“What do you mean?” I asked, ducking into the bathroom and away from their questions.

“You know what we mean.” Elle blocked my admittance.

“It’s not like that. I don’t want to mix business with pleasure. Not yet.” They seemed to be pacified, at least for the time being. It was never really about what, but who. I thought about it as I got ready. I wasn’t entirely sure if my heart even belonged to me anymore. It had always belonged to Griffin. He was the owner, the proprietor, and the ruler. My heart may beat in my chest, but its gravitational pull tugged firmly toward Griffin. I had an image of Elliott and Griffin in this giant tug-of-war with my heart in the middle. Could I be devoted to Griffin and desire Elliott? In addition to my heart, would I lose myself in this imaginary tug-of-war?

Chapter Fourteen

Elliott was becoming a master of wooing. He brought me flowers weekly. And I noticed that with each arrangement, like his food, he always added something different and distinctive to make it special: an orchid with interesting shading, hybrid tulips, rare amaryllis, variegated succulents, and sometimes, cleverly placed English ivy to remind me of him. Many times, he would select a beautiful card sharing our mutual hopes and dreams and end by choosing a quote or line from one of my “favorite vintage poets,” as he referred to Yeats, Browning, Shakespeare, and Keats. Our relationship bloomed as naturally as the flowers he selected. Was the terrain of my heart changing? I thought about both men. Griffin with some flimsy history and a single word: Bae. Whereas Elliott, with his romantic musings, was offering me flowers, beautiful notes, and a future awash in possibilities. Elliott understood the contours of my soul.

Elliott invited me to his apartment for a “simple” New Year’s Eve supper. There was never anything simple about the way Elliott prepared a meal. But his invitation evoked feelings of apprehension and nervousness. I had never been to his apartment before, and something in me wondered if I was crossing over the threshold into new territory of our relationship. The restaurant would not open until April, and I didn’t know if I could trust my own feelings to not go full force across the line. But I was also anxious to see what his apartment looked like. Would it reveal something new and different about this man that occupied such a central role in my life? I rang his doorbell at precisely 8 p.m. He greeted me at the door in a most casual manner, right down to his bare feet.

“Come in.” While his feet conveyed an easy-going style, he spoke in a courtly demeanor. “You come bearing gifts.” He looked delighted.

“Lower the bar,” I said. “I wouldn’t dare bring wine or champagne, lest it would conflict with what chef prepared, and I wouldn’t want to incur chef’s wrath!”

“Your punishment would be severe, Ms. Edgeworth, and I would show no mercy.” We laughed. We embraced. I removed my coat, and he waved toward the rest of the apartment, indicating I could have a good look around while he finished up. My eyes landed on the small but familiar arrangement on the tiny table. The green hydrangeas, apricot-colored roses, and Queen Anne’s lace brought a smile to my face.