Page 81 of Elf-ish

Which I completely understand.

I’ve also worked hard to guard myself against it ever happening again. I don’t have one-night stands or chase men or take random photos of ones I ogle. I don’t drink straight from the bottle of wine or cry late at night. Been there, done that.

Most of all, I don’t want to harbor bitterness in my gut like she has. Her heart was shattered once upon a time. Mine, too. The difference is, I patched mine back together. I still choose love over everything else. I want to love again.

I’m just pickier this time.

“Are you ready to discuss why you didn’t mention you have a boyfriend?” Gran says, stepping up to my side.

“I don’t have—” I freeze at the hopeful expression on Gran’s face. Unlike her sister, Gran experienced the love of a lifetime until Gramps passed a few years ago. She has always believed in second chances at love, and she’s held her breath with every date I’ve been on in the last decade, hopeful that love has found me again. Or rather, that I’ve found it.

When I consider her question, it also gives me pause. While Jude might not be my boyfriend, something is happening between us. Maybe it isn’t as formal as relationship labels. Maybe we are just building a friendship. One that might include some benefits.

Only I don’t do friends-with-benefits, so I’m confused.

Does it feel like pretend to you? His finger stroking along my neck is turning into my new favorite move. His eyes were the thing that caught me off guard. They didn’t look like ice caps as much as clear pools, allowing me to see inside him, but I hadn’t looked hard enough.

I didn’t know how to pretend to touch someone, but I worried Jude did. All those broken-hearted girls in high school. The ones he so easily discarded. I even think of Sabrina, and how he so casually said he didn’t care about her anymore.

Hadn’t that been my experience? People fall in love and then stumble out of it.

I promised myself I’d never project my fears on another person. I had a protective skin, sure, like Gertie called the necessary shield to her heart. But I’ve been wanting to shed that layer for a long time. Too long.

Noticing Gran is still staring at me, waiting for some kind of explanation, I clear my throat.

“We’re still new. No formal declarations or labels yet,” I offer, along with a tight smile. One I’m certain Gran can see right through, but she doesn’t press.

“Declarations?” Gertie snorts, pulling the bottle from her lips like she’d just taken another drink. “Write your own declaration.” Her voice sobers while deepening to poorly imitate a masculine tone.

“I do solemnly swear that I can take care of myself and provide my own orgasms— Hey!”

Gertie cries out as Gran swipes the bottle of wine from her hands. “I think that’s enough of that.”

Then to both our surprise, Gran takes a drink directly from the bottle.

“Gran.” I chuckle.

“Thatta girl,” Gertie encourages.

“Yes, well, this girl has a kitchen to tackle.”

Her comment pulls me back to the current state of the other room. Disaster.

“I’ll help clean up,” I offer, holding back a heavy sigh when I recall the mess. When I make chocolates in my apartment, I clean as I go. Gran has always been the opposite, saying not to fuss.

Cleaning the kitchen while baking is like shoveling snow during a blizzard, she’d say.

As I step toward the kitchen, Gran lays her hand on my forearm. “Sweetie, go home.”

“I can help.”

She’s already shaking her head. “You worked tirelessly today, and I appreciate you.”

I chuckle as Gran has picked up the modern phrase for praise.

“Now,” Gran continues. “I just want some quiet.” Without mentioning it, her statement implies having great-grandkids is wonderful, in theory. In practice, the mayhem is a lot.

“Cleaning the kitchen won’t take me long.”