Page 47 of New Growth
I frowned. “Still? For what?”
El shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I just want to get to know you.”
I stared at him, thrown off by the lack of expectation, the lack of pressure.
“Oh,” I said dryly. “Okay.”
He smiled at my reaction. “Want something to drink now?”
“Yes, please.”And I didn’t mean coffee.
El waved over to Lizzie. As he did, his sleeve pulled back slightly, exposing the ink on his bicep.
“Hey, Liz,” he called. “Can I get another mocha, please?”
Lizzie smirked. “No problem.”
Elliot turned back to me, grinning. “No almond milk. Only oat milk.”
Lizzie laughed as she grabbed a cup. “I know, El.”
I raised a brow. “You remembered.”
“Of course.” He rested his arms on the table, his gaze steady. “You have a tree nut allergy.”
I glanced at his tattoo, then back into his eyes. “That I do.”
El leaned back in his chair and watched me. “We can’t afford to have you ending up in the hospital on the first date. It’s not a good look.”
I sighed dramatically. “It would leave a lasting impression, though. I promise I won’t forget it.”
He laughed so deeply and richly that I found myself appreciating his easygoingness. Had it been Jonathan, I would’ve gotten a lecture on how it’s impolite to joke about allergic reactions, followed by along-winded speech on the importance of recognizing the dangers of exposure.
Unintentionally, this was a refreshing change of pace.
Elliot’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Don’t worry, I don’t need to send you to the ER, Ellie. I have my own ways of leaving an impression.”
My heart stuttered at his implication. Heat threatened to creep up my neck, so I did the only logical thing: I changed the subject. My eyes flicked to his forearm.
“So,” I said, pointing. “What’s the tattoo covering up?”
El glanced down, then rolled up his sleeve, exposing a highly detailed dragon inked across his forearm.
“This?” He flexed his arm slightly, watching me with interest. “How could you tell it’s a cover-up?”
It was obvious to someone who used to binge-watchInk Masterwith her sister.“There’s a lot of heavy shading around it,” I observed, tilting my head as I studied the design.
He chuckled. “Good eye.”
“What was it?”
For the first time since I had met him, hesitation flickered in his confident expression. Then, with a casualness that felt slightly forced, he admitted, “It was a matching tattoo with my ex-wife. It hurt like a bitch and took forever to heal.”
I choked on air and tried to play it off as clearing my throat. “You were married?”
I didn’t know why I was so surprised. He was mature and confident—of course, he had a past.But married?
“Yes. I was.”
