Page 113 of The Lineman

Elliot let out a quiet grunt as I yanked him inside, wrapping my arms around him in a tight, desperate hug. His hands came up immediately, gripping me just as hard, his face pressing into the crook of my neck.

I breathed him in—warm skin, sun-drenched cotton, and the faintest trace of grease.

Every part of me wanted to burst into tears, to let out all the pent-upwhateverthat I’d bottled up over the past couple of weeks.

But I held it together. Barely.

“Elliot Fucking Hart, I missed you,” I murmured, my voice rough.

Elliot exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Me, too.”

Behind us, Mrs. H cleared her throat loudly.

I pulled back, just enough to see Elliot smirking over my shoulder.

“Oh, finally,” Mrs. H drawled from the kitchen doorway. “I was about to set a place for you at this table permanently, lad. The boy’s been pining.”

I groaned, pressing my forehead against Elliot’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

She smiled. “No, you don’t.”

Elliot chuckled, shaking his head as he set down his bag. “Good to see you, too, Mrs. H.”

She gestured toward the table. “Well, come on then. If you’re staying, you’re eating.”

Elliot shot me a wary look. “What am I eating?”

I grinned. “You don’t want to know.”

He blinked. “Oh, boy.”

Mrs. H gasped. “Oh, hell no. Not you, too! First, this one complains, and now you? Fine, fine. You boys don’t know how to appreciate real food.”

I grinned. “We really don’t.”

She grumbled something about “weak American stomachs” before moving back to the kitchen.

Elliot turned to me, studying my face. “You okay?”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Better now.”

He let out a slow breath and reached up to brush his fingers against my cheek.

“Me, too.”

Mrs. H returned, plopping down a bowl of something lumpy on the table, and insisted we sit.

“Here,” she said. “Eat your damn dessert and shut up about theskirlie.”

Elliot stared down at the bowl. “What is this?”

“Clootie dumpling,” she said, like that explained anything.

Elliot looked at me. “Should I be scared?”

I patted his arm. “Terrified.”

Mrs. H smacked the back of my head with her spoon.

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