My cheeks flush, and I’m not sure what to say. I nod. “We’ll go with more than just a friend.”
“Well, it’s something all right.” She holds her hand out to me. “Phone, please.”
“Why?”
“Because if I have your phone, then you’ll have a valid excuse why you can’t respond to work questions. And because it’s what Ford asked me to do, and you know as well as I do there is no saying no to that fine specimen of a man.”
I reluctantly hand over my phone, almost feeling like I’m giving her an arm or a leg. As I do so, a text sounds off, but she just smiles and tucks it into a drawer and locks it.
“Now that that’s taken care of, let’s get that pampering started. Time’s a wasting.”
I spend the next ridiculous amount of time being treated like I’m royalty. When I ask if I’m supposed to drink water after my massage, I’m told “champagne is made of water so it’s okay.” When I’m asked what color to paint my fingers and toes, I choose red because I know how much Ford liked my red lipstick the last time I wore it. When I’m asked if I feel relaxed as I head out the door, the tears burn in my eyes as I nod and realize just how much I needed this decadent reprieve.
I tell myself I don’t deserve this, all this pampering and attention, but I’d be remiss to deny just how much I’m enjoying it.
Every knot in my shoulders has been kneaded. My skin is glowing. My body’s relaxed.
And all because he noticed I needed it when I didn’t even notice it myself.
The thought repeats as I walk up the front steps to the condo Millie directed me to.
I’m like a giddy teenager as I unlock the door and look at the luxurious bed and huge clawfoot tub to soak in. I run my fingers over paperbacks by some of my favorite romance authors and revel in thought over how whoever brought them knew what I liked. A charcuterie board is set up on the table. Beside it is a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, a bowl of Chex Mix without the pretzels, and a bottle of the cabernet I like. The doors to the balcony are open, looking at the same ocean our inn does, but for some reason—maybe it’s my relaxed state, maybe it’s the day I’ve had—it sparkles even bluer.
I dial Ford the minute I finish taking it all in.
“So, I take it you didn’t have any problems today picking up what I needed picked up?” Ford asks by way of answering.
“Ford.” My voice breaks. Why does this feel like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me? Seeing that I needed a break. Giving me that break. Not being put out that he’s taking the brunt because of that break. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“There’s no need to say thank you. I just hope you relaxed rather than thought of ways to escape.”
“Why would I escape?”
“Says the woman who put the capital A in Type A?”
“You’re so full of it.”
“I am? Because I bet you that bottle of wine you’re pulling the cork from right now that you struggled with giving someone else control for the day, even when that someone was me.”
I burst out laughing because he is so right. I did worry about not being there. About someone needing me when I couldn’t be reached.
“See, I know you well. That’s why I had Millie take your phone away.”
“Apparently.” I pause and it dawns on me. “Oh my God. Something happened today, didn’t it?”
“Stop frantically scrolling through your texts. Nothing happened. And if it had, do you not have any faith in me?”
He’s right. I’m not alone. I have a partner who is more than capable.
“Okay. Panic attack averted.” I sit on a cushy chair and put my feet up. “Seriously though, that, this . . . everything was so thoughtful. I truly think it’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
“Well, that’s a shame because that is a drop in the bucket on the things you deserve, Ellery.”
Silence falls on the line. It’s not awkward, but I feel like there is so much unspoken in the space of time that neither of us are comfortable putting a voice to.
“Should I be jealous of those books you plan on reading tonight?” he teases.
“Whoever picked them has good taste.”
“Is that code for they have great sex scenes in them?”
“Something like that.” We both laugh. I’m not sure why I half expected to hear a knock on the door and have him be talking to me on his cell from the other side of it.
But there is no knock.
There are no expectations.
And I’m not sure if I like that he doesn’t expect anything in return for his kindness or if I’m disappointed that he didn’t come share this night with me away from the inn.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “You doing this . . . it means a lot to me.”
“I meant what I said. You deserve the break and so much more. Thank you for letting me show you that. For letting me spoil you. Now go enjoy your night. Soak in the tub. Dance naked because nobody’s watching. Fill your glass back up. And then I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jesus. Someone needs to write that in one of my romance novels.
No. Wait. I don’t want them to because this moment is mine.
And I don’t want it to be taken away from me.
“Good night, Fordham the University.”
“Good night, Celery Ellery.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ellery
Seven Years Ago
“I don’t understand.” I blink over and over as if each closure and opening of my eyes will change the scene before me.
Will make me hear something different.
“You don’t need to understand, Elle. All you need to know is this, us . . . it’s over.”
He’s going to propose to you tonight, Ellery. Josh Fitzpatrick is going to ask you to marry him, and then you’ll live happily ever after and be ridiculously in love.
Was it only hours ago that my best friend told me that in her singsong voice? How did I go from that to this? From elation to devastation? From getting a manicure so my nails looked perfect in pictures to show off my new ring to staring at the polish and wanting to vomit?
“Josh. I—don’t—”
“I met someone else.”
“What do you mean you met someone else?” I shout, tears welling in my eyes and the hollowness of my voice echoing in my head.
“Just like it sounds. I met another woman.”
I scrub a hand over my face and try to process the last few minutes. “You cheated on me?”
“A relationship shouldn’t be this much work. You either love me or you don’t, but I shouldn’t have to try and coax it out of you. I shouldn’t have to try this hard to make you love me.”
“But I gave you everything I could. I gave you everything I’m capable of giving.” I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back.
Fight for us.
“Look, I know you’ve been handed a shit sandwich in life . . . but your abandonment issues aren’t my problem.”
Fight for me.
“I gave you everything I could.”