Page 52 of Our Elliana

TWENTY-TWO: No Big Deal

TRISTAN: LAST NIGHT

“Noah,” Elliana’s voice echoes in her room as she calls out to the kid, but he’s already gone. I hear a couple of doors closing, and Elle tosses on a robe to follow him. Tugging my boxer briefs back up, I tromp after her. She knocks on his door saying his name again, but he doesn’t respond. Now that I’m here, I detect the sounds of his shower and turn to her.

“He can’t hear you, Elle.”

“But I made him stay when clearly, I shouldn’t have,” her voice is an octave higher with apprehension. Also, she’s not wearing those four-inch stilettos of hers, and her diminished height along with all the shit that went down at her shop makes me want to spool bubble wrap around her. Not letting her out of my sight sounds appealing, too. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

While I agree that Noah sprinted off for a reason, I understand his need to deal with it alone. He and I are the most introverted members of the household, so I get it.

Yet I don’t know that Elle does. She keeps knocking despite what I’ve just told her, and internally I cringe on the kid’s behalf. She’s not going to let sleeping dogs lie, which means she may be poking and prodding at Noah until she’s satisfied he’s all right.

He’ll eventually have to answer her questions to some extent, but it looks like it’s not going to happen tonight. Embracing her, I stroke up and down her spine, compelled to monitor her well-being.

“Hey,” I come up with this on the fly. “If you follow me downstairs, I’ll make you anything you want. Let the birthday shenanigans continue.”

“It’s 3:30 in the morning, Tristan. My birthday is over.”

“It’s still your birthday week. And I can spoil you if I want.”

She hugs my arm, tucking herself against me. “How can I say no to that?”

Taking her hand, I lead her past her bedroom where Jackson, seemingly unperturbed by Noah’s rapid departure—or to be fair, maybe just zonked after getting to fuck Elle—is face down in her pillows, dead to the world.

Escorting her to the kitchen, I ask what she wants, and when she mentions more key lime, I’m quick to serve it up to her. I take a serving of the apple crisp, and when she leans in for a spoonful, feed some to her. It turned out quite well.

It’s as we’re sitting there together filling up on dessert that she grins over at me, and though this isn’t my typical MO, I feel compelled to grin back at her like Lewis Carroll’s famous cat. As if on cue, Three Socks appears begging to share, and Elle gives the feline some whipped cream from the top of her pie.

I find myself in this warm bubble of contentment before reality seizes me in its icy grip.

I’m on a slippery slope, and I need to watch myself. I’m supposed to be doing a job to make money and pull my ass out of the shitty situation I found myself in, not getting all infatuated with my employer like a goddamn idiot.

Yet every time I look at Elliana, I yearn to hold her. But maybe because of this threat to her or how my time here has progressed, I can’t seem to maintain my customary detachment.

Goddamn idiot here, party of one.

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