“Ella. There’s so much I want to say to you.”
“Don’t.” Her voice broke and she let out a small laugh. “You don’t, you don’t need to say anything.”
“I’m asking you to do one thing for me. Read my paper when you get home tonight. I need your feedback.”
“Connor, I’m sure you did a great job.”
“Read it. Tonight. Promise me?”
She gave a jerky nod, unable to speak. Those ocean-blue eyes raked over her face and down her body in a caress, blazing with intensity that made her shake. Then he was gone.
Ella buried her face in her hands. At least she didn’t have to see him in class any longer. That would help.
She picked up the folder and skimmed through it. Neatly typed, with a full bibliography and references, it looked to be perfectly acceptable. She tossed it in the pile and got ready for her next class.
Hours later, she drove home, made dinner, and climbed into her pajamas. Luke had been in a good mood, chattering about school and his two new friends, and she savored his happiness, allowing it to fill her up and soothe her pain. He went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed, and Ella decided to make a cup of tea and curl up on the sofa with a book.
As she made her tea, her gaze fell on her briefcase. Why was Connor so insistent she read his paper tonight? Was he really worried she wouldn’t pass him? A tingle of awareness flowed through her. With a sigh, she retrieved his paper, a red pen, and sat down with her tea. Better to read it now and let him know or he’d worry.
Time ticked. She flipped pages, jotting down notes and growing more impressed by the depth of the work. It was obvious he wasn’t crazy about To the Lighthouse, but he seemed to embrace Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. A smile rested on her lips. He was a closet romantic and didn’t realize it. His overall insights to A Room of One’s Own startled her with depth. He’d stripped away his usual mockery of whining women and connected with the isolation and dedication a woman writer had to face; the solitude and willingness to dive deep in order to unearth the emotions needed to bleed on the page.
A dull ache settled into her bones as she reached the end. God, she missed him. It was as if he was right here next to her while she read his voice on the page. Ella began to close the folder when her fingers skated over one last paper.
A letter.
She sucked in her breath. A letter handwritten to her, the personal scrawl filling up the page. She closed her eyes. Could she do this right now? Was she ready to hear things that would only hurt her deeper?
Ella began to read.
Dear Ella,
You were right. When we first met, it was easy to resist you. Besides being a pain in the ass, failing me in class, and finding out you were my new next-door neighbor, I wasn’t truly prepared to think of you in any romantic way. When I bonded with Luke, I realized what a wonderful mother you were. When you insisted on pushing my limits in class, I realized what a wonderful teacher you were. When you challenged me to get real, I realized what a wonderful woman you were.
But you were also wrong. It wasn’t your image, or clothes, or perfume that finally made me surrender to my need to touch you. I had been searching for you my entire life, but I didn’t know it yet. Unfortunately, what I had been searching for I was also terrified of finding. It was easier to hide with shallow relationships and believe in a stereotype I’d been taught my entire life.
That I wasn’t worth loving.
You taught me I am. You taught me to stop settling and relying on my surface qualities to skate through life without injury. You taught me there was something greater to fight for, but once again, my insecurities and fear allowed me to let you walk away.
I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re irritated. I love the way you giggle when Luke tells those terrible knock-knock jokes, and I love your awful meatloaf you still insist on serving, and I love the way you defend the beauty of Virginia Woolf, and I love those ugly sweaters you wear, and the beautiful body and heart and soul that beats true beneath your clothes.
I love you, Ella Blake. I love your son. You’re the only woman I want, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life convincing you I’m worth taking a second chance on.
Open your door.
Connor
She didn’t hesitate. The decision had been made the moment his soul-stirring words lifted from the paper and arrowed straight through to her heart. She rose from the couch, walked across the room, and opened the door.
He stood before her clutching a bouquet of red roses.
“Will you be mine, Ella Blake?”
She gazed at his beloved face and the way his eyes told her the truth, gleaming in the depths of a bottomless ocean blue.