Lusting For Elliot

:Part Three: Chapter Twenty-Seven

~Chapter Twenty-Seven~

An English Sunday, winter sun caressed the clearing where elegantly dressed peers had gathered to meet. The dance floor was a covered slab that had had a tent pulled over it. I'd travelled over it a few times now, but exhaustion had fallen in mixed with melancholy. So many people around and yet the loneliness had sunk deep.

He hadn't called, and that left me in anticipation. I knew he would call, I just wished he would do it sooner.

The lake was a marvellous beauty, and the pond just a few feet from it had been the meeting point with Morgan. He hadn't come as he was in school, where I should have been, not held slyly by a grandmother who was adamant to have me return to England. I held back a sigh as a man and woman drifted by me. We nodded our acknowledgements.

The cold drifting from the waters washed onto shore and I shivered. It was a knee length white dress with netting sleeves that I wore for this occasion, and so far the dress had been elegant and simple enough to stand out, but it did nothing against this weather. I'd hoped the sun would brighten the day, make me feel more cheerful after the days I'd been here, five days after I'd meant to return.

Someone coughed behind me. I startled, whirling around. It was Andrew Carwell, an acquaintance I'd met about six days ago in an unfortunate incident walking a dog. I blushed, having been caught with my mind in the clouds.

"Mr. Carwell," I said, hand rising to my chest. "Forgive me, I didn't, um–from your amused smile I'll say you didn't say anything."

He grinned, and I felt the urge to roll my eyes. Instead I shook my head. "I wished to have the pleasant fortune to catch you off your guard," he said, stepping to stand beside me. "It seems heaven smiles upon me today."

He was about the same age as I was, with black, wild hair he could barely tame with gel, and blue eyes that were dark against his darker skin, compared to mine. My gaze shifted across the clearing where my grandmother stood with her friends, gazes shifting between Carwell and me. I knew what that entailed: matching meetings.

"Don't worry about them," Carwell suddenly said. My gaze snapped to his, wide at being caught once again. His eyes twinkled with a smile that showed more delight than he should have. "They shouldn't frighten you."

I barely stopped my brows from falling into a frown. "I assure you, Mr. Carwell, they do not frighten me," I said. "But they do concern me. In case you are not aware, they strive to match us into a couple."

Carwell did not seem surprised by this but grinned quite merrily, "And how did you come about this knowledge?" he asked. Suddenly, his gaze narrowed upon me. "Has a certain lady being snooping about crevices again?"

I blushed, but suddenly laughed. "No!" I exclaimed defensively, but Carwell's expression remained friendly. "And I was seeking a miniature puppy," he put his hands up defensively, seeming the picture of believing criticism. "As for how I came about this knowledge, my grandmother has been waving not so subtle hints ever since I mentioned you in a conversation."

Carwell's grin was cheeky and fully one of mischief. "Mentioned in a conversation?" he asked. "I dare say, my dear, I did not peg you as one for gossip."

Mortification swept over me and my cough came as I nearly choked on spittle, but Carwell's brows wiggled in show of good sidings. I found myself giggling once again; the wine was definitely getting to me. My cheeks remained hot from embarrassment. "You, Mr. Carwell, shoulder behave yourself."

He suddenly turned to face me, gaze smouldering as he stared down at me. He reached for my hand and pulled it into his two. "Please, call me Andrew, or Drew," he said softly. "Whichever fits into the range of rushed gossip?"