door, up the stairs, and down the hall toward her door. The fading notes of “Friend of the Devil” gave way to the upbeat intro of “Sugar Magnolia” as he dug his heels in and threw out an arm, grabbing onto her doorframe to stop his forward motion. His bear, that turd, had no qualms about barging into her apartment. Fitz, however, knocked.
The music got quieter.
“Hello?” Her sweet voice rang out, and his heart skipped a beat.
He should’ve said something, announced himself, but his throat was completely frozen. She was going to think she’d imagined the knock and turn her tunes back up. Shit! With a jerky fist, he knocked again, louder.
“Just a second!”
The pale pine door swung open to reveal an absolute daydream; she was everything delightful. A little sweaty from unpacking, a few flyaway strands of her brown hair stuck to her neck and trailed between her breasts. The rest of her tresses were up in a bun, highlighting her slender neck and the slope of her shoulders. In a cropped T-shirt that clung to her braless nipples and wide-legged flowy pants, she looked comfortable, perfect, relaxed.
She smelled like Fern and not one ounce of Adam Ableman. Thankfuck. Maybe they’d only shaken hands. They could’ve hugged. What if they’dkissed?He could ask her, maybe he’d ask her.
“Hello?” she asked like she was answering the phone.
Blinking back to reality, Elliott dropped his gaze from the top of her head too far to her breasts, then swung it back up to her face. Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Hi.”
“What can I do for you, Elliott?”
“I uh—”
5
Elliott builds a futon.
“Wouldyouliketocome in?” Stepping back from the door, Fern tossed her arm out and spun to face a mess of boxes and deconstructed furniture.
Her ass jiggled when she completed the move, and Elliott lifted his gaze to her hair, which he found was pure white in the back. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday. “Is that natural?”
“My face? My tits? My ass?”
Heat rushed his face. “The white part underneath your hair.”
“Oh, no. That’s bleached and toned. I’ll probably dye it in a few days when I get bored. It’s my test strip. When I was younger, I used to do my whole head. Pink, purple, blue. One time I did this neon calico thing. Ifriedmy hair off and had to get a pixie cut. I’ll never do that again because there’s this awkward phase when it’s growing out where you can’t do anything but look like the Heat Miser. You know what I mean? Maybe the Cold Miser— No, I think his hair is different. Anyway, my hair was orange then, so yeah, I looked like the evil guy. Wait, was he the good guy? I don’t remember. What’re you here for anyway?”
Dear god, she talked too much. “Brought you this.” Sticking an arm into her apartment, he held out the paper bag.
Cautiously, Fern took it and peeked inside. “Salmon and rice?”
“Trout and risotto. That’s not the present.”
Her brows pulled in. “You want it back?”
“What? No. It’s for you, too. Look under it.”
Cautiously, she lifted the Tupperware and peeked beneath. “Oh! OhmygodElliott! For me?” Side-stepping to her kitchen table, Fern dropped the food and pulled out the rest of the goods.
