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 thefavorite personcomment.
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 histhat’s my girlcomment. 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.
