Page 42 of Elijah
As I pushed open the door expecting to smell burning wood, the most unbelievable aroma of baking bread hit me. It was gorgeous.
“Claudia,” I called, walking towards the kitchen. “Have you been baking?”
I opened the door and saw Elijah pulling a tray of bread buns out of the oven.
“Elijah?”
He turned and smiled. “Hey, I made a visit to the bakery and bought these and warmed them up. I thought it might help.”
“It does,” I gasped. “Thank you, but you didn’t need to.”
“I did. It’s my fault the place stinks like bonfire night. I also got some flowers for the other rooms. Claudia is putting the last of them in the bedrooms.”
Elijah’s eyes searched my face and as I smiled, they momentarily lit up. His dark brown pools, twinkling like they always used to. He let out a long breath and nodded down at the tray of bread.
“I’d better put these down before I drop them.”
“Oh god, yes, sorry.”
He turned and placed the tray on a towel that he’d placed on the granite work surface. My heart slammed in my chest as I watched him place the tray down and throw the oven gloves to one side. It evoked memories of when he’d cook for me after a long day, and I couldn’t help but wish for things that I’d once had. I shook my head, trying to eradicate the pictures; it was too painful.
“I didn’t want to risk burning it,” he explained about the towel. “I think I’ve caused you enough trouble today.”
I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t due to the lump in my throat. Coughing to clear it, I put the bag of reed diffusers down.
“I’ll go and see how Claudia is getting on,” I managed to say.
Elijah turned giving me an honest, bright smile and then went back to plating up the bread buns. Needing a few minutes to compose myself, I headed for the lounge.
The smell had been his fault, but I’d never have expected him to go to any trouble to resolve it, but why hadn’t I expected it? That was what Elijah was like. He was thoughtful and kind and would do anything to help people. He was a good man who always admitted when he was in the wrong – that was except the one time when it had killed our marriage. Maybe if he had, I might have thought about forgiving him; but how could he admit he was wrong when I wouldn’t even listen to him. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it; the last five years of pain could easily never have happened if only I’d listened. But would I truly forgive him? It was Lauren Proctor after all and he knew how much she pecked at my head and my confidence.
Pushing open the lounge door, I swiped at the tears that were welling in my eyes, but when I saw the huge bouquet of wild flowers in a vase on the fireplace, I let them fall and clutched my shirt over the aching pain in my chest.
