Page 76 of Our Elliana

So, I return to my regular go-to and bury myself in the kitchen.

That night she discovered the card at her workstation had been a serious wakeup call for me. It actually felt amazing to be back over the stove after remaining absent for a few days, to have my hands on cups and saucepans, on measuring spoons and containers of spice.

It’s the irony of all ironies that by becoming a hermit, I punished myself as much if not more than I neglected my housemates. Neglected Elle. I’m beyond grateful that she encouraged me to spend some platonic “us time” on her lounger that evening. Since then, I’ve been determined to be whoever she needs me to be again.

I’m in the midst of doing just that by preparing dinner when Jackson and Elle wander in from the garage.

“Like something to drink?” he asks her, and on a superficial level, there’s nothing noteworthy about this. But upon closer inspection, there’s a tone in his voice that I’ve never heard when he addresses her. Not quite antagonistic, but not his typical flirty and friendly banter either.

It’s far more stuffy than usual. Almost formal. Or maybe it’s resentful.

There’s a discernible tension there, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell it’s about.

She pauses on the opposite side of that stucco half wall. “Some mint tea would be nice.”

Jackson doesn’t offer his typical, “Here you go, sweet thing,” one of his smirks, or anything similar. Instead, he maintains a glaring lack of expression as he prepares the tea and hands it over. Then, he advances right past her without another word.

His glacial demeanor just gave me goosebumps, and I stare after him.

This is why I can’t check out. Not even for a day or two. Because I miss shit like this.

Elle wears the mask of someone upset but trying not to show it. I’m about to ask about it when Noah bursts in. I peek over at him only to almost gag as he passes by. He reeks of grease smoke.

“Whoa, did you just fight a restaurant blaze?” I ask him, being all too familiar with the distinct odor.

“You can still smell it, can’t you?” The kid wipes a hand down the front of his jacket as if it’s to blame. “I took a shower at work and changed into fresh clothes, but it keeps clinging to me somehow.”

Elle approaches and taps on his shoulder. He bends down—way down since she’s such a pixie—allowing her to sniff at his short blond locks.

“It’s here in your hair. Try shampooing and rinsing twice. That ought to do it.”

“Thanks, Elle.” He offers her a wan smile, and she gives him a peck on the cheek. She’s often cute like this with him. But then, she whacks him on the ass.

“Go. We’ll wait for you to get back before we eat.” She meets my gaze as she states this, and I bob my head at her, message received. In fact, I go one step beyond that. I make a selection of sandwiches that can be consumed by hand along with a veggie and olive platter.

“What if we have a movie night?” I suggest to Elle, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll bring dinner in there, and we can watch something together.”

She peeks over at Jackson who is scraping his guitar pick on her lace curtains as he peers out the living room window.

“Sounds good to me.”

Once Noah has returned sans scent of eau de stinky, we all sit on her sofa lounger. As I situate the platters of finger foods across her coffee table, it doesn’t escape me that Jackson has put as much space as physically possible between him and Elliana.

Definitely some trouble in paradise.

I go back to retrieve everyone’s preferred drink except for Elle since Jackson already took care of hers. Wine for me. Craft beer for Jackson. Ice water for Noah. The kid hasn’t touched anything alcohol related since his birthday. I go to the home screen on the television and peruse the different offerings from her collection of streaming services. She has all of them.

When Noah spots Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the Gary Oldman, Winona Rider version—he speaks up.

“Hey, can we watch that one?” He sounds like an eager child asking his parents for permission to eat a cookie. “One of the truckies was talking about it last week.”

“Truckie?” Elle scrunches up her features.

“Firefighter who works on one of the ladder trucks.” He waves dismissively. “So, can we?”

She grins. “Sure. Why not?”

“You know that’s R-rated and about vampires, right?” Jackson smirks at him half-mockingly, and damned if I’m not glad to see him return to his old self again.

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