“Don’t. You’re excited to go. I saw your smile when Brandon announced it.”
He’d seen . . . Elliot’s throat, tightened from the events of the day, tightened more.
He’d seen. “I mean, yes, I was excited, but . . .”
Clouds cast a purplish tinge over the night sky. The passenger seat groaned as it again took Wentworth’s weight. “You should go.”
“I’m worried about” —you— “Louisa.”
“I’ll keep you updated. The minute there’s any change, you’ll know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll manage here. I know I was shaken today, but I’ve got this now. I’m here for her.”
Still Elliot was reluctant. He hated the thought of Wentworth suffering alone. Not knowing if Louisa would recover. The pain of that uncertainty. Just like . . . Blood drained from his face.
His voice trembled. “If you need me . . . I’d prefer to be here helping you than enjoying work.”
Their eyes met and held; Elliot couldn’t stop shaking.
“Thank you, Elliot.” Almost a whisper. “But there’s not much you can do here, and . . . I’d hate for you to miss out on this opportunity.”
His body heaved on a silent hiccup. “If there’s a change for the worse, let me know. I’ll come back right away.”
Wentworth’s eyes looked moist as he nodded and nodded.
He reached over the backseat and petted Honey once more. He paused to look at Elliot, their faces inches apart. Warm breath combed Elliot’s nose, and Elliot’s fingers twitched to thread through that rust hair and . . . God, those gorgeous lips were so close.
But. Louisa. She’d made a declaration and had almost killed herself doing it. Clearly there was not nothing going on there.
They pulled away at the same time.
“Can we text?” Elliot cleared his throat. “Not only about Louisa, I mean?”
Breezes rushed in through his open door, scented with rain. Wentworth’s brow gently creased. “Before we . . . Earlier. You said Philip’s roses were a plea for forgiveness.”
“I . . . yes, I did.”
“And when you accepted them, he understood that you forgave him?”
“Yes.”
Wentworth looked squarely at him. Elliot held his eyes, trembling as he waited.
“Okay.”
Elliot stood at the end of his bed in his achingly quiet room, Wentworth’s okay turning his stomach, his chest. The soft way he’d said it. The need in his gaze.
The sudden resurfacing of an old bond.
The second chance that came with it . . .
He was touched. Thankful. Afraid.
He’d spent the last weeks dreaming of this. Something he’d doubted would come to pass, and yet, here forgiveness was. Offered to him. He felt dizzy with it. Restless.
He folded the last sweater into his suitcase and crawled into his large, empty bed. The expression on Wentworth’s face. So open, so exposed. Like the first days they’d met, when Wentworth had told him they were meant for one another.
Yet.
The confidence hadn’t been there. In its place, an edge of caution, of worry.
Trust was no longer Wentworth’s default.
Elliot felt it like an anchor on his heart.
Like always, he stuffed a pillow on his side of the bed and curled himself around it. His eyes prickled.
Weary, listless, colour all gone
Restoring your smile
Heart blooming, tender
No longer forlorn
W. McAllister and Ask Austen Studios, “Trusting me, trusting you”
Elliot focused on Cubworthy pub’s signature shepherd’s pie, humming every few moments as his uninvited dinnermates continued their argument. He’d hoped to escape Beth and Walter on this much longed-for work trip, but it’d barely been a day before they’d found him.
“Elliot?” Beth said tightly. “Elliot, are you listening?”
Her husband rolled his eyes, lounging into the booth like he was exhausted. “He wants to eat, Beth. So do I.”
“You can eat after we sort this out.”
“Jesus. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, Beth. Never heard that?”
“The way to a woman’s vagina is to listen, understand, and give in to her demands.”
Walter looked at Elliot. “Tell her what she wants to hear.”
Elliot set down his knife and fork. “I have tried in vain to convince you to communicate. In the end, you have to persuade yourself to do the right thing.” He eyed them, one after the other. “Or you’ll both end up lonely old fools.”
Beth gasped, affronted. Elliot picked up his fork and dug into his dinner as the husband-and-wife-disaster sidled out of the booth. Peace at last.
He fished his phone from his pocket.
Elliot: How is Louisa?
* * *
Wentworth: Improving. I’m there now.
* * *
Elliot: That’s wonderful. I’m so happy to hear it.
Elliot pictured Wentworth at Louisa’s bedside, flowers covering the windowsills behind him. Most, undoubtedly, from Wentworth himself.
Elliot: Pass on my love.
* * *
Wentworth: She’s sounding fine. She knew who she was and where she was and remembers mostly everything.
* * *
Wentworth: I’m so relieved. I can’t even.
* * *
Wentworth: I’ve been a mess all day worrying. But she’s fine. Tired but fine.
* * *
Wentworth: Benny makes sure I’m up to date on her condition. I’m so thankful.