Love Starts with Elle(99)

Rock walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “The talking heads are predicting a foot of snow. If you hurry, you might make a flight to Charleston before the airports shut down. I hear the South is lovely at Christmastime.”

Heath eyed him. “What are you saying?”

“Heath, do you love her?”

He clicked his pen on, then off, on, then off. “Yes. I do.”

“Then be with her. If there’s any good in Ava’s death it’s that you understand life is fleeting. You have a second chance at love. What are you doing here?”

“Taking it slow.”

“Slow? Heath, I know you’re trying to be wise, keep your word and loyalty to me, but I really can’t stand to see your long face around here anymore. I’ll figure out a way to deal with Doc and Tom.

Selling out and playing tennis all day looks better all the time. Now, get on the plane or you’re fired.” Rock pulled the door behind him as he left.

“Nice try, Rock,” Heath called after him, looking again at the gray day, pieces of Elle’s e-mail floating across his mind. I love you. I do. No strings, no conditions, just you and me.

Heath reached for his office phone. “Pam, get me two tickets to Charleston, nonstop. I don’t care about the cost.”

Then he dialed Junie. “Pack Tracey-Love for a week in South Carolina. Pick her up from school and meet me at JFK. I’ll call you with more details.

Snatching his coat from the rack, he thought he’d have enough time to swing by Tiffany’s.



Elle sat between Caroline and Jess under the lights of the Frogmore Café, listening to Wild Wally reminisce about Mitch O’Neal’s first touchdown pass at Beaufort High’s star quarterback. Wild Wally, of course, was his lead blocker.

“I looked around and the defensive end was in my face. Plowed me right into the turf, but not before Mitch threw a perfect spiral to Olinski.”

They’d heard the story a gazillion times. And they listened for the gazillionth time. Tradition.

“Mitch.” Andy Castleton, the Frogmore’s Emmitt Smith-sized owner, leaned over the country singer’s shoulder. “Some of the customers wonder if you could sing a song or two. It’s not our normal music night, but what do you say?”

His wide smile offered Mitch no option to say no.

“Come on, Mitch,” Elle urged. “I’d like to hear some of your new stuff.”

He checked with Caroline. “What do you say, babe?”

“Go for it. Your music saved this café over a year ago.”

Mitch stepped onto the stage and tapped the mike. “Well, Andy said some of you wanted a song, and since you’re the hometown crowd, I’m more than happy to oblige.” He strummed and tuned. “Like always, it’s good to be back in Beaufort.”

Elle sat back, at peace, at home. She’d kept her vigil of prayer and painting, missing Miss Anna. Missing Heath. But content.

“In case some of you didn’t know,” Mitch said as he perched on the stool, “Caroline did the honor of marrying me over the summer.”

A light applause peppered the room. Elle ran her hand over Caroline’s shoulders.

“This is a song I wrote for her.”

Elle eased down in her chair as Mitch’s elegant serenade billowed over the Frogmore, cushioning her soul. But when her backside vibrated, she jerked her bag to her lap and retrieved her phone from the clutter of things she called “what I need to carry around every day.”

She had one text message. Tipping the phone toward the stage lights, Elle read the tiny screen. From Heath. She smiled and opened the text.

“Where r u?”

Elle hit Reply. “Fgmr with gang. C and M r here.”

What a weird message. Why would he text her on a Friday night? Holding her phone in her lap, Elle propped her chin in her hand and listened to the last of Mitch’s song. She was definitely going to get his new album.

Somewhere in the middle of his fourth song, chairs scooched around behind her, people were shifting, and Julianne was whispering too loudly to Jess, who reached around to tap Caroline’s shoulder.

Elle slapped the table with her palm. “What are y’all fussing—”

Heath stood at the end of the table, looking like the last minute of a long day with his fading blond hair going every direction, his tie drooping, and his tan herringbone coat skewed across his shoulders.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Elle rose slowly, her pulse thickening. “What are you doing here?”

“Is there room at this party for one more?”

Julianne jumped up so fast she tripped over Danny. “Yes, please, take my seat. Hey, Heath, welcome.”

“Hey, Julianne. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I dropped Tracey-Love off at your folks. Rio was still squealing when I left.”

“She’s been missing her.”

“Julianne,” Elle said, “did you know about this? Jess?”

“Not at all.”

“How would I know anything?”

From the stage, Mitch continued to sing. Heath walked over to her. “Rock fired me. Said I belonged down here with you.”

“He didn’t.”

Heath nodded. “Yeah, he did. And he’s right.”