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I twist my hands into the fabric of my nightgown. “Or I could just grab a rideshare or you could?—”
“Not a chance.” Eli shakes his head. “But buckle up,” he says, and I get the sense he means both literally and figuratively.
I fasten the buckle with a satisfying click, wishing it were a little easier to secure the rest of me.
CHAPTER 7
Bailey
I don’t knowwhat I expected—not that I expected in any way to be going to the house Eli apparently shares with his mother—but it was not this charming bungalow. Hanging baskets overflow with ferns and the door is painted flamingo pink. I’m sure it would all be more cheerful during the day or if the porch lights were on.
Don’t like his house!I tell myself, with as fierce of an internal voice as I can.You cannot like Eli and his house too!
But it’s too late. I like him and his adorable, perfect house.
“Mom chose the color,” Eli mutters, fumbling with his keys.
I almost tease him about it, asking him if he holds to the stereotype that pink is a feminine color. But I don’t know if Eli is the kind of person whose tension eases with jokes or if it would make him wind tighter, adding more of an edge.
He’s been intensely focused since his mom called. I’m sure he knows where the brake is, but he opted to use it sparingly on the twenty-minute drive. I couldn’t quite bring myself to placemy hand on his arm or shoulder, even though I sense touch is important to him.
But I did allow myself to indulge in stolen glances, watching the way Eli’s jaw clenched in the glow of streetlights and headlights. My hands, balled into sweaty fists in my coat pockets, ached to smooth away the lines bracketing his mouth.
His nerves transferred to me on the drive, and there’s a nervous fluttering inside me. I don’t know what kind of emergency this is, or even if emergencies with his mom are a normal thing. Health stuff? Mental health stuff? A burglary? Hopefully, she’d call the police in that case. While there are a lot of cars parked along the street, not one has red and blue lights.
Eli pushes open the door, and when he glances back to make sure I’m following, I scurry after him.
“Mom? What’s the emergency?” He flicks the switch on the wall just inside the door once, twice, then three times in quick succession, frowning when the hallway stays swathed in darkness. The only light comes from the end of the hall, a soft, flickering glow.
“In here,” a melodic voice calls from somewhere in the back of the house. One that does not sound in any way like it’s in crisis.
Eli must sense this too because his shoulders drop as he sighs, muttering something under his breath about crying wolf. His eyes meet mine in the dim hallway light. “I’m sorry in advance,” he says.
I don’t get a chance to ask what for. His shoes are loud, the hardwoods creaking out a chorus of complaints as he stomps toward the back of the house. I’m a few steps behind, drinking in details as my eyes adjust to the light. I was hoping for framed photos, but instead I get strange artwork in glass frames: a swatch of ripped denim, dozens of ticket stubs lined up in neat rows, and a framed receipt I can’t quite read.
I want to linger, squinting in the dark at the tiny print on the faded paper, but I hear an excited voice say, “You brought someone with you?” The voice pitches higher. “A woman? Well, where is she?”
Eli’s voice is too quiet for me to make out the words, only the low rumble that tugs at me like a kite string. I hesitate outside the open door, the toes of my ankle boots just shy of the square of light cast from the doorway. It’s clear even though my view is of one corner of the room—all bookshelves—that there are other people in the room. The low murmur of voices, the sound of a glass being set down on a table.
One more brave thing, I tell myself, drawing on the birthday wish I didn’t make to help my feet move again.
But before I’ve taken a step, a woman rushes through the door, almost knocking me over. There’s a gasp, and then I’m receiving perhaps the best hug of my entire life.
Tears prick my eyes for no logical reason, and I try to somehow suck them back into my tear ducts before she releases me. There’s something about a genuine hug from someone you’ve just met—or in this case, not yet met. No pretense, no prerequisites. Completely unearned. I hug her back, my hands gripping her sweater.
I somehow manage to not look like someone about to burst into inappropriate tears when she pulls back, openly appraising me with a soft smile before she tugs me into the room.
Which is completely full of women. Every chair—many of which look as though they’ve been dragged from other rooms—and cushion, even some of the floor space is taken up. Eli stands in the center of the room, rubbing the back of his neck and looking as though he has many, many regrets.
“Well, aren’t you justperfect,” Eli’s mom whispers. There is a soft chorus ofawsaround the room, and my cheeks invent a new shade of red.
“Mom,” Eli hisses, pressing his fists in his eyes.
But she only grips my hand with unrelenting force as she openly stares at me. Her hair probably used to be the same pure blond as Eli’s, though now it’s liberally streaked with snowy white and knotted on top of her head. They share the same blue eyes too, but their facial features don’t have a strong resemblance.
Her smile is wide, clearly with so many wrong ideas in her mind.
It’s at this point I consider how we’re dressed.
