An enrichment class—is this guy for real?
“Uh, so you’re taking that class for…?”
“Enrichment.” He casually sips his coffee while I stare at him, confused.
“Which is another word for…”
“Fun?”
Oh Lord. I’d never purposely take a class for fun—not even badminton. Okay fine, one time I took that as a gym class and had a blast, but for real, it costs a fortune just to screw around for an entire semester.
Lesson learned.
“Which class?”
“It’s a science class. It’s not required, but I think it will be beneficial.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
“You can never know enough, uh…” Uncomfortably, his sentence tapers off, missing an important piece. It’s then that I realize, I never introduced myself.
“Oh my God, Elliot, I never told you my name! I’m the worst!” I stick my hand out self-consciously. “I’m Anabelle.”
“Anabelle,” he echoes quietly. Leans back in the chair to watch me before unfolding his arms and reaching to slowly slide his palm across mine, pumping my hand once before dropping it.
Nope. Not awkward in the least.
“Anabelle. I’ve been wondering what your name was.” When his smile disappears into his mug, I dip my head and stare down at my lap, fiddling with the fabric of my jeans, biting back my own, stupid smile.
Elliot’s silent, lazy scrutiny is doing bizarre things to my already quaking insides—plus, he’s one of the good guys, which makes him even more attractive, if that’s even possible.
Unlike those assholes Eric Johnson and Rex Gunderson, who I never want to see again.
“I used to hate my name growing up. It was always so hard for me to spell, and no one gets it right.” One N, not two.
Elliot grins. “Really? I think it’s cute. Anyone ever call you Annie? Or Ana?”
“My dad sometimes. Ana Banana. Jelly Belle.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
The room is awkwardly still while both of us rack our brains for something new to say.
Then, “Oh, before I forget, here.” He produces a smartphone from his pocket that looks suspiciously like mine, sending it gliding across the kitchen table in my direction. “This was in my car last night—I remembered to grab it while you were in the bathroom. It’s been beeping like crazy.”
Tucking an errant hair behind my ear as he looks on, I remove the phone from the table, palming it. Slide my thumb over the screen to unlock it, cringing when I see that my father has texted me eight times in the past twenty minutes.
Great. He obviously thinks I’m dead.
Dad: Where the hell are you?
Dad: Did you come home last night?
Dad: Anabelle, answer me goddammit.
Dad: You better be dead in a ditch somewhere.
Dad: Anabelle Juliet Donnelly
Dad: Young lady, answer your phone. You’re starting to worry Linda.
Dad: Anabelle, if you don’t text me back within ten minutes, so help me God, I’m calling the campus police and the state patrol.
Dad: Five minutes.
Hastily, I tap out a reply: Sorry Dad, just woke up. I stayed at a friend’s house last night. Too much alcohol to make it home.
He wastes no time asking questions.
Dad: Which friend?
Me: Daddy, does it matter?
Dad: Daddy? Now I know you’re up to something.
Are you trying to manipulate me by sweet-talking me? I smell bullshit. Who were you with last night? Was it a guy?
Dad: Has your mother ever given you the sex talk? Do you know the number one disease on college campuses is syphilis? That’s not a rock band or a rash, it’s an STD and you get it by being foolish.
Oh my God.
My phone pings again.
Dad: These college boys only want one thing, Anabelle Juliet.
Okay, now he’s laying it on a little too thick with the middle name business. I’m approaching twenty-two years old for crying out loud. Talk about heavy-handed parenting.
One more reason I need to move out, into my own place.
Me: I’m sorry Dad, but I didn’t want to wake you last night. It was late and I was in no condition to even call for a cab.
Dad: You’re telling me you were so drunk you couldn’t even text your father? What the hell is wrong with you? Have you gone and lost all your common sense?
I take a deep breath and pray for patience.
Me: Dad. I stayed with a friend. It was the best decision last night.
Dad: You should have called me to come pick you up.
I almost type It’s bad enough that I live with my parents but delete it, instead sending him a terse: I appreciate that Dad, but if I’m going to make friends and fit in here, I can’t be calling you to bail me out. I’m not a kid.
A few moments go by before he replies.
Dad: Fair enough.
Dad: When can we expect you home? Linda is making potato salad for lunch and I have to be at the gym for a two-a-dayer.
I sigh. He’s never going to get it.
Me: Tell Linda not to wait, I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’m probably going to stick around town for lunch, grab a coffee. I’ll be back in a few hours, definitely for dinner.
Elliot is watching me but pretending not to, his eyes roaming my face, interested in my expressions as I frantically reply to my dad’s text messages.
I finally set the phone on the table, face down.
Sigh.
“I really should get going.”
“You need a ride?”
“Nah, I’ll catch an Uber.”
“Anabelle, it’s no big deal.”
I reach out, covering his hand with mine. Pull back when his skin sizzles. “I know, but you’ve done enough, gone above and beyond already.” I would die of mortification if he did me one more favor. “I appreciate you helping me, coming to my rescue. I probably won’t ever forget it.”
He demurs. “Don’t worry about it.”
I rise. “All right, well…thanks.” Palm my phone, scrolling through the few apps I have downloaded for transportation, choose one, and click for a ride. “There’s a car less than two minutes away. It’s supposed to be nice today, so I’ll wait outside if you don’t mind.”
He nods as I smooth a hand down my frizzy hair self-consciously.
“Bye Elliot.” I give him a wave, despite the fact that I haven’t left his kitchen. “See you around.”
“See ya. Take care, Donnelly.”
I grin, biting down on my bottom lip. “You, too, Saint Elliot.”
Anabelle
“Anabelle, hey.”
I hear his voice before I see him, sitting at the table I’ve been occupying on the sixth floor, the one I apparently stole from him and have now happily surrendered as a thank you.
“Hey to you, too, stranger.”
I haven’t seen him since that morning in his kitchen, but I’ve thought of him every day. He’s a sight for sore eyes, spread out at that corner table, the entire surface a mess of books, laptop, and pens.
“You just get here?” he asks politely.
“Yeah. Thought I’d check to see if this spot was taken.”
“Have a seat.”
“Gosh no, I’d hate to interrupt. You were in the middle of something.”
“Big deal. There’s plenty of room.” The chair across from him shoots out, his foot propped on the seat. “More than that shitty desk over there.”
“Okay. All right.” I set my bag down on a different chair and he removes his feet, sitting up taller.
“How have you been?”
“Good. How ’bout you?”
Elliot slides down in his seat, slouching against the back, legs spread. “Same shit, different day. You know how it is.”
“That good, eh?”
It doesn’t take long for me to settle in, for us to quietly begin working on our own tasks, comfortable with the companionship. It’s not necessary to fill the void with words or chatter; it’s nice being in his presence.
Every so often we exchange glances—friendly smiles—but work in peaceful silence.
My phone vibrates.
Vibrates again.