Love Starts with Elle(96)

Elle brushed her lips against his. “I think I knew the night Jeremiah came back.”

“I knew the moment I walked into the cottage with a sick Tracey-Love. You faced me down with that bat and a steely green gaze.” He breathed in another kiss. “Elle, you are the whole package for me. Two days of knowing you and I was envious of Jeremiah. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but want to try?”

Little doubts creep in at the oddest times.

“Every part of me is screaming yes, except that small voice that tells me it won’t work.” Elle adjusted his collar and ran her hand down the even row of his shirt buttons.

“Tell that little voice to shut up and listen to me.”

“Shut up and listen to Heath.”

Her Minnie Mouse impression made him laugh. He hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Let’s take it one phone call, one e-mail, one day at a time.”

Elle looked up at him. “But I’m quite sure I’m in love with you, McCord.”

“I’m positive I’m in love with you, Garvey.”





To: Elle Garvey

From: CSOneal

Subject: Re: Love?





Love? Really? With your tenant? Elle, girl, love finds us when we least expect it. Look at Mitch and me. Don’t worry about long distance. It can actually be a benefit if you’re both committed. I’m happy for you. Are you happy? What’s the status?

Got to run. So many last-minute details to tie up before I leave. More later.





Love, Caroline





OCTOBER


Sitting in an empty chair at Julianne’s salon on a lazy morning, Elle winced as her sister prepared to read Ruby’s ArtNews review of her work. Her bracelets gathered at her elbow as she held her hands lightly over her ears.

Julianne spread the magazine on her lap, looked at Elle, then began to read.





Wild Heart Gallery

Beaufort, South Carolina





Lowcountry artist Elle Garvey previewed six paintings during the Summer Art Walk at Darcy Campbell’s Wild Heart Gallery.

Lush paintings from Girls in the Grass to The Memory Book, Garvey’s oils on canvas are sentimental and thought provoking. Her style, an attempt at Childe Hassam impressionism, does not come up to par, yet her images capture the viewer without letting go.

Garvey’s work possesses a spiritual depth rarely seen in today’s artists. There’s a message of peace and hope. In a world searching for answers, longing for comfort, Garvey’s work comforts without words.

She is a fresh voice on the art scene and I welcome her.

—Ruby Barnett





Julianne sighed. “‘And I welcome her,’” she repeated. “Elle, your first review is fantastic.”

Elle reached for the magazine. Fresh voice. Spiritual depth. Only in God could one do the impossible. Caroline had proved it first.

“You’re going to be famous,” Lacy said, cracking her gum, reaching for a broom to sweep over the floor.

“Hardly.” But Elle sat for a minute in Lacy’s confidence, rereading the review, thinking she’d buy a dozen or so ArtNews copies in case this was her first and last great write-up.

“Well, do you want me to do your hair or keep reading about yourself?” Julianne spun Elle’s chair toward the mirror.

“Let me enjoy my success. It could be my last.”

She read the review again, dissecting each sentence. What did Ruby really mean? Did it sound as good the third or fourth time through?

When her cell went off in her handbag, Julianne tossed it to her. “Let me know when you’re ready for your hair, your highness.”

The caller ID said Heath. “Hey.”

“I just read ArtNews.”

Elle smoothed her hand over her review. “What? Counselor, you don’t have time to fool with art magazines. Aren’t you working on a big case?”

“The guy at the newsstand called me so I ran down to get one. Are you beaming?”

“What, no, come on, I knew all this. Pbbfff. I don’t need Ruby Barnett to confirm my great talent. Heath, I tell you, my phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“My BS meter is pegging.”

Elle laughed. “Okay, yes, I’m beaming.”

“I’m proud of you.” His exhale tingled in her ear. “I hung Coffin Creek Under Fog. It’s getting rave reviews from the associates.”

Julianne passed by making kissy noises. Sure, get a little freedom from shame, gain a little confidence, and turn annoying. Elle shushed her.

“The cottage still smells like you, but you’re not there.”

“Smells like me? Elle, clean the place, break out the Lysol.”

“Then I’ll lose the last of you. If you can’t be here in person, at least let me keep your fragrance as long as it lingers.”

Julianne shoved Elle out of the chair. She had another customer. Elle sat under a dryer. “How’s the book?”

“Slow but sure. I got brave and e-mailed you the first half this morning. No pressure, Elle. Read it if you want.”

“Finally. I’ll love it, Heath, I know I will.”

“Elle, something else. I know we wanted to see each other at Christmas, but I took on a tough case. It’s consuming my days and creeping into my nights. I’m going to need the holiday downtime to write.”