Troy was seated at the table, coffee cup in hand. He eyed Elle with caution as she approached the gurgling coffeepot. She reached into the cabinet, retrieved a mug, and poured herself a steaming cup.
“I hope it’s okay I’m still here.”
“Of course.” Elle joined Troy at the table. She raised the mug to her mouth, the aroma of the beverage tickling her nose and stirring the hunger of her empty belly. “Thanks for bringing me home. And putting me to bed.”
“Sure. I was worried you’d pass out in a cab. Plus, I just wanted to make sure, you know . . .”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you.”
“Nice place.”
“You like it?”
“I love it. Your island is the size of my entire kitchen. You’ve done well for yourself, Rigby.” Troy took another swig from his mug, giving Elle a genuine smile.
“I know it’s a little much, but it’s growing on me.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your success. You should be proud of this, of everything you’ve accomplished. I know I am.”
“That means a lot to me.”
“It’s the truth.”
An awkward silence hung over the knotted walnut table. Elle played with the corner of the lime green place mat below her mug. She wasn’t sure of what to say to Troy. She hadn’t expected him to be in her home quite so soon, but the situation had become unavoidable due to her behavior the night before.
“About last night,” he began and anxiety spread throughout her body, unsure of what he might say. She didn’t want to embarrass herself any more than she already had the night before.
“I know.” Elle closed her eyes tight, clutching her mug. “It was wrong of me to show up like that.”
Troy leaned back in his chair, scratching lightly at his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “How much do you even remember?”
“Honestly? Not much.”
“That’s to be expected, I guess.”
“Did I humiliate myself? You can be honest.”
“Not at all. I promise,” Troy deadpanned. He was sparing her feelings; she could feel it in her gut. He always was a terrible liar, especially when it came to her and her ability to humiliate herself. Her eyes were sore; she had a strong feeling she’d cried.
Dammit, she thought, cursing the inventor of the martini and all bartenders who served them.
“I have to ask you something.” She felt courage brewing inside her. She had to know. “Why’d you let so much time go by? I mean—would you ever have found me again if I hadn’t stumbled into your restaurant by mistake?”
“Honestly?”
Elle shrugged, closed her eyes briefly, and shook her head, attempting to stay casual and add lightness to her voice. “Why not?”
He looked down at the floor, shaking his head slowly, ever so slowly. “I’m not sure. It never felt like the right time and it was easier to just avoid you. I was angry for so long.”
“I know.”
“There was a time when I never thought I’d stop being angry at you.”
“And now?”
Troy shrugged. “Jury’s still out, I guess. But it’s no longer a unanimous vote.”
“Hmm.” That was the only thing Elle could manage to say.
“And you?”
“My jury?” Elle asked with a slight smile.
“Yeah.”
“They’ve never been unanimous.”
Troy said nothing, but nodded slowly, breaking eye contact.
What Elle didn’t tell Troy was the jurors were forming a coup against the one cynical, judgmental juror who wanted Troy to walk out of her house and never return. The jurors in her mind were throwing chairs, punching walls, doing anything they could to make that one simple voice go silent. But that juror wouldn’t budge and she reminded Elle that no matter how smooth this conversation was going, no matter how much she loved being in the same room as Troy, there was still so much to discuss before they could ever consider themselves healed. And Elle knew that bitch of a juror was right.
“Listen, I should go.”
“Are you sure? I—”
“Yeah, I need to close out the registers from last night and get the kitchen prepped.”
Elle hung her head, realizing Troy had skipped those things the night before to take care of her drunken self. “Of course. Thank you again . . . for everything.”
Elle walked Troy to her front door. Feeling brave, she asked. “Will I see you again?”
“I certainly hope so. Just lay off the booze next time, okay?”
Elle laughed behind her hand. “I promise.”
Troy opened his arms to her and she entered his embrace, savoring the familiar feel of his arms around her. When Troy pulled back, he looked into Elle’s eyes and placed the tiniest of kisses on her lips, his lips gently grazing hers. Before she had the chance to choose whether or not to return the affection, he pulled away, his eyes still closed for a short moment as if he was savoring their gentle contact. Elle swallowed hard, wishing he’d press his lips to hers once again. But he didn’t. He simply smiled and walked slowly to his car, pausing to wave before climbing into the vehicle.
Elle closed the door, pressing her back against it. Once again, her brain was inundated with thoughts of Troy—their past, their awkward encounters in the present. With his reemergence into her life, Elle wondered if she’d ever be able to stop thinking about him. If the jurors inside her head were any indication, it was going to be a struggle.
After a long hot shower, several cups of coffee, and a decent breakfast, Elle was feeling less stricken by the previous night’s activities. To her relief, it was a Saturday. She took the opportunity to lose herself in a good story. She hadn’t read a full-length novel in ages. It was time for her to rectify that.
Elle grabbed her iPad, tapped on her Kindle app, and scrolled through the latest titles she’d grabbed online. While scrolling, she reminisced as she eyed her own titles on the device.
She’d written four books, each one about her relationship with Troy. She’d transformed their complex love story into an ongoing saga between Desmond and Molly. She’d poured her heart into those novels, but each had a very clear message.
She was fine.
No matter what happened with Desmond, Molly was resilient, strong, stoic. She could take anything, handle anything, deal with anything. She was a clear projection of how Elle longed to be while carrying out her day-to-day life and while dealing with her and Troy’s heartbreaking past.
She tapped on the first book in the series, reading the title page aloud to herself: I’ll Follow the Sun by Eleanor Riley. The network had shortened it for the television series, in order to make it more succinct, more modern. She turned to the first page.
Chapter 1
Whoever said love was blind never met Desmond Fiore.
He owned any room he entered, his charisma bouncing from the walls of the casinos of Las Vegas, captivating the women around him.
And despite the fact that he was her greatest competition, Molly Lynch was drawn to him in a way she resented and despised.
Elle laughed at the first words of her book, immediately remembering the emotions she felt when constructing those first sentences. She turned the pages several at a time, skimming through Desmond and Molly’s ups and downs, their fights and makeup sessions, their failed attempts at romance, and the moments that made her knees buckle with passion.
Their story was worthy of telling.
Unlike in years past, she wondered if perhaps Molly didn’t have it all figured out. Maybe Molly had a lot to learn about Desmond. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, take care of her. But more than that, despite everything, he was proud of her and everything she’d accomplished. Tears threatened to build in Elle’s eyes as she was struck with that realization.