Page 10 of Reluctant to Love

5

Eleanor

So, this is what it feels like to be a real author.

Roderick looks exhausted but excited as he finishes signing the last book for the last reader in line. Most of the other authors on the floor are gone but he stayed.

He stands up and runs a hand through his long hair. Secretly, I love that it’s the same color as mine. His muscles strain against his long-sleeved shirt and I lick my lips with appreciation.

“I’m starving,” he groans, looking down at me with a sly smile on his lips. “Let’s go have dinner.”

“Roderick,” I scold him.

He holds up his hands. “Easy tiger. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am but this isn’t like old times. We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“That’s not what I want, Ellie. We need to talk, and we need to eat. Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

His persistence is already exhausting, and we’ve barely spent twenty-four hours together. “Alright. But you’re paying.”

One corner of his mouth lifts as he slings his arm around me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweets.”

Instead of heading to the hotel restaurant, Roderick leads me outside and into a cab. Without hesitation, he tells the driver where to go. I narrow my eyes. “You had this planned, didn’t you?”

“There’s a restaurant I’ve been dying to try. I made reservations weeks ago.”

I sneak a glance at Roderick, who’s scrolling through his email. Is it possible he’s changed in the last few years? I want to believe he did.

He certainly looks the same. His hair was always long, and he always had some sort of scruff covering his cheeks. Now, he’s a bit more polished. The scruff is a neatly trimmed beard and the hair is an expertly styled mess. But the man I fell in love with is still there.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” I say, lost in thought.

His large hand slowly strokes his beard before he turns to look at me. “Yes, I have. You just can’t see it.”

“Tell me,” I demand.

“You first. Why aren’t there books out there with your name on them?”

I swallow hard and look away. “I’ve been blocked.” That’s an understatement though. The words just didn’t come. For the first two years after we broke up, I couldn’t write a single word. I sat down in front of my laptop or at a table with a notebook, but nothing came. When I was finally honest with myself, little by little the words started to trickle out until I finally wrote a book.

“I know what you mean,” he says softly. “The third book took longer to write than I expected. After you left, I wanted to hurt Tristan and Yseut but that wasn’t fair to you or to my characters or to the story.”

“Heartbreak is a bitch.”

The cab pulls up in front of a pretty nondescript building. Roderick opens the door and reaches his hand inside to help me scoot along the backseat. He hands the driver a few bills and then grabs my hand. It’s warm and familiar and comforting. I melt into his touch.

Tonight, I can acquiesce.

“Heartbreak is a bitch,” he repeats with a sad smile.

We walk into the restaurant, which is anything but nondescript on the inside. It’s cozy but luxurious. The hostess takes us to a booth tucked away in a quiet corner. There are heavy drapes on either side, which she closes once she leaves.

“What kind of restaurant is this?” I reach out and touch the velvety soft curtains.

“Italian. It’s supposed to be the best in the area.”

A server drops off a basket of freshly baked bread with a promise to return in a few moments. The yeasty scent hits my nose and I reach out for a slice. Roderick seems to barely notice it’s there because his green eyes are focused on me.