Chapter 52

The warmth from the pie settled in my chest like something good I didn't trust yet. I didn't smile—not really—but my jaw unclenched. My fork scraped gently against the plate, and I let myself chew slowly, tasting every bite like it might disappear if I blinked.

That's when I heard the soft thump behind me.

Followed by a lighter scritch—scritch—scritch on the floor.

Eli leaned to the side, peeking past me toward the doorway. "Uh... is that a rabbit?"

I didn't even need to look.

I turned in my seat anyway.

Elsa stood there, paws dusty from the garden, her little white body haloed in light from the hallway. She gave a tiny shuffle forward, ears twitching dramatically like she owned the entire house and everyone in it.

I reached down slowly and tapped the floor. "Come on."

She came bouncing toward me with her usual confidence, nosing my ankle once before hopping onto my lap like I was her throne.

Eli blinked, clearly trying not to react too much.

"She's... yours?" he asked carefully, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"She's her own," I said softly, stroking behind Elsa's ears. "She just lets me follow her around."

Elsa snuggled down into my lap, content and unbothered by the two humans having quiet emotional warfare at the table. She began licking a bit of pie crust I'd dropped on my dress, like it was her job to clean up after me.

The pie plates had been cleared, and Grandma was wiping down the table with a damp cloth that smelled faintly of lemon and old wood polish. The radio in the corner played a soft jazz tune, fuzzy with static, like it was too tired to play anything loud.

Eli was at the sink, rinsing dishes, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His arms were dusted with flour from where he'd helped knead the crust earlier, and his focus on that one fork was far too intense for someone not hiding from a conversation.

Grandma watched him like she was waiting to pounce.

"You know," she said, her tone casual but deadly, "Mayor Whitmore's hosting that big fall event next weekend. Live music, too much wine, cheap lights—whole town's acting like it's the Oscars."

Eli grunted. "Yeah. The annual 'Look How Much We Pretend to Love This Place' gala."

Grandma chuckled. "Exactly. Everyone trying to out-bake each other in that pie contest, wearing dresses they'll return the next day, acting like city folks when we all know they still steal cutlery from the town hall."

I smirked behind my mug of tea.

Eli scrubbed a plate like it owed him money. "You going?"

"Me?" Grandma scoffed. "Absolutely not. I've already been to seventy years' worth of awkward small talk. But you—"

She pointed a soapy spoon at him like a weapon.

"You, Elijah Camden, are going."

"I am not," he said, without even turning around.

"You are," she said firmly. "You've been holed up with dirt and carrots for months. You need to let your skin touch air and maybe dance a little. Let the town see you're not a ghost."

Eli groaned. "Last time I danced, I sprained my pride."

"Last time you went to a town event, you spent the entire night talking to someone's grandma about irrigation," she snapped back. "You need a date."

"I don't need a date, Martha."

"Oh, so it's Martha now?" she said, eyebrows lifting. "We're using government names?"

"I mean it."

She raised her hands like he'd cursed at her. "Lord, take me now. The boy thinks he's beyond help."

I was trying—really trying—not to laugh. But a short sound escaped me. A cough of amusement I didn't even expect.

Eli turned toward me, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're enjoying this."

"No," I said, sipping my tea. "A little."

Grandma didn't miss a beat. She placed a clean plate on the rack and spun around, mischief glowing in her eyes.

"Well," she said smoothly, "since our tragic farmer here doesn't have a date..."

Eli immediately stiffened. "Grandma—"

"Joy, why don't you go with him?"

The room paused.

Even Elsa, napping under the table, lifted her head slightly.

I blinked.

Eli almost dropped a fork. "What?"

"She needs to get out. You need to look like less of a recluse. Two birds, one charmingly awkward date."

"I didn't agree to anything," I said quickly.

"She didn't," Eli echoed.

Grandma waved us both off. "I'm not asking for wedding bells. Just go. Wear something pretty, stand next to each other, look like you know how to smile. You don't even have to dance—though, Joy, if he steps on your toes, feel free to throw him into the buffet table."

"I hate this," Eli muttered.

"You'll hate it less when people stop thinking you're in love with your tomato plants."

He shook his head, grabbed a dish towel, and made a show of drying his hands like it would protect him from her teasing. "She's not going to say yes."

"Maybe she will," Grandma said, glancing at me with a wicked grin. "Or maybe she'll surprise you. You never know with quiet girls."

I didn't reply.

But I didn't say no either.

And the look Eli gave me—uncertain, a little nervous, and more than a little hopeful—lingered longer than it should have.

Later that evening, the house settled into a kind of hush.

The radio had gone quiet. The dishes were done. Grandma was humming in the living room, knitting something with the kind of focus only women like her had. I was on the back porch, sitting on the old wooden steps, watching the garden disappear into the dimming light.

Elsa was curled beside me, stretched out like a queen on the fading warmth of the wood. Her ears twitched now and then, but she was otherwise still, breathing slowly. Safe.

The words from earlier echoed in my head like a song I didn't want to sing.

"Why don't you go with him?"

It had been a joke. Kind of. But also not.

I hated how it sat inside me now—like a small, glowing stone I couldn't swallow or spit out. The idea of going anywhere... being seen, being watched, standing next to someone, even someone like Eli... it made my chest tighten.

And yet, a part of me—small and almost untrustworthy—wondered what it might feel like. To dress up. To walk into a space without fear. To say yes to something just because I wanted to, not because I had to survive it.

I was still lost in the thought when I heard the door creak behind me.

Eli stepped out, quieter than usual. He didn't say anything at first, just sat on the other end of the step, leaving space between us like always.

He looked out at the garden too, elbows on his knees, hands loosely folded.

"You okay?" he asked after a long pause.

I nodded. "I'm fine."

He didn't challenge it.

Instead, he let the quiet sit for a while before speaking again.

"You know... what she said earlier... about the mayor's event," he started, voice careful. "She's always messing with me about stuff like that. It's her sport."

I glanced at him but said nothing.

He scratched the back of his neck. "But... if you wanted to go. Not because of her. Just because maybe... you felt like seeing people again. Or pie. Or pretending we don't hate small talk for one night—I'd be okay with that."

I studied him in the fading light.

He wasn't joking now. He wasn't trying to charm me. He looked nervous. Not because he was afraid of rejection, but because he didn't want me to feel pressured. Because he actually cared if I was comfortable.

My throat tightened.

"I don't do crowds," I said quietly.

"Me neither," he replied.

"I'm not ready for... noise. And stares. And fake smiles."

"You don't have to fake anything with me."

I looked down at Elsa, who blinked up at me like see? not so bad.

I ran my hand along her back, her fur warm from the porch.

After a long moment, I asked, "Would we stay long?"

He shook his head. "As long as you want. We could leave the second someone says something dumb about politics or potato salad."

I huffed. It wasn't quite a laugh. But it was close.

Eli looked at me again. "So?"

I didn't answer right away.

But after another breath, I whispered, "Okay."

His brows lifted slightly. "Okay?"

"Just for a little while," I added, as if softening the word would make it less terrifying.

He smiled. Not wide. Not giddy. Just... real.

"Okay," he said back.

We sat there in silence, the kind that didn't ache, as the sky turned darker and the first stars began to poke through.