Page 83 of Elf-ish

“How did you get up here?” I glance into the hallway. She is familiar with where I live because of her first responder position. This building is an icon in Chicago, but getting up to my floor involves being buzzed up or being on a list.

She sheepishly shrugs. “I can be persuasive without being in retail.”

I’d smile at the joke if I weren’t still so confused. Instead, I open the door wider, inviting her in.

I don’t miss how her gaze leaps to my naked chest and the low-slung towel around my waist. My wet hair should confirm I’d been in the shower.

She enters my spacious living room, where the city is on display through the wall-to-wall windows. Pinpricks of light dot various buildings along Lake Shore Drive. The stars are out there somewhere over Lake Michigan. One of the reasons I love this place is the view of the water during daylight.

A butter-soft leather couch faces the windows, and Angelica stops behind it. I lean against the back. Spreading my hands wide, bracing them on the support, I cross my ankles and hang my head, waiting for her to speak. She came to me.

Don’t you leave me, Jude. The quiet command still makes no sense, but it is a reminder that I promised myself I’d turn over a new leaf. That leaf feels like an autumn one right now. Crunchy and brown, and crushed underneath someone’s foot.

And I shouldn’t have left her grandmother’s place the way I did.

“I wasn’t fair earlier.”

My head pops up and I watch as she licks her lips.

“The past few days have just been a lot. I’m not used to someone taking care of me like you did when I was sick. And then hanging out with my family was new, too. I meant what I said; they really adored you.”

But does she adore me?

She waves toward me, while her brows crease. “And this morning got a little intense. I’ve just been in my head.”

The laundry room and wedding plans.

“I never meant to imply you weren’t good enough as you are, Jude. Or even suggest you need to be a different person. You have changed. I’ve seen it.”

Has she? I turn my head, staring at a dark piece of art over a false mantel. The image is abstract and disturbing, like the artist was mad while creating it, and simply smeared the paint over the canvas. I instantly connected with it. Angry. Bitter. Spoiled.

But holding those negative feelings up as a shield has been exhausting.

“I do want to change.” I slowly turn my head back toward her. “I am changing.” Maybe the ways have been small. Maybe it’s more of a feeling than something physical. I can’t describe it, and I don’t want to try to quantify it for her.

This wasn’t about her. After the heart attack, I felt different. Felt something for the first time in a long time. Something strange, almost itchy, like I’m coming out of my skin most days, but when I am around her, everything feels right. Calmer. Peaceful.

Today had been a surprisingly great day. Her family was so . . . real. It had been fascinating to watch, to participate in their chaos, witness their love for each other. It made me both happy and envious. I want what they have.

“I’m not pretending with you,” I blurt. I’m through pretending. Holding back emotions. Struggling with feelings. Putting up an act.

“Okay.” She nods, rolling her lips inward like she has more to say but stopping herself.

Silence weaves between us before she asks, “Can I hug you now?”

I stiffen for a second, uncertain I’ve ever been asked. I hardly remember the last time someone willingly hugged me. Or I hugged someone back.

With a sharp nod, I invite her toward me, but keep my arms locked around my bare chest.

When Angelica steps closer to me, she gently pulls them apart. Because I don’t know what to do with them, I set my hands on the back of the couch again, fisting them on either side of my hips. For some reason, I’m sweating.

Angelica doesn’t falter.

My feet uncross like they have a will of their own and she steps between them, forcing my legs further apart as she settles into the cradle between them. Her hands come to my chest first. Her touch is like a hot iron on my skin, branding me. My heart races as she takes her time to skim up my pecs and around my shoulders. Slowly, ever so slowly, she presses her body against mine, tightening her arms around my neck. Her cheek meets my ear as she tips up on her toes to match my slightly seated height.

We awkwardly stand like this for a solid minute. The longest minute of my life, if I’m honest, and I inhale her sugar and spice scent. A loose hair of hers tickles my jaw.

When I sense her ready to pull away, I finally react. My arms wrap around her back, and I tug her tighter to me, feel her settle against my chest, like she’s melting into me. She shifts her head and smiles against my neck.