Page 30 of No One But Us

I assume, when we part at the studio’s door, that I will not see him again, but later he comes to the beach with me, as if he’s trying to squeeze a whole summer of civility into one day.

“What are you reading?” he asks when we’ve laid our towels down.

“Madame Bovary,” I reply, sliding it toward him.

“Are you reading it because you think you’ll enjoy it, or are you reading it because you think you’re supposed to?” he asks.

I shrug. “You know, it’s just one of those books you always hear about.”

He grins. “So it’s a ‘supposed to’ book.”

“I guess,” I reply. “But hopefully I’ll enjoy it too.”

“Do you ever do anything just because, and not to further yourself in some way?” he asks.

“You sound like Max,” I reply. “What are you reading, then, Max Jr?”

He looks surprised for a moment and then grins sheepishly. “Two Treatises by John Locke.”

“Seriously?” I laugh. “You’re reading John Locke and giving me shit?”

He smiles wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve got a good point. Maybe a little bit of Max would do us both some good. Did you know he’s got an IQ of, like, 150 or something?”

“I’m not surprised,” I reply. “Every once in a while he says something almost profound.”

“He ought to go back to school. I’m worried he’s never going to find his ‘path’ or whatever it is he claims he’s doing.”

“And now you sound like Ginny.”

He groans. “No, actually, I sound like my mom. I think I’d rather be Max.”

A short time later, James falls asleep on top of his book, and I watch him—the way his long lashes sweep his cheeks and his lower lip falls open, begging me to run my thumb across it.

It’s one of the best days of my life, and I would swear he enjoys it nearly as much. That weight he always carries seems to disappear, his smile spreading as easily as spilled liquid.

And then we run into Ginny as we’re walking back to the house, and I can see the weight of his worry return. He speaks to her and hurries away, as if he was just caught doing something he’s forbidden to do.

Chapter 20

ELLE

Edward calls me three times over the next two days. I ignore him until he texts that he has a job for me. He’s found my one weakness. Well, I think, looking over at James—he’s found one of my weaknesses.

I no longer trust that there’s anywhere in this house where I won’t be overheard, so I walk toward the boardwalk before I dial his number.

“I’m glad you’re finally calling, Eleanor,” he says. His voice is soothing. He doesn’t sound angry or offended, which is a relief. “I didn’t mean to upset you with the flowers, or with what I wrote.”

He’s so apologetic, I feel a little guilty. “You didn’t upset me,” I say. “I just—”

“I know,” he says. “It’s okay. You and I are in very different places in our lives. I get it.”

Relief whistles through my lungs. “You said you might have a job?”

“Yes,” he says. “How do you feel about morning television?”

It’s as good as—maybe even better than—working his show. And as much as I don’t want to leave James, I think he’s proven pretty conclusively that my hopes will amount to nothing. “That would be amazing.”

“Yes, it’s definitely a good starting point,” he agrees. “This producer is an old friend of mine, and I think she can find something for you. Come up to the Hamptons this weekend, and I’ll introduce you.”