Chapter 32
“Call it what it is, a DICK!” he’d yelled at the book and thrown it across the room. He loved a well-written romance novel as much as anyone, but the ones in the cabin…were not.
On his way back to the car, he passed a cozy café, and the aroma of coffee wafting through the door as customers exited was strong and full. His feet carried him inside without him giving it a lot of thought, and he spent a few minutes trying figure out what he was in the mood for. After deciding on a frilly coffee drink with a big dollop of cream and lots of sugary syrup, accompanied by an enormous blueberry muffin, he found a table in a quiet corner. The second-hand armchair was as comfy as it looked, and he groaned with happiness as he sank down into it.
He swallowed a mouthful of his beverage and couldn’t help the pleased hum that escaped him. It tasted so much better than the stupid instant shit he had in the cabin. He should tell Emma they ought to buy a coffee maker for the kitchen—a French press would make a world of difference—and he’d be willing to pay extra for the luxury.
He devoured the muffin in a few quick bites, not realizing how hungry he’d been. After another sip, he pulled out the Shakespeare play from his bag of purchases. He opened the book, careful not to break the spine, lifted it to his nose, and inhaled its new-book-scent before starting to read.
I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Aragon comes this night to Messina, he mouthed as he read the first line. Soon, he was completely absorbed by the text, lingering on all the beautiful words, tasting them in his mouth as he read them. Pernicious. Forsworn. Peradventure.
He sighed and sipped his coffee. Why couldn’t he write words like that? Plays or novels that would capture audiences for centuries, or at least word geeks like himself?
Or maybe he could?
Elliot shook his head and returned to the play, but it no longer held his attention. His mind wandered, and he remembered one of the first dates with Mick: a dinner and a movie at Mick’s place. Mick had fixed the food, and Elliot had brought the movie. It was his favorite version of Much Ado About Nothing, but Mick hadn’t been all that impressed. Not enough explosions.
“Blasphemy! How can you not like Shakespeare?” Elliot had asked with exaggerated indignation in his voice.
Mick had seemed alarmed at first. They hadn’t known each other well enough to know when the other was joking, but he’d relaxed as soon Elliot burst out giggling.
When the movie had started, Elliot had immediately been pulled into Kenneth Branagh’s magical world and tried his hardest not to recite the lines along with the actors. He clearly hadn’t been successful. After a while, he realized Mick spent more time watching him than the movie.
“Sorry,” he’d mumbled.
“Don’t be,” Mick had answered and moved close enough so he could whisper in Elliot’s ear. “You’re so adorable, I can’t take it.”
Elliot stood abruptly, rubbed a hand through his hair, and went over to the counter to buy another sugary coffee. Back in his armchair a few minutes later, he still couldn’t shake the thoughts of Mick.
He’d dreamt about Mick again last night. Weren’t the dreams supposed to become less frequent with time?
They still hadn’t had any contact since Elliot left. After his failed attempt to text Mick on Valentine’s Day, he hadn’t dared to try again. What if Mick was pissed off? He had every right to be, considering Elliot had hightailed it out of there and, for all that Mick knew, hadn’t even bothered to try and contact him for almost two months. But Elliot couldn’t stand the possibility of hearing Mick say they were over—the thought of it made his stomach cramp up—so he’d taken the coward’s way out.
And Elliot couldn’t call. Not yet. He needed to decide on what to do with the money first. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep it. The money symbolized the loss of his integrity.
“Excuse me?” a deep, unfamiliar voice said, interrupting, Elliot’s introspection.
Elliot looked up at the speaker. “Yes?”
“Is this seat free?” A tall, blond man stood next to the table and pointed at the other chair across from Elliot’s.
He glanced around the coffee shop and noticed several free tables, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Um, sure?”
“Great!” The guy smiled, put his big mug on the table, shrugged out of his jacket, and sat down.
Elliot managed a weak smile, picked up his book, and soon he was immersed in Shakespeare’s world once again. He grabbed his mug and absentmindedly sipped the hot beverage.