Love Starts with Elle(9)
Elle stepped to the loft’s low wall. “Jeremiah?”
His spread arms beckoned a “ta-da.” “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” Why hadn’t he called? She was a mess, dirty and stinking from spending the past week packing up her life. Besides, she was to meet him in Dallas next week.
He ascended the loft one slow step at a time. “I thought you might need some support for the gallery closing tomorrow. Hey, Julianne, how are you?”
“Late to pick up Rio.” Julianne thumped down the stairs, hugged Jeremiah, and waved at Elle. “The last time I was late the little booger chewed me out. Elle, I’ll drop these boxes off at your house.”
“Thanks, Julianne.” Elle stepped down toward Jeremiah, her heart warming, her blood flowing. While she felt like a parking-lot penny, he looked like a million dollars. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“And it’s ticked you off?”
She laughed softly at his gentle sarcasm. “Two months of phone conversations and e-mails with only one brief visit, wishing we could be together, and, poof, here you are . . . It feels strange.”
Jeremiah kept his eyes steady on her face. “Keep coming toward me, I’ll show you strange.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Jeremiah.” His implication tightened her belly.
“Can I kiss my wife-to-be?” he asked, taking her in his arms, his hot question flowing through her hair.
“Please.” His kiss, the perfect reminder of why she’d said yes, why she’d agreed to sell the gallery and start life all over. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”
“Two months and five days, Elle, and we’ll be together forever. For. Ever.”
Elle liked the sound of that number.
Little doubts crept in at the oddest times.
Candace Harper, Elle’s lawyer and the third of the five Garvey sisters, offered Elle the final sale document as she came from behind her polished oak desk.
“You sign where I’ve placed the sticky flags.” She lowered her voice. “You did well, Elle. Nice profit.”
“Thanks to you.”
On the other side of the room, the gallery’s new owner chatted with her lawyer. Angela Dooley was a black-haired beauty with bling on every finger, while her lawyer, Palmer Roth, epitomized the quiet southern gentleman, with gray temples and a sharp wit.
Elle sort of resented the affluent Angela, who not only was beautiful but had all the resources to open a newer and better gallery.
What did it matter? She’d be restarting in a new city with a vibrant art scene by the end of summer. Elle had spent a few hours on Google last night checking out the summer events and what part of the city she might select to set up shop.
“Where do I sign?” Elle’s bracelets clattered against the desk as she flipped the pages.
“Here and here.” Jeremiah pointed to the red sticky flags.
Yes, of course, the flags. A cold dew coated Elle’s palms and the sliver of March sun spilling through Candace’s windows didn’t warm her. Nor did it emit enough light to overpower the doubt shadowing her heart.
“Elle?” Jeremiah nudged her pen hand, but she set it down instead of signing. “Candace, can we have a minute?”
Candace regarded her, eye to eye, as if trying to discern Elle’s concern without asking. “Only a minute.” She escorted Angela and Palmer to the conference room, asking if they’d like a cup of coffee.
“Talk to me, babe.”
Elle stared out the window toward the Intracoastal Waterway. “Aren’t you scared, Jeremiah?”
“To marry you?”
She glanced back at him. “Two people, in their thirties, trying to become one, bringing together their wants and desires, doesn’t scare you a little?”
“No, it doesn’t. We can do it.”
She considered his posture, the confidence of his voice. He wasn’t just saying what she wanted to hear, he voiced what he believed.
“Jeremiah, I’ll be honest. I can’t believe a man like you loves me and asked me to marry him. You’re an amazing man, but moving is weirding me out. I wanted to raise my family here, playing with cousins, hanging off their uncles like monkeys, hearing all my growing-up stories from my parents and my sisters.”
He ran his finger along the edge of her hair, grazing her face with his fingertip. “Babe, we’ll visit. They’ll visit. My parents are right there in Austin. Next week you’ll come to Dallas and your fears will be abated. We’ll find our house, get set to move in, and hey, I even know a great little coffee shop we can label ‘our place.’”
“You make me want to be there with you.” She kissed the back of his hand.
“Our relationship has moved fast, Elle.” Kindness cushioned Jer’s words. “But I know this is right. Don’t you?”
Little doubts crept in at the oddest times.
“You’re right.” She smiled as a distant memory surfaced. “The first night I owned the gallery, Julianne and I dug out our old sleeping bags, left Rio with Mama, and slept on the cold, cement gallery floor. I never felt so right about anything.”
“We can’t compare owning a gallery to marriage, Elle.” Jeremiah squeezed her hand. “But I’m going to hold on to you so you don’t fall.” He brought her hand to his lips.