I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I was right when I thought the worst of him. I’m afraid that it would be stupid of me to believe him. I’m afraid that the thumb drive in my hand is just proof that he’s capable of doing what I thought he did.
I take a deep breath, and it shudders on the way out as I fight tears.
“Jesus, don’t cry, you’re at work,” he murmurs. For the first time in days there’s that familiar teasing note in his voice.
“Then don’t make me cry at work,” I whisper.
Eli steps closer. A tear slides down one cheek and before I can do anything about it, he brushes it away with his thumb.
“Don’t,” I say, but there’s no fire behind it.
“Get dinner with me tonight,” he says. “After work.”
I clench the thumb drive in my hand, trying to compose myself.
“Please?” Eli asks.
I just nod.
“Seven. I’ll pick you up,” he says.
I take a deep breath. I reassert some control over myself. I walk around my desk and sit down again, the thumb drive in my hand.
“Seven,” I confirm.
The ghost of a smile passes over his face.
“See you then,” he says, and leaves me alone in my office.
I look down at my desk. I feel like a maelstrom. I feel like an asshole. I feel like a gullible idiot. I feel like the past few days have dragged me through the desert.
And I feel like I might not deserve gifts like this.
Eli’s head pops back around the corner.
“Don’t watch that here,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You’d be amazed at how bad security is at this place.”
Then he’s gone again.
I put the thumb drive into my pocket.* * *He brought flowers. Nice ones. Bright pink peonies and pale pink ranunculus, interspersed with small white roses, eucalyptus stems scattered throughout.
It’s gorgeous, classy, and I did not think that Eli knew what a ranunculus was.
He holds it out. I take it.
“I can’t take much credit for that,” he admits. “I just went to Blooms in the Vale and told Kate to make something you’d like, since I figured she’d know better than me.”
“Thank you,” I say. “She got it right.”
“Good,” he says, and I finally look up at him.
He still looks rough, but he’s shaved since this afternoon. His hair looks better. I think he’s showered.
I did. I showered and shaved my legs and scrubbed myself clean. I blew my hair dry and put on the nice underwear and a cute dress.
I called Adeline and told her everything. I talked her ear off, going around and around in circles like I do, until she finally cut me off on the third or fourth iteration and just said Violet, it’s okay to feel however you feel. Everyone’s wrong sometimes. It’s not that bad.
I’m still nervous, though. I take a deep breath.
“Can I come in?” he asks, that hint of a smile in his voice.
“Right,” I say, and step back. “And I should put these in water —”
“Wait,” he says, catching my wrist. His hand is warm. The pads are rough, but he’s soft underneath. He slides his hand into mine and it feels like getting into bed at the end of a long day.
He takes a deep breath.
“Violet—”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should have believed you. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt for one second and…”
I trail off, a giant lump in my throat. Eli squeezes my hand.
“Dammit, I rehearsed this,” I say.
I look away. I take a deep breath.
“I should have trusted you,” I say, willing my voice not to shake. “That’s all. You earned it. I should have believed you and I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”
“I get it,” he says, simply.
I watch him, waiting. Despite everything I’m still nervous, the butterflies in my stomach pitching and rolling.
“We’ve always been… us,” he says. “You’ve been at my throat since we were kids and vice versa, and it’s hard to change that. It’s hard to change, period, and it’s even harder to believe that other people have changed.”
He exhales, hard, squeezes my hand.
“But I want to be someone you can always trust. I want to always have your back. I want to always be there, behind you, and I want to be so constant you never have to think about whether I’m yours or not. I just am. I’m there. I’m there and I always am and you never have to wonder whether I’d hurt you, and can you believe I rehearsed this?” he asks.
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.
“Maybe you should have rehearsed more?” I whisper.
“See, I’m not sure you have changed,” he says, teasing.
“Of course I have,” I say, even though I don’t trust my voice. “I’m totally and completely different than I used to be.”