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There you are, minding your own business, washing some spring onions and squashing the bugs (sorry, Jas), humming one of the songs from Pelican Town’s own pop stars’ debut CD, and very definitely not thinking about Elliott, when Leah erupts into your scene of pastoral peace.
“Have you seen Elliott? Like, in the past week?” she demands.
You jump guiltily, dropping your onion into the washtub and rummaging through the water for it. “Elliott?” you squeak. “I haven’t even thought about him in the past week! I don’t know when I saw him last!”
You last saw him two weeks ago, the night Abigail somehow convinced Pierre to part with some cash to reserve the private room at the Stardrop Saloon for the band and invited you to join in. It had been a fun event. You’d been planning to stop by and chat with Elliott after it ended – he’d been there when you arrived, but he’d left by the time the party ended. Odd, because it wrapped up by 10 at Pierre’s insistence.
“Uh-huh.” You’re a rotten liar, and Leah can read you like a book. (Books... Elliott writes books....) “Seriously, I’m worried about him.” That snaps you back to reality. “He hasn’t been at the Saloon in over a week, and he hasn’t answered his door for almost as long. Willy says he hasn’t seen him either.”
That is a concern. For all that he and Leah joke about his being a hermit, he’s at the Saloon pretty regularly in the evenings, and for him to be avoiding Leah and Willy....
“I’m sure he’s fine,” you say as casually as you can, strangling your spring onion. “Maybe I’ll drop by his place later. As a favor to you. And Willy. I, uh, I have to go check on my crab pots anyway.”
Leah rolls her eyes. “Sure, sweetie. Report back!”
You nod, shoving the spring onions into the shipping bin half-washed.
You’re on your horse and galloping to the beach the second Leah is out of sight.
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Crab pots ignored (and you do need to check them – Gus asked you to get him a lobster and you’d love to try whatever recipe he makes with it), you’re standing in front of the cabin, trying to bring yourself to knock. What are you going to say? How casual should you be? How worried should you be? What if he’s sick or hurt? What if he’s not in? Should you go looking? Where would you even start? The woods, maybe?
The sound of piano music begins to waft from the cabin, interrupting your rising panic. You tilt your head, straining to hear. It’s... yes, it’s one of Elliott’s favourite songs... the soft, nostalgic, slightly sad one. (Not that you know much about the songs Elliott plays.)
Good. He’s alive, and he can’t be that sick or that badly hurt if he’s playing piano.
You lift your hand to knock, but a new, shallower panic intervenes. How do you look? Is your shirt stained? Are your boots muddy? (Of course your boots are muddy! How muddy are your boots?) How much do you smell of spring onions? Is there anything on the beach that you could use to comb your hair?!
Pull yourself together, you tell yourself sternly.
Tentatively, you knock.
The music continues.
Well, maybe he didn’t hear you.
You knock a little louder.
The music stutters, but continues. Louder.
Okay, now you’re annoyed on top of all the other emotions you’re experiencing. (Not that you’re experiencing that many emotions, but still.)
You pound on the door with both fists, maybe just a tiny bit more violently than would be strictly warranted.
A discordant sound comes from the piano, and the music stops. It’s replaced by stomping sounds.
“For the tenth time this week, Leah, please let me handle this in my own—” Elliott rips the door open, and you jump back. He stops, aghast. “Oh! It’s you! You’re... not Leah!” You probably look as confused and surprised as he does, and you have no idea how to respond. He puts his hand out tentatively, then pulls it back. “Um... come in?”
Sure. Sure, why not. You’ve been in the cabin before. Several times. You were calmer then, of course. (You weren’t calmer then. At all.) But sure.
You step inside and hesitate. Now what?
“Oh! Here! Sit! Please! If you like!” Elliott pushes a mass of papers off the desk chair. Something makes a ripping, crunching sound. He winces but nudges the chair toward you. “I’ll get you a coffee! If you’d like one! Would you like a coffee? It’s okay if you don’t want one! You probably don’t!”
You kind of don’t, actually. It’s past four, and a farmer needs a good night’s sleep to be up at six in the morning. But he looks so dejected at your hesitation that you sit down and say, “I’ve been longing for a coffee. How did you know?” He brightens and sets about making it, humming a more upbeat tune than the one he was playing earlier. You realize you’re staring at him. Well, you’re not really, it’s just... there aren’t that many places to look. You shift your gaze to the piano. The plant looks like it’s doing better. Maybe he’s stopped watering it with seawater.
After he brings you the coffee, you stare at each other awkwardly. There are no other chairs, and he’s looming over you. You take a quick sip of the coffee to cover your sudden blush, and burn your tongue. Okay, no. Not helping. You set the cup down on the only clear space on the desk.
You gather your courage and rush into speech to fill the silence. “Where have you been for the past two weeks?!” Oops, that came out more... assertive than you’d intended.
He blinks, startled, then looks away. “I’ve been writing! I’m at a tricky part of my novel and it’s been taking up all my time.”
He’s a worse liar than you are. It’s obvious there’s something wrong. He won’t meet your gaze.
“Look, I’m – Leah’s worried about you. So is Willy. No one’s seen you in a while.”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve told Leah at least ten times, I’m dealing with something. I’ll get over it in my own time. I’m fine.”
If there’s one thing that triggers your Mom Friend Instincts, it’s “I’m fine.”
You half-rise, then sink back down. This cabin is much too small. “Can I help? Whatever it is, you’ve got friends who are worried about you. We can help you through.”
He turns away, shoulders slumped. “I... no. I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do.”
That’s got to be the worst thing you can say to a Mom Friend. Surely there’s something you can do. There always has been. Even when you were working at Joja where everyone was miserable, there was always something you could do to cheer people up.
“Right!” you say brightly, pushing the chair back as best you can. Further rustling, tearing sounds ensue, drawing another little wince from Elliott. “Why don’t we go to the Saloon and—”
“NO. I don’t think I’m ever going back there.” There’s a tremor in his voice.
“Did something happen at the Saloon?” You’re really concerned now. He’s always seemed so happy and relaxed there.
He whips back around and looks at you. He looks shocked and... is that anger in his eyes?
“Did... did something happen? At the Saloon?!” He starts pacing, as much as it’s possible to pace in a restricted space. “Yes! Something happened!” He gesticulates wildly, and you cringe back against the wall, wide-eyed. Seeing your alarm, he pulls himself together with a visible effort.
“I’m sorry,” he says, more quietly. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I didn’t mean to worry you. That’s the last thing I’d want to do. I don’t – I don’t want to get in the way of your happiness. Ever. Your happiness is all I want. I just... I know this makes me a bad f-friend, not – not celebrating your happiness, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just can’t stand it yet, to see you happy with Sam.”
Your jaw drops. Wait, what? All he wants is your happiness? But. Sam? Why is Sam in this conversation? Happy with Sam? You? What? What is even happening? You struggle to put something into words. “Wha—”
“I’m not blaming you! He’s charming and younger than I am and—”
“He’s not much younger—”
“—a pop star—”
“—well, not yet—”
“—and he’s a nice person, I’m sure he’ll make you very happy—”
“But—”
“—and that’s all I want! I want you to be happy! Please believe that! I’ll attend your wedding with a smile on my lips, if not in my heart—”
“Wedding!?” Okay, this is getting badly out of hand.
“—and seeing you walk in together that night at the Saloon, it was clear that you belong together, you looked so happy—”
“We weren’t—” You hadn’t been together! You’d just shown up at the same time, and you were going to the same place, so you walked in together! And of course you looked happy, you were going to a celebration! Sebastian was happy too! So was Abigail! So was everybody! Except Pierre! And apparently except Elliott, but you didn’t know that, so you were happy!
“—I swear I’ll go back to normal as soon as I can, and be social again, but I just can’t right now—”
“But—” This has to be stopped.
“—but I truly am happy for you both—”
This monologue must be stopped. At all costs. Only half conscious of what you’re doing, you jump out of the chair, grab him by the shoulders, and kiss him.
“—mmff—”
He gasps and stumbles back a bit, then steadies you both, wraps his arms around you, and leans into the kiss.
It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of – tender and passionate at the same time, gentle and loving but teasing and promising so much more.
When at last you come up for air, you nestle against his chest, a dreamy smile on your lips. This feels so warm and safe and comfortable and... right.
He sighs, stroking your hair. “So... I assume you’re not in love with—”
“No. Where did you even get an idea like that?”
“Leah said—” Leah?! What a terrible wingwoman! “—she thought you’d like a man who plays music, and...” He shrugs, trailing off.
You pull away a bit, in shock. “You play piano!” You point accusingly at the piano in question.
His jaw drops. Clearly he hadn’t thought of that. You mentally apologize to Leah. “I don’t play it well!” he says defensively.
“And you didn’t ask her what she meant? Or ask me what she meant?!”
“Well, it just seemed so obvious that night...”
You snort, snuggling back into his arms. “For a writer, you’re not that great at communication.”
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he says ruefully, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “My love, will you grant me the chance to improve?”
You melt. “We’ve got the rest of our lives,” you say, pulling him down into another kiss.