That Thing Between Eli and Gwen(76)

“It’s fine, and no, I haven’t.”

Whatever he was going to throw at me, I didn’t really mind.





Guinevere


“Wow,” he whispered as we drove farther and farther from the Cypress airport. My home, like most houses there, was in the forest. The way was lined on both sides with thick, moss-covered Sitka spruce trees. He stared up at them like we had traveled into a whole new world, and in a way, we had. The sun peeked through the tree line above us, and everything glowed. It was a…

“A moment of peace in a life of chaos,” he said, his eyes still on the sky above us.

“I was just going to say that. How did you know?”

“You said it once, in an interview.” He looked back at me. “It was for the Forbes article on upcoming artists a while back. They asked you how you liked it in New York, and you said it was nice, but you missed Cypress. For you, it was a place of peace in a life of chaos. I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now.”

“Eli, that interview was almost four years ago.”

“It was.” He smirked, mostly to himself, taking my hand and not going into it further.

I squeezed his hand, smiling to myself. “I have this image of you up late, researching me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a stalker at all. It was after our debate at NYU. I saw how all the students were in love with you, and I wanted to know more. Then you showed me your gallery, and I wanted to know what other people thought, too.”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “I got a few really bad reviews.”

“Screw Jeffery Carlyle from the New York Times. Only a man with a defective heart could be such a critic of your work,” he said.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what Mr. D’Amour said about you.”

“I wasn’t a critic, I was just…” He tried to think of the word.

“A critic?”

“Uneducated. You can hardly blame me for that. Once I knew a paintbrush from a canvas, I was able to realize you really are talented…stop smiling at me like that.” He leaned toward me, laughing, and rested his head in my lap. “Honestly, though. When I first saw it, I was moved, and you keep moving me.”

“Why can’t I see his head?” my dad yelled.

Eli quickly sat back up.

I wanted to jump out of the car. “Dad!”

“Sorry, sir.” Eli held me back as I turned to the man whistling in the front seat like he hadn’t just killed our moment.

“This was a bad idea,” I muttered to myself.

“Why? You don’t think I can take it?” he asked when we pulled to a stop. “Don’t worry about your dad, Guinevere. Whatever he throws, I’ll do my best. Plus, look at this face. How could anyone hate it?”

Rolling my eyes at him, I stood up.

He jumped out first, reaching up to help me.

“She’s been jumping out of things since the day she was born; she doesn’t need your help, city boy,” my father called out, letting Taigi off his leash.

“It’s called being a gentleman, Dad,” I said to him, jumping down on my own.

“It’s called being a—”

My mother gave him a look, and he didn’t finish his sentence…thankfully.

Eli brought our bags out from the car.

I turned back to him. “You can still run. The airport is only twelve miles from here, that would be a breeze for you,” I said quickly.

“I’m not running from your father, Guinevere, especially after only a few verbal jabs. By the way, your house is beautiful,” he said, stopping to take it in.

Our house was a large log home that sat on the right end of the lake. It was only when you stood at the lake's edge that you could see all the other homes around it. The mountains hung in the background. I took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth.

“Gwen!”

I jumped back when three grown men in plaid shirts and mountain boots ran toward me, lifting me up.

“Guys! Down, now!” I yelled at them as they threw me up.

They laughed, catching me and putting me back on my feet.

Eli’s eyebrow lifted up as his gaze shifted to each of them.

I wished I could read his mind. “Eli, this is—”

“Boys, don’t mind the city slicker. Come in, we've got supper ready,” my father yelled from the door.

I just looked up to the sky. Kill me now!

“City Slicker, good luck.” They patted him on the shoulder on their way into the house.

“And they are?” Eli pointed to them.

“Okay, crash course, my dad most likely invited them to make you uncomfortable. The boy with the longish brown-blond hair is Jeremy Lawrence, he’s 23, and was Stevie’s first boyfriend. Never bring her up, because he still has a thing for her. He’s now the town mechanic. Malik Washington is the one with the short, curly afro; he’s the same age as me and works for the Cypress Police. Last, and most important, is Roy. My dad’s been trying to set me up with Roy Griffin since we were kids. He’s like the golden boy after my dad's heart, and he teaches photography at the high school,” I finished, taking in another breath, and yet he didn’t seem one bit concerned. “Did you get all of that?”