Love Starts with Elle(15)

His cell rang, and when he answered, he walked out the French doors.

Elle picked at the edge of the counter, batting away tears. Horrible was the only word she had for this visit.

Lyle entered the kitchen, his cell phone in hand. “Just talked with the seller . . . Oh, hey, Elle, you in here by yourself? Let me flip on the light. Guess this kitchen is kind of dark, I do admit. Maybe we can see to putting in some sky lights.” He opened the door to the deck. “Get on in here, Jeremiah.”

Lyle restarted his spiel when Jeremiah came inside.

“They’ll take five grand less than asking, and”—Lyle wiggled his eyebrows. Elle hid a smile—“pay closing.”

Jeremiah glanced at Elle, and she longed for the warmth she always felt from him. “It’s up to you, Elle. Decide. I guess we can hole up in my apartment if we can’t find a place.”

“Don’t you dare blame me.” She didn’t care if Lyle listened in; she’d not have Jeremiah dump their failure on her.

He sighed. “I’m not blaming anything on anyone.”

Dallas had revealed a new side of both of them. Elle, the unrelenting artist. Jeremiah, the conquering achiever. She refused to be bulldozed, especially by the man she was marrying. But for the moment she embraced compromise.

“Let’s buy it, Jeremiah.” She smiled with all the confidence she could muster.

“Lyle, looks like you made the sale. Well deserved.” Jeremiah came around the island to kiss Elle’s cheek. His lips were wet and cool.





BEAUFORT


The quiet dark of the Sea Island Parkway—also known as Hwy 21, he’d discovered after finally consulting a map—spooked Heath. Turn on a light, somebody.

He’d passed the turn onto Fripp Point Road three times and was about to pass it again when, Wait, was that it? Mashing the brake, he whipped the van around in a U-turn.

“A-are we t-there, D-daddy?” After two long days on the road, Tracey-Love was ready to be home.

“Just about, sweetie.”

“M-my t-tummy hu-hurts.”

Heath angled around to see her, though she was barely visible in the dash lights. Four-year-old Tracey-Love had been sick since they left IHOP this morning.

“Hold on, we’re almost”—the van nosed down with a hard bounce as the pavement ended in dirt and gravel—“there.”

Turn right on Coffin Point . . . If that street name wasn’t loaded with irony. Heath scanned the emailed directions in the dome light as Tracey-Love moaned quietly. Buckled into a car seat, Heath figured he’d do more than moan.

Lights glowed from the cottage at the end of the drive. Is this it? When the van lights landed on the side of the house, he caught the numbers. He parked on the red brick drive and cut the van’s motor.

“Da-daddy.”

“We’re here, Tracey-Love.” But not in time to keep her from retching all over the side of the seat. He unsnapped his seatbelt while shoving open his door. “I’m coming around.”

Before leaving New York, Tracey-Love’s nanny had handed over a list of instructions for her care and diet, but he’d tossed the list aside once they started traveling, figuring TL deserved a little carefree fun. Now . . . perhaps not such a wise idea.

The nanny followed his wife’s health-food diet while Heath had followed the easy-going fast-food diet during this trip. Her stomach chose this moment to revolt.

The sweet, marsh-scented air mingled with the sour odor of vomit as Heath slid open the van door. Tracey-Love cried softly as he removed her from the seat.

“It’s okay. Daddy let you eat too much junk. How about a nice warm bath?”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Ava.

He hugged her to his chest, not caring if he soiled his last clean Ralph Lauren. “How do you like our new house, TL? Can you hear the frogs singing from the creek? The air is warm and thick. Tomorrow we’ll go exploring.”

Heath fished the house key from his pocket, the lowcountry perfume and night song confirming his decision to leave New York. He propped open the screen door with his foot and inserted the key. “Looks like our Realtor came by and clicked on the lights for us. Isn’t that nice?”

“D-daddy . . .” Tracey-Love gagged, spilling the last of her Happy Meal down his back before dissolving into tears.

“Don’t cry now. Come on, it’s going to be fine.” Heath fumbled with the lock, finally unlatching the door. “Once you’re clean and in a soft bed, you’ll feel better. Here we go. Look, isn’t this pretty?”

After two long days, they were finally home.



Elle came out of the bathroom tying her robe around her waist, reliving Dallas for the hundredth time.

If being driven and an overachiever was Jeremiah’s weakness, rehashing things in her head was one of hers. But she needed to understand, figure things out, find her bearings.

After saying yes to the house, Jeremiah had taken Elle and her host family out to a lovely dinner, and the next morning he kissed her good-bye at airport security and promised to call soon.

They exchanged an “I love you” and lingered in an embrace, but the entire flight home Elle ping-ponged between empty and bothered, elated and content.

She’d heard marriage was hard, but she didn’t expect so much friction over opposite goals and desires. Over a house. Over expectations.