He dropped his arm, his shoulders relaxing. “So is this the kind of sculpting you used to do? Before the trees?”
She shook her head. “This is masonry. I was into large-scale ceramic sculpting for a while—like shaping and carving clay—but it was too expensive after I graduated and didn’t have access to my high school’s supplies. When I ran the kids’ program at the retreat, I convinced them to get a kiln, but when they shutthat down, I had to pivot. And dead trees are free.” She gave the mixture another good stir.
He sat on the tarp next to her, his knee connecting to hers. “You know, in France, they have public art colleges that are really affordable. You’d have to establish residency for a little while, but you could go to school and try sculpting like that again.”
“You’ve been researching art schools in France?” she asked, smirking.
His cheeks pinkened. “I was trying to figure out the allure.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess theallureis that I’ve wasted too much time being resentful about the things I haven’t even tried to do. I want to do something bold. For once.” Her voice wavered, the truth of it ringing in her ears. She’d spent so long telling herself there would be another time, another place. For years, her sole focus had been on getting by.
At some point, her life had felt set in stone. She hadn’t made an itemized list of everything she wanted to achieve from life, because what was the point? Now she could finally picture something she wanted: to be someone new in someplace new. To see if there was a world where that woman fit. To feel confident not only in her ability to figure things out but also in her ability to accomplish things that scared her. For now, it didn’t have to be more complicated for her than that.
He nodded, as though this explanation made perfect sense to him, too.
“I was thinking…” His fingers played with a loose thread at the hem of her shorts. “Whenever you get over to France—”
“Or Italy or Spain or Belgium, even. We haven’t met Jet-Setter Lainey yet. Who knows what shenanigans she’ll get into,” she demurred with a small shake of her head.
“I could go with you,” he finished. She didn’t look at him right away. His palm was resting on top of her thigh, and her pulse was in her throat. “For a little while,” he hedged. “If you’d like that.”
She turned to face him. If she didn’t know him so well, she wouldn’t have noticed the nervous smile he was trying to pass off as coy.
“I’d love that,” she said, her voice thicker than it had been a moment ago.
His smile came alive. She wanted nothing more than to revel in it, but a thought needled at her.
“Would we still be married?” she asked. “I mean, I’m assuming we’d be mostly long distance, you know, with your job and the resort.”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.
“Once you move, it would probably be the most logical choice to get divorced. You know, logistically.”
Her limbs ached to run, and the dread at the base of her skull that’d beenwaitingfor the moment he realized she wasn’t worth all this trouble—that she was too much, too messy, too everything—gripped her chest. But this was Elliot—her Elliot. She couldn’t allow herself to withdraw at the first sign of difficulty. She was different now.
“But I’m not saying…” He closed his eyes. She could see himself editing in real time. “This is real to me.” She froze, the wordrealwrapping itself tightly in the folds of her brain like something indispensable. “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I want this so badly, Lainey, but I don’t feel good about the way we started.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled. The room got quiet, as though the music had stopped even though she knew it hadn’t. Her body was listening only to Elliot.
“I know you’ve told me you don’t feel trapped in this arrangement, but if, down the line, we’re back here again, I want to know you chose this. I don’t want to marry you on a random weekday at Benihana while our officiant makes fried rice. I want to kiss you when we make vows and not end the night with a running list of all the ways I’d wish I’d done this differently.”
Emotion pressed behind her eyes. “Our wedding wasn’t so bad.”
“I think we can do better.” His hand found her chin. “And I hear the French Riviera isreallynice.”
“It does have that reputation.”
“Then we’ll go,” he replied simply, like adding milk to a shopping list. And she wondered if there’d ever been a more romantic divorce proposal in all the world or if Elliot Hodges was a true original.
Then a car horn blared outside and ruined everything.
His head dropped to her shoulder with his boyish groan. “I was worried this might happen.”
“What might happen?” Fear of unknown origin tickled her stomach.
He pushed himself off the stone fireplace. “That some random people might show up. I’ve been careful not to post theexact datethe bridge connects on any listings or press, but people have figured it out. I mean, Larry did, so…”
The floor dropped out beneath her feet.
