Hurricane Aurora had struck the kitchen counter of the Kingsley household.
Documents and files of various natures strewn all across the white marble really took away from the tranquil and serene appearance the kitchen usually had; even when Denver was in the middle of cooking a meal.
Or when Ray was trying to find a utensil.
The documents aren't mine alone; some of them are folders that came straight from Wedding Planner Rosalie and have large charts of seating arrangements and huge papers with the layout of the venue and the table placement.
Today, I have free reign over a house that is not mine in the least.
I already told Frank that he can take the night off and that I'm completely fine.
Frank, having retired to his quarters, was not in the way of my syncing my phone to the speakers and singing along to the music as I now, began to create order out of the chaos of papers, since my work was pretty much over.
I would have finished sooner if my sister, Aubrey, hadn't called me on her drive home – something she does on occasion so that she doesn't get too bored and fall asleep.
She brought me up to speed with the goings on at home, and after a short lecture on how I should get the work done if I'm feeling overwhelmed – when I mentioned that I was feeling overwhelmed because I hadn't finished off a project that was due soon – she told me to have fun and hung up.
Now, however, the time is almost seven, Elvis is singing 'Love Me Tender' in the background, quite tenderly, I might add, and I'm sweeping papers into a pile and putting it into my according folder.
Princess Diaries and my parents' partiality towards old songs have fueled my love for the golden hits – this one in particular came from Princess Diaries – and there are so many days where I want to listen to soft, lilting old ballads and this is just one of those days.
The past three weeks have been so full of so many people and things to do that the tranquility of the air tonight is so welcome, especially because I'm someone who loves quiet nights in.
In the blissful depths of solitude, I sing along with Elvis, one of my comfort songs.
The music plays and I hum with it.
It's the calmest I've felt in three weeks.
"I guess I've shattered your solitude."
I look up.
I don't know how long he stood there listening, completely unbeknownst to me, listening to me, but it was like he had materialized out of thin air.
He stood at the doorway to the kitchen, both hands casually in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose-fitted greyish beige t-shirt, his glasses and a smile.
In his hand, he holds his leather journal and another book.
The expression he wears is a mixture of his genuine good nature and a sense of regret at having disrupted my reverie.
Sliding the papers into my folder, I shut it.
It's only when I say, "Elliot, hi," in the quietest voice I've ever used that he pushes himself off the doorframe and walks further into the kitchen.
"I feel like we're constantly bumping into each other here," he tells me in his comforting voice, his easy grin on his face.
"Almost like we live here," I reply.
Elliot's smile is easy. "You clearly weren't expecting anyone," he says easily, sliding his books on to the marble counter across from me.
My fingers have begun tapping against my folder as I try to match his easy smile. "Yeah, your Mom said that I'd be alone till tomorrow."
"She was worried about leaving you alone," he tells me, putting his palms down on the counter and leaning in. "She asked me to come babysit. I hope you don't mind."
He's giving me a crooked grin that's making me hope he stays on the other side of the counter so that he can't feel my pulse.
I make an incomprehensible sound - which makes Elliot stamp down a smile - and clear my throat. "I hope you don't mind being here. I hope I haven't intruded on your one night to yourself."
Elliot shrugs. "I've done that much to you. Might as well enjoy each other's company, eh?"
The way he's looking at me only increases the tempo at which my finger hits the back of my folder.
When I don't respond, Elliot reaches into one of his pockets and slams something down on the counter between us.
As he raises his hand, I see that it's a packet of peanut M&MS.
I laugh. "Are you trying to bribe me for my company, doctor?"
"Depends," Elliot muses, "Is it working?"
I look from the yellow snack-sized pack to him and release my folder, crossing my arms over my chest. "I hate to inform you that my time is not so easily bought."
Elliot's smile molds into a smirk. "Alright, Aurora, name your price," he challenges.
In the back of my mind, I know exactly what my price is. It is something I've been itching to ask him from the very moment I saw it in the living room.
The words swarm around in my head until they've formed a cohesive thought and I have to repeat it a few times before finally deciding to actually use them.
My heart pounding, my right index finger tapping against my stomach, the side of my stomach, I say, "There's a gleaming baby grand in the living room. I know for a fact that Ray has absolutely no musical inclination whatsoever. So much so that we used to joke that snakes would fly when she sings. My question is: do you?"
Elliot, seeming to know where this is going, drops his head in almost defeat and breathes out his reply. "I do."
I can't stop the excited grin that comes over my face.
Elliot, I'm sure, notices it because he chuckles softly. "I will play for you, Aurora," he tells me, gently, "You ask for such simple things. How can I deny you?"
"Au contraire," I rebut, trying not to take too much notice of what he just said, "My mother would tell you that I have very expensive taste."
Elliot looks at the counter that I've begun to clear, and back at me. "Come on, I'll help you put these documents away and then, while I play the piano for you, you can tell me all the other things that your mother would tell me about you."
While I internally hyperventilate, Elliot helps me put my papers away, collects the pack of M&Ms and follows me into the living room
Elliot turns on the lights, illuminating the beige couches with red and matte gold accent cushions, that match the Persian carpet that spans the length and breadth of the room.
In a corner, sits a glistening baby grand piano that makes me wish that I could play every time that I pass it.
There's a large piano bench near it and Elliot sits down without ceremony and opens the lid, and removes some loose sheets of music, revealing the polished ivory keys.
Elliot stretches his fingers and plays a scale - which in itself amazes me because of smoothly his hands flow over the piano - before looking at me. "Be warned. It's highly possible that I'm rusty, but still, what would you like me to play?"
Excited, I shrug. "Play anything!" I say, standing by.
Appearing to be in thought, Elliot opens the pack of M&MS and offers me one.
I pull out a yellow one and Elliot takes one and says, "For luck."
We toast for luck by tapping our M&Ms together and pop it into our mouths.
Dramatically, Elliot clears his throat and puts his long, steady fingers down on the keys. With a deep breath, he begins to play.
The song starts out quite strong, but slowly, following the introduction, the music softens.
A soft, classical melody begins and it takes a few seconds for me to recognize it. When I do, I can't help the gasp that escapes me.
Elliot lifts his eyes to mine and smiles when he sees that I know what he's playing. His fingers move surely over the keys, playing a tune from the depths of my memory that I've always loved.
My gaze shifts between his face and hands and at times, I find him watching where to place his fingers. Other times, I find his eyes fixated on me and in those moments, I find it a bit hard to breathe.
Hearing this melody as a child and loving it well into adulthood evokes some sentiment in me and I bite down on the insides of my cheeks to keep myself in check.
Almost too soon, it's over.
The song crescendos and decrescendos with a flourish and Elliot looks up. at me, smiling, waiting.
"I - I love that song," I tell him in quite an affected voice, "Of all the songs or melodies you could have played, you play the Embassy Waltz."
Elliot cocks: his head to a side. "You're a fan of My Fair Lady?"
"So much! I've seen it so many times. The Embassy Waltz is so beautiful."
"Do you play?" Elliot asks.
I shake my head.
He watches me. "Would you like to learn?"
Slowly, I nod, and laugh. "You're not getting out of it that easy. Play another. You're not rusty at all."
Elliot laughs. "I haven't played too much recently. This is the only piano in my possession. What would you like me to play?"
"You had such success the first time. Do your worst."
Looking like he had accepted the challenge of a lifetime, Elliot flexes his fingers and begins to play "The Blue Danube" from memory, reminding me of all the Looney Tunes I had watched as a child.
Steeling my nerves, I take a step closer and watch Elliot, inhaling the smell of his cologne that reminds me of a particularly breezy night on the Eastport Pier.
Elliot scoots away on the bench and silently motions for me to take a seat.
Biting my lip, my finger tapping a staccato against my thigh, I take another step forward and sit down beside him. Taking care to sit far enough away from him that we're not touching, I find it even harder to meet his eye now.
As the song draws to a close, Elliot motions for me to press the final key.
I finish the song with a laugh and Elliot immediately breaks into a round of applause. "Outstanding performance."
I make a face at him. "Don't patronize me."
Sincerely, he replies. "I would never."
There's a pause. Elliot turns his head and looks at me. He puts his elbow down on the keys, making them emit a cacophony, and nestles his hand against his temple, looking at me, eagerly. "What else would your mother tell me about you?"
Nervousness evokes a laugh from me and I look at the piano, rather than looking at him. My toes curl into the carpet to try and compensate for the fact that I can't.
With a long sigh, I try to buy time to think of the easiest thing to tell him. "She'll probably tell you that it's a nightmare for her to feed me because I'm a picky eater."
"Are you?" he asks.
I scrunch up my nose. "I don't particularly enjoy some vegetables - especially not in boiled form."
"Asparagus?' Elliot questions.
"Only in sandwiches. Well, I'll have them if they taste good."
"Have you had dinner?"
That's the question that makes me turn and look at him. I shake my head.
"Shall we order something?" Elliot asks. He's already up from his seat near me and walking out of the living room.
He returns with a collection of delivery menus from various restaurants and floods the shiny top of the piano with them. "Take your pick."
I know he's watching me as I look at them. "Anywhere is fine. All these places look good."
Elliot grins. "See? You're not picky."
"That's because you're not trying to feed me aubergines!"
"Oh, so asparagus sandwiches are fine, but aubergines are where you draw the line?" Elliot shoots back.
"Do you like aubergines?!" I cry feigning outrage, starting to feel the ridiculousness of our loud and extremely bizarre conversation.
"Of course not. They're slimy and disgusting!" Elliot replies, matching my tone.
I gesture to the restaurant menus. "Tell me a place that doesn't serve aubergines, then!"
"Well, that might just be McDonald's."
I raise an eyebrow. "McDonald's actually sounds good."
Elliot grins and half an hour later, after a grueling process of deciding what to order, we sit in the living room, eating chocolate Sundaes before burgers so that they don't melt, conveniently choosing to ignore the presence of a freezer in the house.
The signature aroma of McDonald's intermingling with the scent of Elliot's cologne might, in theory, sound horrendous, but in actuality, it's actually quite comforting and easy.
"If you had picked a Sundae other than chocolate," I tell Elliot, "We might have had a problem."
His mouth full of ice cream, he smirks at me slyly. "Aubergines and non-chocolate sundaes are your culinary turn-offs?"
"Green peas," I add.
His smirk deepens. "I might be starting to see your mother's point."
With an abundance of reckless abandon, Elliot and I are still seated on the long piano bench. We're both straddling either side of it, facing each other.
Uncharacteristically, without thinking, I nudge his shoulder with my hand. "Be nice. I bought you dinner."
Elliot's eyes widen with amusement. "Only because you bullied me into not paying."
"I did not bully you!"
"Fine, you finessed me into not paying."
"I only used good, old, simple logic that you and your family have provided me board and lodging for two months and the least I could do is buy you dinner."
Elliot narrows his eyes. "Yes, but the only reason you actually managed to pay is because, the moment the delivery guy pulled up, you managed to conveniently hear a noise from the back door and I, being the utmost gentleman and perfect caretaker of the house, had to go investigate. It was way too late when I realized your ploy. I only saw the guy's tail lights."
I can't help bursting into laughter at how flawlessly I had executed my plan.
Elliot is leaning towards me, shaking his head, but looking amused at the same time.
"I will always find a way, Elliot," I tell him.
He shakes his head some more. "What else would your mother tell me about you?"
I shovel some ice cream and hot fudge sauce into my mouth and think. "That I'm lazy," I reply. When he looks skeptical, I explain, "I really hate sweeping my room. And sometimes, the clothes pile up on the chair in my room. She does not suffer from those afflictions."
Elliot looks thoughtful. "You're so neat, though. I see how much you hate how haphazardly Jenna does things. I'm sure you even have a touch of OCD."
I shrug. "Depends on the thing, I guess."
Elliot keeps looking at me.
"You want to crack open my head and look at my brain, don't you?"
He cracks a smile as he inspects my head. "It would be a shame to damage your head."
I shovel some more ice cream into my mouth to try and cool down my face that's heating up.
We lapse into silence for a moment and it's only then, that it hits me.
How easily I'm eating in front of Elliot.
Granted, we've eaten together many times before, but he and I have never been alone here for a meal; only in Eastport and there, I was sure I wouldn't see him again, so I guess I never wanted to bother trying too much.
Growing up with a sister who is slim and dainty, opened me up to being the butt of jokes for so many adults as to how I am taller and broader and heavier.
Despite growing to be more confident in myself, eating, especially in front of people, especially unhealthy food, has been a sore point for me.
I'm constantly on edge about being judged for what or how much I eat in strange company.
Though it never occurred to me before, it's occurring to me now that I've not really felt apprehensive to eat with Elliot.
When I was in college, Isa and Jenna ate just as much as I did, maybe more, and I never felt judged with them, but it's not the case with everyone.
Sometimes, especially with new people, I still feel like the chubby twelve-year-old who has to smile through adults' hurtful comments.
I put the last spoonful of Sundae into my mouth.
"Aurora."
Elliot's calm, steady voice pierces through the veil of my reflections.
Shifting my gaze from the McDonalds' bag covered leather of the piano bench to his face, I see Elliot's expression shift from concern or confusion into a slow smile.
He opens his mouth once, but closes it. Immediately after, he opens it again and says, "What else would your Mom tell me about you?"
I grin. "No," I shake my head, "You have to play another song."
Elliot gestures to the crowded piano bench. "There's no space for me to sit actually facing the piano," he laughs, "How can I play?"
"A poor workman blames his tools," I shrug.
An incredulous laugh escapes him. "Oh, so that's how it is? Alright." Elliot puts the lid back on his empty sundae cup. He puts it into the trash bag we stationed on the floor and wipes his fingers on a tissue.
Turning at an awkward angle, Elliot puts his hands down on the keys and pauses. "You want to learn to play a song?" he asks.
I nod.
"Alright." Elliot stands and moves all the bags between us on top of the piano and wipes it down before sitting.
I turn to face the piano.
"Have you ever learnt the piano?" he asks.
"Sure. When I was like seven."
Grinning, he says, "I'll teach you something really easy, okay? And we'll go from there."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh, so the Elliot Kingsley School of Music is not a one-time offer?"
"Aurora," he says, chidingly, "We're going to make you a grandmaster."
I snort, completely unattractively. "Not with how uncoordinated my hands are."
Giving me a slightly reprimanding look, Elliot plays a tune without any chords, using only his right hand.
The melody makes me look at him, wryly.
Elliot presses his lips together, suppressing his growing grin.
"You're going to teach me 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'?" I ask, dryly.
"No," Elliot shakes his head, vigorously. "I'm going to teach you 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' and the Alphabet Song and 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'. It's a two for one."
Laughing, I bump my shoulder against his.
"This is your path to becoming a maestro," he tells me, bumping my shoulder back, "Try it."
Elliot shows me where to play each note and I follow his instructions and manage to successfully, albeit slowly, play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' and the Alphabet Song and 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'.
"You're such a natural," he tells me, "You've never done this before?"
"Okay, okay. Now you play."
"Let me take this opportunity to show you some sheet music," he says, pulling some of the sheets of music off the top of the piano and setting it on the stand.
The sheet shows a basic version of 'Clementine'.
"This one's easy to read," he says, "No chords. All you need to do is learn which note is which."
Putting my finger on the paper, I run it along the first line of the sheet. "G, G, G, D, D, B, B, B, G, G, B, D," I say to the tune of the song.
Elliot is grinning. "You can read music!"
"Calm down, cowboy, that's a very basic skill."
"How do you know to read music?"
"I can play the guitar very poorly."
Elliot's eyes are ablaze with excitement. "Aurora, you're well on your way to grandmaster already."
I laugh.
Elliot and I, then, play 'Clementine' together. Mostly because I have no idea where the keys are.
He and I use one hand each, to play, and the other to eat out of the bags of junk food.
At the end of each song, he asks me another 'what would you Mom tell me about you' and I tell him the most harmless ones that I can think of.
Then, he either plays or tries to teach me another song.
Once, he managed to get me to pick a song.
I picked 'Heart and Soul'.
Towards the end of the song, Elliot picks his hand off the keys and brings his arm around my waist to play a note on the other end of the piano and finishes the song with a calando.
He retrieves his hand from around me and looks at the keys for a while with a small smile on his face.
He's quiet.
Turning my head, I see that the clock hanging on the wall, reads that it's ten-fifteen.
It takes a few moments for him to look back up at me.
When he does, his eyes are shining.
He releases a breath. "I haven't played in a long time," he tells me, "Despite the fact that I do love playing. I'm really glad that you made me."
I smile and nod, nervous because of the tone of his voice.
"I don't remember the last time –" he fixates on my eyes, "You bring out quite a lot of joy in life that I seem to have lost."
Here is the song that Elliot first played, in case you wanted to hear it.
Say "aaow" if you've heard it before (and if you remember that reference).
Say "grandmaster" if you play the piano and just KNOW that Elliot is proud of you.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Much love!
EXTRA FUN THINGS:
Do you want a sneak peak at 'The Billionaire's Driver' cover so that you know what to keep a look out for?