Page 16

“I told you I looked for you. After the plane, I mean. I couldn’t get you out of my head, and when I read the letters, it was like I understood all the feelings this Henry poured into the words.

The way it feels to connect with someone on that level and then just lose her.

It’s not logical, and our circumstances are complicated, but the one thing I’ll never, ever do is lie to you, Amelia.

I felt something on that plane, and so did you.

And now that I know what this kind of connection feels like, I can’t unknow it.

I felt it on the plane, and I felt it when I read those letters, and I feel it right now, sitting next to you.

We can’t do anything about it yet, but I can do this.

Untangle this family mystery and tell my great-grandmother’s story.

It feels like something I need to do. For my grandmother, so she can know her mother’s story, but also for me. ”

I ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him as my heart gallops in my chest. He’ll never understand how deeply his words touch me, and right now, I can’t tell him, so I say the only thing I can.

“I want to help you.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “Help me with what?”

“Help you find Henry. Help you tell your great-grandmother’s story. What was her name?”

“Clara.”

I smile at the softness in his voice. “Will you let me help?”

He slides his hand forward, his fingertips playing with mine, and against my better judgment, I let him, little currents of electricity shooting from where our skin touches. “You know, to help me, we’ll have to spend more time together.”

“I know.”

This time, when he smiles, it’s a full-blown grin. “I knew it. You can’t resist me just as much as I can’t resist you. It’s not enough just to see me in class. You need to manufacture more ways to see me.”

“Keep dreaming,” I say dryly, even though I don’t hate the idea of seeing him more nearly as much as I should.

“Well, why else would you offer to help me?”

I shrug. “Family history interests me.”

“Is that why you did a minor in genetics?”

I stare at him. “You remember I told you I did a minor in genetics?” It was an offhand comment during a rant at breakfast. I was sure he would have forgotten.

His eyes hold mine, the intensity in his sharpening my breath, and then I lose it completely when he pushes his hand forward, tangling our fingers together. “I remember everything about you. In the non-creepy way, I swear,” he adds, a wry smile on his face that makes me smile too.

“Hey, true crime addict, remember?” I say, sliding my hand out from his and pointing to myself. “Even if it was in the creepy way, I probably still wouldn’t mind.”

“In that case…” He waggles his eyebrows, and I burst out laughing.

“Okay, no, it turns out I do have a creep limit and it’s whatever you just did with your face.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Mystery Girl, I think you are my favorite person.”

My head whips around the patio to confirm we’re still alone. “You can’t call me that here,” I hiss, even as my insides glow at the favorite person comment.

He gives me an easy smile. “No one else is out here. We’re the only ones crazy enough to sit out on the patio in Boston in January.”

“Then everyone else is stupid.” I glance around the patio again as if someone might have appeared in the last ten seconds.

“Out here is the best because, winter night, and also because it’s out here and not in there.

” I gesture towards the glass doors leading inside where the party is still in full swing. “Too many people in there.”

Elliot nods, propping an elbow on the back of the couch and leaning his head on his hand. “I usually like people, but I think what I like most of all is being out here with you.”

For a second, I’m at a complete loss for what to say, and then I don’t need to say anything at all because my stomach chooses this extremely lovely moment to remind me I haven’t eaten since breakfast, growling loudly in the empty patio.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my face heating with embarrassment.

“Hungry?” Elliot asks, a wry smile on his face.

I shrug. “Got caught up working on my research today and forgot to eat lunch.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

He narrows his eyes at me, as if daring me to lie to him. “How often?”

I huff out a breath. “Like, every day pretty much. I had big plans tonight to order enough Chinese food for five people and plant my ass on the couch with a book, but then I got the email reminder for this party, and my conscience got the better of me and, well, here I am.”

Elliot shifts on the couch just enough for his knee to brush mine.

The gesture is utterly intentional and has heat shooting up my leg.

I take a sharp breath in, and his grin widens, as if he is just absolutely tickled pink at the way he affects me.

“Well,” he starts, leaning forward just slightly inside my personal space.

“Your spectacular ass is planted right here on this couch, and while I can’t produce Chinese takeout at the moment, I can feed you. How do you feel about s’mores?”

I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face. “I feel very friendly towards s’mores.”

“That’s my girl.” Elliot reaches over and slides one of the tables with s’mores ingredients closer to us while I try to get my pulse under control from his that’s my girl comment. He turns back to me with sticks in one hand and a handful of marshmallows in the other, sliding three onto each stick.

“Three marshmallows? You’re not messing around.”

He hands me a stick. “I never joke about s’mores. Now I have a very important question for you, and the fate of our entire relationship rests on your answer.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

“Yet.” He winks at me and it’s entirely possible that my too small underwear just disintegrates into thin air.

“Okay, what is this important question on which the fate of mankind rests?”

He gives me a serious look. “Are you a slow roaster, or a stick your marshmallows into the fire and burn the shit out of them kind of girl?”

I scoff. “As if there’s more than one right answer. Low and slow all the way. That’s the only way to get the perfectly melty middle. Without the perfectly melty middle, I’d rather not eat the marshmallow at all.”

Elliot’s face lights up like I just gave him all the secrets of the universe. “I fucking knew we were meant to be.”

We sit side-by-side, shoulders pressed together, holding our marshmallows above the flames.

I’m more comfortable with him in the silence than I am with anyone doing almost anything else, and I shouldn’t like it nearly as much as I do.

When Elliot deems the marshmallows ready, he takes my stick from me and makes my s’more, handing it back to me with a wink and a grin before he assembles his own.

“I could have done that myself, you know,” I say, before I take a bite of the hot, gooey dessert and then groan as the flavors explode in my mouth.

Elliot’s eyes flare, and I realize belatedly how that groan must have sounded. “Amelia, I don’t think there’s anything you couldn’t do, but I like the idea of doing things for you.”

I have no clue how to respond to that. I’m usually the caretaker, not the person being taken care of, even though there’s a part of me that always wishes there was someone there to help me carry the weight sometimes.

Gabe would if I asked him to, and so would Molly or Liv, but I tried so hard for so long to be the one no one had to worry about, and that’s a habit that’s hard to break.

Somehow, Elliot sees that part of me. It’s probably best not to think too hard about that right at this moment.

Too antsy to keep sitting, I set my s’more down and push up from the couch, walking to the edge of the patio, leaning on the railing, and staring out at the darkened backyard.

Away from the heat lamps, I shiver, but before I can take a step back, a jacket lands on my shoulders, and Elliot leans against the railing next to me.

“Look,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

I follow his gaze to the sky as the first snowflakes fall and when I look back at him, he’s not looking at the sky anymore—he’s looking at me, a soft smile on his face. “Like I said,” he whispers. “Magic.”

It feels like magic.

For the first time since I discovered that the man from the plane is, in fact, the one man on the planet who is completely off limits to me, all the protests empty from my brain.

It’s just the winter night and the snow falling softly from the darkened sky and Elliot and I standing face to face, drawing closer together with each breath we take and each beat of our hearts.

His coat is snug around my shoulders, and his spicy scent surrounds me, and his hand inches forward on the railing, covering my own.

I see in his eyes what he means to do, and I wonder if I’ll let him. I wonder what his lips feel like, what he tastes like, and I decide I want to find out more than I want to breathe.

But I don’t get the chance.

The opening of the patio door whips me out of my trance, and I take an immediate step back as people pour onto the patio. Dean Miller leads the pack, and his glance in our direction has anxiety lancing up my spine.

“We can’t,” I mutter, trying to calm my racing heart.

“I know,” Elliot says quietly. “Maybe one day.”

With something like regret, I shrug his coat off my shoulders and hand it to him, letting myself wish for just a second that one day was today.