Page 50 of Stolen Voices

“Yeah, like dirty jokes and stuff,” Eli hums, and I swear I can hear the faintest sniff coming from his nose.

Is he smelling my hair?The idea of him sniffing my hair sends chills rushing down my spine.

“Thank you for sharing.”

“Thank you for listening.” Eli holds me tighter.

I sink into his hold, soaking up his affection like a sponge. It’s been a while since someone has hugged me for comfort’s sake.

His lips move against the crown of my head as Eli whispers, “Anytime.”

I sit curled into his side for another minute before he untangles himself, places his hat back on my head, and returns to the other side of the table. My body feels the loss of more than just his heat.

He slides a slice of lemon pie in front of me. “Eat up.”

Picking up a fork, I scoop off a chunk and take a bite. “Okay, you’re right,” I mumble around the sweet, tart filling.

“I’m always right,” Eli says, taking a bite. He wipes his mouth clean with a napkin, and I force myself to concentrate on my food, not imagining my tongue wiping off the meringue instead. “But what am I right about this time?”

“That this was the food I didn’t know I was craving. So, thank you. For dinner, for sharing this wonderful place—and a piece of your childhood—with me. It means more than you know.”

“You’re welcome.”

We both finish our pie while exchanging stories about our dads. I listen to his every word, laughing along with him as he regales me with tales about growing up with three brothers. Like Eli can read my thoughts, he avoids the topic of moms and offers me a glimpse at the real him, further building my trust and my belief in the honorable man he is. Making me fall just a little more.

thirteen

Callie

Myfeetfloatabovethe carpet like I’m walking on air as I saunter down the hall towards my apartment. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.

I can still smell the clean scent of Eli’s shampoo lingering in my hair from wearing his hat.

The butterflies in my stomach swirl as pieces of our dinner replay in my head.

Tonight was a step forward for us. Maybe not in the way I would like for things to go, but still forward. For the first time in years, I talked to someone about my dad. I shared stories about him and my childhood. Stories that would have once brought pain to my heart brought joy and healing. I’m pretty sure it was Eli being at the receiving end of my words that made me feel those things.

With a sigh, I reach into my purse. My fingers graze my cellphone—which I haven’t thought about checking since Eli arrived at Ricochet lounge this afternoon—and the supple leather of my journal.

A smile pulls at my lips.

After dinner, Eli walked me out the front door of the restaurant and straight into the idling car parked at the curb, where my driver was waiting. We shared nothing more than a wave goodbye as I handed him his hat, but in a sense, it was also more.

While I didn’t want to say goodnight, my fingers itched to write. As soon as I grabbed my pen, the words floating around in my head spilled across the pages, inking themselves into the parchment and into my soul.

I grab my key and insert it into the lock, eager to lie in bed and finish what I started. The living room is dark as I step into my home and close the door behind me. I slide the deadbolt and make my way down the darkened hallway leading to the living room.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

I jump at the nasal voice of my unexpected guest.

A soft light clicks on, illuminating the dark room, and my senses go on alert. The voice, the cloying perfume in the air… It all registers. My insides bottom out, and my body tenses. Nausea and fear sour the food in my stomach.

Silla.

I hadn’t bothered to look at my phone all day, and that was my first mistake. I know when I check it, there will be a slew of messages and missed calls. My second mistake was thinking I could have a life that didn’t involve Silla boring her fingernails into it and destroying any shred of happiness I might have.

“Christ, Silla, you scared the crap out of me,” I mumble, gripping my chest. Adrenaline spikes, and my palms sweat.