Читать книгу Some Days Are Diamonds - Stephanie Surma - Страница 5

Elle lived in his house.

Elle lived in his house.

John lay awake and stared at the ceiling, trying and failing to get the image of Elle out of his head. Elle with her miles of coffee brown hair braided down her back, and her sleepy eyes as Logan started up another god-awful horror flick, her head resting on Logan’s shoulder. Elle in sweatpants at least two sizes too big, and a cozy-looking knit sweater over a Bye Bye Birdie 2008 cast tee shirt.

It wasn’t too much different having her here now than it had been the few times she’d come over in the past. Hell, it wasn’t that much different than seeing her at work. Well, no; in some ways, it was. At work, she was smart as a whip, efficient and organized. She was always chatting with someone, or so intently focused she didn’t notice anything around her, or sassing performers about their lack of punctuality and sloppy dance work. All work and no play, that was Elle. So put together, all the time.

Even in what was clearly a state of panic, she held it together. She did a good job hiding it, for the most part; until something tipped the scales. Whatever conversation she and Logan had been having while he’d been on the phone had upset her, enough that her face was still red when he got back. It was unsettling, seeing her anything besides smiling and warm, or snarky, which he almost preferred.

Even more unsettling was the fact that he’d immediately wanted to comfort her. Which was, honestly, not new, so much as a weird, bone deep impulse he’d been ignoring since the day he’d met her.

John scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing for sleep to come and take him. He’d tried to keep from staring at Elle the whole night, with only marginal success. The cheesy horror movie didn’t exactly hold his attention—too cliché, and way too gory—but Elle obviously hadn’t been watching it for the scare factor. She’d done nothing but flat out roast it, going barely two minutes at a time without a scathing comment. From anyone else, it would have been annoying, but from her, John found it downright charming.

Charming and hilarious.

Prim and proper Elle, all put together, even outside of work clothes, and slightly tipsy. It was almost jarring to see her there, actually in his home, as though someone had cut her out of the tech booth and pasted her on his couch, sarcastic commentary and all.

God, he wanted to see her disheveled. Early morning, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He wanted to see her underneath the makeup, when her hair wasn’t neatly pulled back from her pretty face. He wanted to mess her up a little himself.

Stop that, he chastised himself. She’s your roommate, not your girlfriend.

His very attractive roommate.

His very attractive, single roommate.

God, he had it bad. He’d had it bad since he’d met her— before that, maybe. She and Logan had been friends forever, and the second John had seen her in pictures on Logan’s Facebook—

Yeah. He’d had it bad since the first time he saw her, and it was getting worse by the day. By the minute.

With an aggravated sigh, John rolled onto his side. Living with Elle couldn’t be that different than living with Logan, right? He just had to pretend everything was normal. He’d get used to her— or she’d be out in a few months, and things would actually go back to normal. Still, for now, Elle— living in his house — was the new normal.

Right, John thought, just as far from sleep as he had been when he’d turned out his light. Everything was normal.

***

Things were definitely not normal.

John dragged himself out of bed at seven, after a fitful night of off-and-on sleep, interrupted by dreams of aquamarine eyes and musical laughter. He jogged through the blue light of early morning to the neighborhood fitness center, forcing himself to focus on the chill in the morning air, on keeping his breathing even, and not on the fact that Elle would inevitably be there, at his house, when he got back to it. He pushed himself a little harder than usual through his workout, trying to escape the images of a sleepy and unkempt Elle from his mind. The run home was just this side of hell, and it did nothing to distract him.

The house was still and silent when he returned, the palest rays of sunlight beginning to peek through the back windows in the living room. John had to bite down on the disappointment that ebbed up inside him. He shouldn’t want a quiet, early morning moment alone with Elle. That was all sorts of weird of him.

Maybe a nice, cold shower would help him clear his head.

Logan was up and brewing coffee when John came back downstairs. He turned with his hand on the cupboard door, his coppery hair sticking up in tufts, in just a tank top and pajama pants so old and worn the pattern was no longer recognizable. “Good morning, stud.”

“Morning.” John ran a hand through his wet hair and tried to discreetly glance into the living room as he passed it. Elle was noticeably absent, either not awake yet, or still— probably— pulling herself together. It did weird things to his brain, thinking of her doing her morning routine. He wished he was there to—

Get a grip, John.

Clamping down on that line of thought, John opened the fridge and frowned. “Why don’t we have eggs?”

“Because someone neglected to stop by the grocery store on his way home, yesterday,” Logan accused, giving John a pointed look.

Oh, crap. He’d completely forgotten. He’d just wanted to be home to help Elle move in. “Shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Logan grumbled, opening the pantry behind John. “We have bagels, so you’re in luck.”

“I’ll order grocery delivery,” John said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“You could have done that yesterday, you big lug.” Logan’s voice was waspish, but he turned a teasing grin at John before popping a bagel into the toaster.

“Do you want cereal?” John asked, already on InstaCart. “They’re having a sale.”

“Get Honeycombs if they have them,” Logan said. “Elle could eat her body weight in them. I got almond milk the other day, in case she had to escape Gina for a night.”

“That paid off nicely,” John muttered. He had a strange feeling he’d met Gina at one point, but he couldn’t conjure up an image of her in his head. Not that it mattered— whether or not he knew what she looked like, he disliked her. “Anything else?”

“For the love of god, John, buy us some fruit.”

John rolled his eyes, added a few kinds of fruit to the cart, and hit checkout.

“I’ll probably take Elle grocery shopping on Monday,” Logan said, already spreading peanut butter on his bagel. “She’ll stock us up on food, and then all you have to worry about is giving her breakfast.”

“Right,” John said, grabbing a mug for his coffee. “I am capable of more than just breakfast food, you know.”

“Keep telling yourself that, stud.” John took a breath to defend himself, but Logan kept right on talking. “Poor Ellie’s probably upstairs having a mild panic attack. I’ll have to go up and get her if she’s not down here in ten more minutes.”

Ellie? John thought, frowning up at the stairs. No one called her that. The name alone sounded too cute for her. More importantly, though—“Why would she be having a panic attack?”

“She’s got pretty bad anxiety,” Logan explained. “She hates telling people about it, but honestly, they’re so much more accommodating when they know.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type,” John found himself saying. “She just seems so put together.”

“She’s had her whole life to perfect that.”

Fair enough, John mused, as the coffee finished brewing. Except the idea of Elle upstairs, freaking out over— what? Him? No way she’d freak out about Logan, right? They’d been best friends forever. Something about her being nervous around him, though, darkened his mood. He didn’t want her to be scared of him, for any reason. He wanted her to like living with him.

Maybe even enough to stay, instead of—

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

John almost spilled the damn coffee. That’d be fun to explain. Sorry, I scalded my skin off thinking about you living in my house for the rest of time. No big deal.

Christ. He really needed to pull himself together.

“I hope you like bagels,” Logan continued merrily, oblivious to John’s near-crisis. “This idiot forgot to go shopping yesterday.”

“I didn’t—” John started, scowling over his shoulder, but Logan cut him off.

“We’ve got peanut butter, jelly, butter, and if you go for the cream cheese, I’m gonna have to hurt you.”

John turned at that, alarmed, only to find Elle grinning at Logan, her hands in the air in surrender. “Yikes! Okay, then; good morning to you, too.” With a soft chuckle, she took up a seat at the breakfast bar, beside Logan, who kissed her temple.

She still looked so… collected, John mused. Hair in a sleek ponytail, in her clothing from the night before. Strange, the pang of disappointment that shot through him at the sight of her already pulled together. Strange and silly.

Without thinking, he filled the mug he’d gotten out for himself with coffee and slid it toward Elle, looking for signs of anxiety or stress. Her expression was closed off, practically shy, until the moment the coffee reached her. Then she blinked at it— and blinked even more when John set the almond milk and sugar in front of her.

“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised. “Um. Thank you.” With that, she looked up at him, the cloudiness of her expression clearing into a sunny smile.

Christ, John thought, feeling himself smile back. He was really hopeless.

“No problem,” He said, and then turned decidedly away from her to start over with his coffee.

***

Walking into the tech booth that afternoon was like coming home after a long and harrowing workday. Elle hoisted herself up onto her stool, more content than she’d been in days. She couldn’t wait to run sound tonight, to follow her steady, comforting routine of replacing mic batteries, to test the sound board.

God, if work was her happy place, she probably needed therapy.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Logan said, kissing her cheek before he followed John through the dining room. Ben ambled in about five minutes later and, true to form, dropped into his chair with his saddlebag at his side.

“So, how’s the new place?” He asked it with a grin, nudging her thigh with the toe of his steel-toed boot.

“I’ve only been there one night,” she reminded him, already swapping out batteries in the mic packs. “It’s nice, though. I love their house; always have.”

“And now you get to live there!” Ben straightened in his chair and started his own routine. “Plus, you have roommates that aren’t garbage.” His words should have been funny, or at least a relief, but Elle flinched at them.

“Yeah, now I’m the garbage roommate.”

She was so focused on her mics, it took her several seconds to realize Ben hadn’t responded. When she glanced over, he was frowning at her, brow deeply furrowed.

Heat began to creep up her neck. “What’s that look for?”

“Don’t start that shit up,” Ben snapped. “You need at least two whole weeks of excitement before your depression is allowed back.”

“That’s not how this works!” Nevertheless, she found herself giggling. “I should be allowed to wallow in my self-deprecating humor as much as I please, thank you.”

“Not until two Thursdays from now.” Ben opened a drawer in the booth and pulled something from it. “Here.”

Elle yelped as whatever he’d thrown landed in front of her, and then her laughter doubled. She picked up the tootsie-pop and tossed it back at him, watching him fumble it. “Lollipops don’t solve emotional crises, Ben!”

“They do, and you know it.” He gestured out toward the dining room with the candy. “Ask Chef Rossi.”

Elle snorted and opened up the next drawer down, full of unlubricated condoms they used to protect the mic packs from sweaty performers. “Chef Rossi would say food is the cure to emotional crises, and then bake us something.”

“I absolutely would.”

Figures, Elle mused, watching the Chef struggle to sidestep a few tables to get to the booth, a plate of cut fruits and veggies in his plump hand. Chef Rossi had always been one of those people who materialized the moment anyone spoke about him. Greg called it his sixth sense.

“Here,” Chef Rossi said, setting the snack plate down on their table through the booth window. “Eat these to fuel your body, and I will bring you something sweet that will ease your soul.”

Elle laughed. Chef Rossi was the best baker in town, and being pure-blooded Italian, one of the best pasta makers, too. If anyone knew comfort food, it was him. “I’m happy with strawberries,” she told him, plucking one up from the plate. “Thank you, Chef.”

“A sad heart needs a sweet treat!” The chef insisted in his thick accent. “You are quiet and stressed all week. You need chocolate.”

“You’re absolutely right, Chef.”

Elle jumped at Logan’s voice. How had she not seen him coming? “Can you all please stop sneaking up on me?”

“It’s good for you,” Logan said, already wriggling his way into the booth behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “Keeps your heart going.” When Elle struggled, giggling madly, he just tightened his arms and propped his head on her shoulder. “Am I wrong, though?”

“Yes!”

Logan ignored her in favor of talking to Chef Rossi. “No dairy treats for Elle! It makes her sick.”

“He knows that,” Elle told Logan, worming her arm free to poke him in the stomach. He yelped.

“Bah,” Chef Rossi said, throwing a hand up, and then pointing at Logan with clear accusation. “You think I don’t know how to care for our little stellina! I’ll make a roast pig for the cast party, just to spite you.”

“Hey!” Logan whined, pouting. Elle couldn’t suppress her squawk of laughter. He’d never been a strictly Kosher Jew, except on holidays, but the chef’s meaning was clear nonetheless.

Ignoring Logan’s protests, Chef Rossi gave Elle an adoring smile. “I come back with dessert, and you will feel better.” With that, he turned and, brushing several chairs with his hefty belly as he went, made his way back to the kitchen.

Elle gave Logan a gentle shove about ten minutes later, sending him back to the green room with the mic bin. “No treats for you, heathen,” she told him, earning herself a pout and a whine in response. “I’ll save one for you if you don’t paraphrase your line tonight!”

“You’re mean, Elle!”

“You have one line! ”

“Yeah, Logan, you have one line.” Elle watched Logan stick his tongue out at John as they passed each other. John just gave him a shit-eating grin. Before he even reached the booth, he jerked his chin at Elle. “You need extra manpower?”

Elle turned to Ben. “We good up here?”

“We could use you on spot,” Ben called to John. “Come on back.”

“What happened to Hank?” Elle asked. An unusual blinking caught her eye— something was weird with her soundboard. Shoot, she thought, looking underneath the tech table to the web of wires behind it. One of her cords must have come loose. Damn.

“Called out.” Ben flicked his eyes to her. “And Jim’s unreachable.”

“Good,” Elle said, sneering despite herself. “Keep that greasy shitbag out of my way.”Aha. Good thing she’d found the wire now. Half of her soundboard would be useless without it.

John’s voice came from somewhere behind her as she unplugged the cord to disentangle it from the others. “What, you don’t like Jim?”

Elle felt her expression sour. She leaned out and waved the cord accusingly at John. “If I have to hear him call me Elodie for the rest of my life, I’m going to cut out his tongue and give it to Chef Rossi.”

“And probably feed it back to him later,” Ben muttered above her.

“Damn straight.” Elle went back to her task, giving the plug a nice little shove back into its appropriate port. “With the state of these wires, I’d be surprised if he hasn’t been messing with my soundboard. Ben, are my lights all on now?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would he call you Elodie?” John asked.

Elle unfolded herself from under the counter to find him propped against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching her emerge.

Weird. She shrugged and went back to her board. “It’s my full name. I hate it, and I think that’s why he uses it.” She hoisted herself back onto the stool with a scowl, grumbling, “I haven’t gone by Elodie since the sixth grade.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “It’s pretty, but Elle suits you better.”

Elle felt her lips twitch. “That was very polite, and somehow not offensive at all. I’m impressed.”

“It’s a talent,” He replied dryly.

She put on an exaggerated, posh accent, turning up her nose haughtily. “Part of your country-club upbringing.”

John snorted. “Right. Well, I’m going up.”

Elle waved him off. “Have fun!”

Act one almost ran smoothly, until Haley’s mic popped during one of her last lines in the act. Elle sighed and pulled out her emergency mic wire and an extra set of batteries.

“I’m going back,” she said, as soon as house lights were fully up for intermission. Ben saluted her as she ducked out, hidden in the shadows at the edge of the dining room, while everyone’s food was delivered.

She could get to the back without crossing through the dining room by going up to the Shelf, which was sparsely filled for the week night show. As she climbed the stairs, she caught sight of John in his little hidden booth behind the spotlight, reading something on his phone.

“Hey, you good?” she asked. John looked up from his phone, eyes wide, like she’d startled him. She gestured to the spotlight. “You doin’ okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He gave the spot a dark look. “Heavy thing, isn’t it?”

“Well, you’re doing great,” Elle assured him. “I’ve got to go check Haley’s mic.”

John saluted her the same way Ben had, and Elle crossed the Shelf, smiling at anyone who looked at her, using her customer service voice to ask if they were enjoying the show. The overwhelming positivity she got back put a spring in her step as she entered the second story server station, waving at the girls who were pulling trays of drinks together. She was so distracted she didn’t notice the person standing at the bottom of the stairs until she almost bowled them over.

“Oh!” Elle stumbled back, damn near tripping backwards up the steps. “Davy! Hi. Sorry.”

Davy, to his credit, looked just as startled to see her as she was to see him. He’d always been quiet, somewhat shy, despite his good looks and natural Southern charm. He pushed a hand through his thick gold curls and stepped back, out of Elle’s way, with a soft, “‘Scuse me, Ma’am.”

Elle nodded at him, then gestured to the wire taped onto his face. “Your mic okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” Poor Davy, she thought. He was a damn good actor, but as himself, he seemed like he didn’t know who to be. It was as though he was always on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t figure out what the words were.

Relatable, when she stopped to think about it.

Elle patted his arm as she started past him. “You sound great today. The kids love you.”

“Thank you, M—”

Chuckling, Elle glanced back at him. “You can call me Elle, Davy. You’ve known me long enough.” Davy clearly didn’t know what to do with that, so he just nodded at her.

Poor Davy, Elle thought again. She knew exactly how he felt. Strange, how her people skills managed to exist only within the walls of this building. The moment she was out of it— in Logan and John’s place, namely— she was a social disaster.

Maybe she really did need therapy.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Elle poked her head into the green room. “Can someone get Haley from the dressing room, please? I need to check her mic.”