Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Zach

Ellie Butler is a conundrum. She's fiery, self-assured, and determined, but at the same time she's sweet, vulnerable, and fragile. She's unlike any other woman I've been with before. In fact, she's unlike any other woman at all.

Most of the ladies I've dated have been driven to get what they want, whether that be the fame that comes with a connection to me or the kind of financial trappings they expect me to provide in a relationship. Even though Ellie has agreed to take my money, she's only doing so to help her mother. She's not looking to aid her own lifestyle. It makes me want to open my wallet and hand her the contents. Yet, I know she wouldn't take more than we've already agreed upon.

I understand her worry over what will happen between us when I leave, but there's no way of knowing. All we can do is live life in the moment. If something long-term is meant to be, it will be. And if not, I will be left with the sweetest memories of my lifetime.

"Our baked potatoes are probably done," I tell her. "Should we head back up to my cabin? "

She tries to gracefully stand up, but the nature of the hammock makes such a maneuver impossible. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I say, "Let's swing back and forth and on the count of three we'll stand up together."

While the plan seemed sound, it takes us four tries before we're finally free of the tree swing's gravitational pull. Ellie laughs loudly. "It's only a hammock for one so it's a miracle we got up at all."

While walking up the path hand in hand to my cabin, I can tell Ellie is still uncertain about our agreement to take things as they come. But I'm not going to let that bother me. I'm simply going to keep letting her know what a remarkable woman I think she is and how much I like her. Eventually, she'll have to believe me.

Opening the door, I let Ellie go in ahead of me. "It smells good in here," she says.

"Just wait until I get the steaks going. I'm going to broil them, if that's okay with you."

"I love steak no matter how it's cooked," she says before asking, "Do you have ingredients for a salad? I'm happy to put one together."

I point to the fridge. "I have enough fixings for an army."

We spend the next several minutes working alongside each other in the tiny kitchen. It feels intimate and domestic. Both of my kitchens, in Beverly Hills and Malibu, are big enough for entire hockey teams to easily work without getting in each other's way. But I like when my arm brushes against Ellie's. I like having her so close I can lean over and give her a peck on the lips whenever inspiration hits.

After pulling the steaks out of the oven, she asks, "Do you cook a lot at home?"

"Hardly ever," I tell her. "I eat out a lot and order take out. I find that I don't like to cook for one."

She gives me the briefest side eye. "Don't you ever cook for anyone else?" Her meaning is clear. She wants to know if I cook for other women .

"I occasionally cook for Belle, but only when she stays late."

Ellie drops a tomato onto the counter so hard it spurts juice. "Who's Belle?" Her tone is laden with jealousy.

I like knowing that I mean enough to her to incite the green-eyed monster, even if she doesn't want me to know it. So instead of answering her straight out, I ask, "Haven't I mentioned Belle?"

"You have not." She's practically leaning all her weight onto the tomato now and I don't see how we're going to save it.

"Belle is my assistant," I tell her. "She's my right hand, my drill sergeant, and my sentry at the gate. I'd be lost without her."

Ellie's expression slowly shifts from anger to relief. "She isn't by any chance eighty, is she?"

Shaking my head, I tell her, "Belle is in her early thirties and she's quite lovely. But before you get the wrong idea, she has no interest in me beyond the paycheck I give her, and the occasional perks that come from being my assistant."

Ellie's eyebrows furrow deeply. "What kind of perks?"

"Belle lives in Pasadena and often remarks how horrible the commute is, so I told her she could move into my condo while I was in Maple Falls."

"And when you go back?" Ellie's suspicion is adorable.

"If she hasn't donated all my stuff and redecorated to suit her own style, then she'll move back to Pasadena. If she's claimed the place for her own," I tease, "I'll have to buy myself something else."

I can't tell what Ellie's thinking because she suddenly gets very quiet. I watch as she cuts a cucumber and a red onion and tosses them into the salad. She even picks up the decimated tomato and breaks it apart into the bowl. I am determined to understand what's going on in her head, so I ask, "What are your thoughts?"

Looking up at me, she answers, "I can't put them into words. I mean, I've never known anyone like you before, so I don't know if you're teasing or if you'd actually give your assistant a condo and buy another. All I know is that we really do live in different worlds."

"Ellie, what would you do if you won the lottery?"

She thinks for a minute before asking, "How much would I be winning in this scenario?"

"For the sake of conversation, let's say forty-seven billion, give or take."

Her eyes pop open so wide they look like they're in jeopardy of falling out of her head. "Forty-seven billion dollars ?"

"Dollars, coconuts, whatever currency you want."

She exhales loudly. "If she's as good of an assistant as you say, I'd let her keep the place."

I press a finger onto the steaks to make sure they're at the right temperature. "Then you think I'd be doing the right thing."

"I guess. I mean, maybe. I mean, how the heck do I know? There is a zero percent chance I'm going to win forty-seven billion dollars in the lotto. I don't even play."

Pulling two plates out of the cabinet above our heads, I serve the steaks and potatoes before saying, "Why don't you bring the bowl over to the table?"

I lead the way and when we're both seated, Ellie reaches out and picks up a lighter sitting next to the candles. "My parents always used to eat by candlelight. My dad said that it made even the simplest meal special."

"I agree with your dad," I tell her. "Belle got it into her head to replace all my wax candles with high-end battery-operated ones that automatically turn on every night at five and then turn off at eleven. I think it's kind of freaky."

Putting her napkin in her lap, Ellie says, "There are really good fake candles these days."

"Do you use them?"

She shakes her head. "No, but only because I like to watch the flame jump around. I also like the way the smoke smells when I blow them out. "

After refilling our wine glasses, I lift mine and toast, "To real fire."

She adds, "That can burn you if you're not careful."

We're clearly not talking about candles anymore. "Real risk is part of finding a real connection."

Ellie gently taps her glass to mine. "To risk."

"To connection," I repeat.

We proceed to eat our meal slowly with the bare minimum of conversation. Silence isn't awkward with Ellie. It's comfortable and contemplative. I know she has a lot on her mind, and I certainly have a lot on mine.

When we're done eating, I pick up our dishes and carry them to the sink. Then I ask, "Would you like me to build a fire? We can sit on the couch and watch the flames together."

She's silent for so long I start to get nervous that she's going to say no. But she finally answers, "I'd like that, Zach. Why don't you get it ready while I cut up the caramel apple?"

Relief pours through me. What I'm feeling for Ellie is not some fleeting thing. She's the same kind of woman as my mom and Kelly. She's the kind of woman you build a life with, the kind you want to take care of and make happy for as long as you live.

While that realization should scare me to death, especially as we just met, I'm old enough to know a prize when I see one. I'm also smart enough not to let such a lady get away.