Love Starts with Elle(58)

Elle knelt down in front of Rio and Tracey-Love. Twins with different mothers, the two of them—both with round blue eyes, button noses, and pink cheeks. One with blonde hair, the other with brown.

“Dip your feet in the paint, then hit the canvas, running, walking, or twirling, whatever you like. Fall down, roll around.” Elle held up her finger and tried to sound firm. “But you must have fun. Ready?”

“Ready,” they said in unison with bent-knees bouncing.

Elle raced with them to the bowls of tempera paint, steering each girl to the right canvas board on the studio floor. “This one is for Rio’s mama, and—yeah, over there, TL—that one is for your daddy.”

Squeaking like puppy-dog chew toys, the four-year-olds skated, slipped, and slithered around the canvas, mixing body and paint. Elle had bundled their curls with do-rags and dressed them in Rio’s old shorts and T-shirts, but they managed to cover every inch of themselves with paint.

“Tracey-Love, here’s a spot you missed.” Elle pointed to a small corner of the white canvas. TL stomped her reddish-blue foot on the spot, very pleased with herself.

“Look it, Auntie Elle.” Rio pointed to a red face print.

“Rio, very creative.” A glob of paint dripped from her chin.

When the entire canvas was covered without a square of white, Elle threw the girls into the shower with a large bar of soap.

“Rio, your mama’s coming to get you. And, TL, your daddy’s coming home tomorrow.”

“I w-w-wanna st-stay with you.” It’d taken until this moment for the girl to exhale and find security within herself.

“Me too.” Rio, the mimic.

“Tell you what, we’ll have a sleepover real soon.”

She peeked in the shower. The girls were trying, but remained covered with paint. Elle would have to get wet if she wanted to return them to their parents clean. Clothes and all, she stepped in.

“Aunt Elle forgot to take off her clothes.” The girls covered their mouths and giggled.

Once she toweled them off and dressed them in clean clothes, she dashed in the shower for her own quick clean up and change, setting the girls to work with coloring books on the futon.

“Knock, knock.” The studio door eased open. A male voice asked, “Everyone decent?”

Elle came out of the bathroom with an armload of wet towels as Danny Simmons stepped inside.

“Danny.”

“Evening, Elle.” His eyes roamed over to where the girls colored. “Julianne had a meeting with the contractor for the work on her new shop. She asked me to pick up Rio.”

“You won’t mind if I call her to check, will you?” Elle glanced around for her phone.

Danny flipped his forward. “Use mine.”

Elle hesitated, reaching slowly. “What’s her speed dial?”

He cleared his throat, fist to his lips. “One.”

Elle pressed One, then Talk. “Hey, Julianne, it’s me, Elle. Did you send Danny to get Rio? Well, I was just checking . . . right . . . I do trust you . . . okay, fine.”

Elle shut the phone and handed it back to Danny. “Rio, get your things. Mr. Danny is taking you home.”

Rio chattered on with Tracey-Love about something as she slipped on her backpack. Elle stepped toward Danny. “Are you serious about my sister?”

“Yes.” Simple, but without explanation. The Beaufort businessman and philanthropist moved away from Elle. “Rio, you ready?”

The little girl was flopped over the futon, showing Tracey-Love her doll, not disturbed at all by Danny’s presence.

“Is Julianne your mid-life crisis? Last grab at your fleeting youth?”

“When my wife left, I canceled my mid-life crisis. I’d had enough drama.” He leaned toward Elle. “This may be hard to believe, but I love your sister. Age has nothing to do with it. Rio, you ready?”

“She leads with her heart, Danny. And there’s more at stake here than you and Jules.” Elle motioned to Rio with her chin.

He reached for Rio’s hand and led her to the door. “I’m fully aware of all that’s at stake, Elle.”



A light burned in the front cottage window as Heath parked on the brick drive, finally home. The digital dash clock clicked to 12:00. Midnight.

He pulled his keys from the ignition and reached to the passenger seat for his bag. The delayed flight from JFK had aggravated him, reminding him of the things he didn’t like about the city—the pace, the congestion, the traffic and flight delays, not to mention high prices and taxes.

The moment he’d exited the Charleston airport, he’d powered down the windows and all but hung his head out like an eager dog lapping up the wind.

Inside the cottage, a single lamp lit the living room from a front corner and Elle slept on the couch with her arm draped over a curled-up Tracey-Love.

Heath dropped his bag to the floor by the coffee table and lowered down in front of them, kissing Tracey-Love on the forehead. “Baby, I’m home.”

Elle jerked awake, struggling to sit up, her eyes locked in a sleepy squint. “Heath, hey.”

“Hey.” She was too cute with a frizz of orange-tinged blonde hair falling over one eye.

“Let me put her in bed.” Heath scooped up the zonked Tracey-Love and carried her to her room. “Wait for me, okay?”