Page 138 of No Rings Attached
That was the final straw. Kyle stormed off, shoving past the rest of the guests as the camera crew scrambled after him like ducklings chasing their mother. Celia hesitated, torn between following him and salvaging her dignity before finally hurrying after him.
The moment they disappeared, the tension broke. Guests erupted into excited chatter and laughter.
Wyatt raised his beer. “Best lawn games party ever!”
I turned back to Drew, my body shaking from the absolute joy of finally having so many people fight for me. And especially the one standing in front of me.
AndGod,he looked at me like I was worth every battle.
I knew what we felt was real, but could we hold on to it forever?
Chapter Thirty-Three
DREW
Ileaned against our office doorway and watched Ellie type, heel bouncing, lip caught between her teeth like she had a secret she wasn’t going to tell.
I loved the stolen seconds where I could simply … look at her. Where wanting her and loving her felt uncomplicated.
She eventually noticed me, rewarding me with a slow smile and a small tilt of her head. “Are you going to stand there and lurk?” she asked, “Or hand me my nectar of the gods?”
I laughed when she did the ‘gimme’ motion with her hand. I crossed the room and set her coffee in it. “I was appreciating the view.”
Color warmed her cheeks, and—unlike two weeks ago—she didn’t duck her head. “Dork,” she murmured. “A handsome, sweet, thoughtful dork,” she amended, before taking a restorative sip.
I kissed the top of her head. “Thanks.”
She pointed to the folder in my hand. “How’d it go?”
“He’s in,” I said, trying and failing to smother the grin.
She launched up and wrapped her arms around me, her laughter ringing bright and loud. “Tell me everything.”
We sat on the couch. I spread my sketches across the table—new work laid out beside archival designs. The paper smelled like graphite and a little bit of hope.
“I think Dad and the design lead enjoyed watching me sweat,” I said. “But they loved the pitch—antique foundation, modern lines. We’ll pilot a few pieces for spring. Test the reception.”
Ellie tucked herself against me, thigh to thigh, shoulder fitting under my arm as if she’d been created for that exact space. “Of course they liked it. Your designs are brilliant and you made history feel current. That’s your sweet spot.” Her confidence in my sketches had pushed me to schedule a formal meeting.
I pointed to a ring. “We decided to give each piece a family name.” I pointed at a particular ring. “This one’s called ‘Ellie.’ We all agreed.”
Her fingers tightened on my sleeve. “You can’t?—”
“I can,” I said softly. “You’re the reason any of this is happening.”
Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears as she kissed my cheek. “Then we’re going to launch it right. I can picture the rollout now. Own your piece of Rhode Island history.”
I let myself look at her—really look. It had been three days since we’d seen her family. Three days of quiet. She’d been writing in the mornings before and after work, I sketched at night, and between those bookends we’d learned each other’s rhythms and quirks—the way she liked her coffee, the types of pencils I liked best to draw with, the angle of her desk lamp that made her squint. She knew I’d forget to drink enough water during the day and I knew she’d forget to eat. Small domesticities that shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow meant everything. Tiny pieces of our new life together.
“I’ll need to stay closer to home to get the design aspect up and running,” I said. “And the expansion still has to be tied up by spring.” I heard how it sounded—like a man promising the universe and then offering just a few stars. “I’ll have to pull in longer hours for a few months.”
Her hand slid from my bicep to the middle of my chest. “You already work a ton.”
“It’ll slow down after,” I said, too quickly, because I wanted it to be true.
She watched me, the new way she had, the one that saw through what I wasn’t saying. And she wasn’t going to let me off the hook. “You don’t have to prove yourself by throwing every second into both projects or by disappearing.”
“It isn’t disappearing,” I responded, hearing the slight defensive note in my tone. “It’s my purpose. Like writing is for you.” I swallowed. “And if—when—you go back home, I’ll want to fill the time that I’ll be missing you.”
