“Don’t,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. “I . . . yes. I am.”
“So he’s the one?” I asked, my voice steady, my heart coiling, my eyes begging.
She tore her gaze away from mine. “He makes me happy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
I moved closer. “Is that what it takes to be the one?”
Her eyes flashed back to mine, and I swear, in that moment, I lost whatever doubt I had left. Right there, in those eyes, in the turbulent sea she created with just one look.
“What it takes is showing up. What it takes is not walking away every time something possibly meaningful happens. What it takes is . . . Jesus, Oliver, I don’t even know what you want me to tell you!” she whisper-shouted at me.
“Tell me he’s the one. Tell me he makes you feel the way you feel when you’re with me,” I urged, getting closer to her face.
She let out a short laugh. “I haven’t seen you in what? Over a year? And you come in here looking at me like that and talking about how I feel when I’m with you. What am I supposed to do with that, Oliver?”
I grabbed her elbows and held her there so that we were breathing on each other’s faces. The smell of cookie dough and wine infiltrated my nose, and I could only close my eyes and picture what it would taste like on my tongue.
“Let go of me,” she said, in a low voice. “You are not going to kiss me. You do not get to kiss me. Not today.”
“This may be the last chance I get to kiss you,” I said softly, my lips falling over her cheek. “This may be the last time I get to hold you.”
“Oliver, please,” she said between a whisper and a plea.
“Does he make your heart race like I do?” I whispered beside the corner of her mouth. “Does he make you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes?”
“I like breathing, thank you very much,” she whispered, but sagged against my touch.
“How often do you think about me, Elle?”
“I’m not answering that,” she said, closing her eyes as my lips brushed against hers.
“You’re not stopping me from kissing you,” I said, in warning.
“I should. If he comes in here, he’s going to be upset.”
“He shouldn’t have left your side to begin with.”
She pressed against me, pushing me back slightly. The sound of heels clinking against the floor startled me, and I dropped my hands from her elbows, taking a step back.
“Are the cookies ready, honey? I have nothing else to give people,” her mom said, appearing beside us.
“Yeah, here. I’m making one more batch of pigs in a blanket and then I’ll be done,” she responded.
Hannah stopped beside me with the tray in one hand and held my chin. “Doesn’t he get more handsome every time he comes home?” she said, pinching my cheek as she walked away.
Estelle glared at her mother’s back as I smiled slightly.
“He seems to know a lot about me,” I said when we were alone again.
Her face clouded. “He knows enough.”
“Enough to know he should worry about me and you being alone together?”
“Enough to know you’re trouble. Deadly. Hazardous to my health.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. This wasn’t going as planned.
“So you’re doing it? You’re going to marry him?” I said, finally realizing this was a losing battle.
“We’re engaged, Oliver. We’re living together. We’re opening a gallery together. That alone is like having a child,” she said, her words making me flinch. A child with him.
“This is so hard for me,” I whispered, stepping in front of her again.
“What we had . . . it passed,” she said, her eyes on the floor beside us.
“Do you really believe that?” I asked, cupping her chin so that she could look at me.
“You need to stop,” she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I hated to be the cause of them. I wondered how many I’d been responsible for throughout the years. That was when it really hit me: I messed up royally. This wasn’t an easy fix. This wasn’t a let me come over tomorrow and fix the training wheel I accidently broke. Or let me replace the canvas I threw a football in the middle of. This is life. This is what happens when you stop living in the moment. People grow up. They change, they move on, and you find yourself wishing you had looked up in time to walk with them.
“You’re right,” I said, stepping back and dropping my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you, my beautiful Elle.”
I leaned in, gave her a kiss on the cheek, taking one last moment to smell her, and walked away.