“I know. I’ve been busy…working.”
“Whatcha working on?” I question. I didn’t know she did anything.
“I…” Her hesitation tells me she doesn’t want to tell me, and after only a second, I raise a hand, deciding to let her off the hook.
“You don’t have to tell me. It’s fine. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m designing a line of clothing.”
I blink. Blink again. “Holy…wow. That’s amazing.” My brows pinch together. “What does that mean?”
She circles the couch I’m on and takes a seat on the one perpendicular to me. “It means. I’ve designed some clothes, and now I’m making them. I’m hoping to present them to a few fashion houses I know and see if there is any interest.” Her face falters, lacking confidence in herself.
“You say you’re making the clothes.” I leave off from asking more questions, hoping she’ll keep talking. This might be the longest she’s spoken to me.
“Yes. I have a sewing machine in my room. Didn’t you see it when you were up there?”
“That explains the noise,” I mutter.
“What noise?” she asks, her forehead furrowing.
“I hear something humming at night.”
“Oh God, is it keeping you awake?” Her brows arch as her eyes widen with concern.
I shrug. It isn’t really. It’s soothing and a reminder she’s still upstairs, over me. At least over me in her own room. “Besides, I wasn’t exactly snooping the two times I’ve been up there.”
“Two?” she questions.
“Yes, when I brought you tea.” I pause, leaving off how I left a note and leaves, which I found in the trash. “And the other night…” I don’t need to clarify.
“Oh…right…about the leaves,” she says, looking down at her lap. She’s wearing jeans today. I don’t think I’ve seen her in anything other than workout gear minus the night she wore a dress to dinner.
“Yeah, you didn’t like them.” Message received. I smirk.
Her eyes close. “Actually, it was really sweet.” When her eyes open again, the green is so rich, like a summer forest, and I want to get lost in the trees. I want to fall into the woods and never come out again.
I bite my cheek once more, fighting a smile at her kind words.
“Want me to make you something to eat?” I offer, as an uncomfortable silence falls between us.
“I should really be the one making meals for you. How are you feeling?”
I’ve definitely been better, and obviously falling from my bike isn’t one of my finer moments. Between my haste and the sudden rain, I skidded out almost instantly on the first bend in the road. I went down hard enough to knock myself out but thankfully didn’t have enough speed for real damage. “I’m doing okay.”
She slowly smiles, and it’s like finding a rainbow after a storm. The perfect curve. The brightening of her face. If it reaches those forest-y eyes, I’m a goner. I can’t be responsible for my reaction.
But you will be, my head warns. You will act responsibly here.
I stand too quickly, and the blood rushes to my head. Leaning forward, I place my hands on my knees, which makes me wince as my chest still pinches.
“Ethan?” Ella stands as well, her hand landing on my lower back. Another set of fingers curls around my bicep. She’s touching me. She’s. Touching. Me. My eyes slowly lift, moving from her fingers on me to her face. Her hand is chilly, and I want to tuck them between mine and warm them up.
When she catches me looking at her, she peels her fingers off my skin, removing them one by one. I don’t want her to let go of me, but I can’t ask her to keep holding on. Instead, I slowly stand to my full height.
“Just stood too fast.” I take a deep breath to regulate my heart rate and recover from the pain in my ribs. “Let me get us something to eat. Mind if I join you? We can eat right here before the TV and watch a movie. Your choice,” I suggest as whatever I had on the screen earlier was definitely not something she’d want to watch.
I excuse myself and quickly grill some chicken, add in some sautéed vegetables. Remembering she said she doesn’t eat carbs, I skip pasta for her but make a helping for myself. When I’m finished, I have what looks like chicken noodle soup with hearty noodles and minimal broth. I return to the living room about fifteen minutes later and find a bottle of wine on the coffee table with two glasses. Jacob has a bar setup to the side of the dining room table, complete with a full array of alcohols and a wine fridge.
“I thought I’d have some wine with dinner,” she says as a way of explanation.
I hold out a dish for her and then draw it back before she can take it from me. “No poison, by the way. I can even taste test it before you eat it to prove it.”
Her peachy lips twist and her eyes sparkle like emeralds. “Very funny.” She takes the bowl from me, and without asking permission, I sit on the same couch as her.
“Wine is fine,” I mutter, sounding like a schmuck. I set my dish on the coffee table. “I like wine,” I add, sounding worse. I’m acting like I’ve never been on a date before or enjoyed dinner with someone. But this isn’t a date, and Ella isn’t just someone. I decide to close my mouth and reach for the wine bottle. After opening it, I pour each of us a glass. Ella takes the stemware I offer her, and then clinks hers against mine without saying anything.
“Are we drinking to something?”
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she teases.
“Ah, yes. Are we back to that? Want to smother me in my sleep?” I tease.
She shakes her head and lowers it, another small smile curling those full lips. “I’m hoping we’re over that.”
“Are we?” I question. How does she feel about me? Can she continue to be sweet like this moment? Could we possibly be…friends?
“I hope,” she teases. “But then again, hope is a dangerous thing.” The statement is cryptic and ominous. Sensing we’d be heading for something heavy if I asked what she means, I let it slide. Instead, I lift my glass and take a drink of the white wine.
“That’s very sweet,” I say, setting the glass on the table.
“Jacob’s grandparents own a vineyard in California. Napa Valley, actually.”
I sit back on the couch, balancing my bowl in my hands while she sits forward, angling hers on her lap. “Tell me about them,” I prompt. She tells me a few stories about the vineyard, and I try to imagine it. I’d love to visit Napa someday.
She transitions to general information about herself, and for the next hour, I learn more about Isabella Francesca Howard, nee Isabella Vincentia, Isabella Vee.
“Ella has always been a nickname after Belly when we were children,” she explains. The conversation moves to Jacob and their relationship.
“It was hard for me when Jacob left for college and then never really returned.” I’ve learned that Jacob went to Columbia in New York for writing, and I relate to her disappointment at her older sibling walking away from home. Gavin did the same thing to me and our relationship. I also learn Jacob wasn’t the star athlete Daddy Vincentia wanted his son to be, and it reminds me a little of myself. As Ella is ten years younger than him, he didn’t have much time for his sister as she grew. “I mainly saw him when I was in New York. Sometimes he’d come back to California for my birthday.”