Ezra and Ella

Notes:

Hellooo, if anyone is reading (I have my doubts).
It feels so good to be back writing this fic, but also very bad, seeing that last chapter (that was so emotional and I put a lot of effort in writing it) got zero feedback :’(

It’s disheartening a lot, yeah.

In this chapter there’s some fluff, too, probably a leftover of the Flufftober that kept me busy two months XD

But I keep going on for the simple reason that I love what I write, even when everyone else seems to hate it :/

Chapter VII: Something I love

 

Joe’s POV

“Okay, now that we’re done with breakfast, it’s time to start the day.” You break the silence between us.

“What do you suggest? And, please, don’t say you’re going to get a single bed, because there’s no need at all.” I point out.

“I was thinking more like about going in the bedroom,”

Are you teasing me, Bronte?
Did you change your mind about comfort sex?

“Take the look off your face, Joe; it’s not what you’re thinking!” You chuckle, as I follow you there.

After all, so far I just took a glimpse of it, but I haven’t got in yet.

And when I do I know what you meant.

There’s a wide desk, in front of a window overlooking the trees.

There are several pens and blocknotes, a stack of paper, but mostly there’s something I can’t help noticing.

“Is it for me?” I wonder, as I caress the brown leather case.
I already know what it hides.

You nod.

“It’s the most vintage one I managed to find.” You murmur as I open it.

“Oh my God, it’s an Olivetti Lettera 82!” I cheer, as I study every detail of this jewel, from her chocolate brown colour, to her round cream colour keys, from the carriage, still in pristine condition to the still perfectly working carriage return lever, from the red ribbon to the silver hammers.

Not to mention the platen that slides with so much ease.

“You’re such a connoisseur!” You praise me.

“If there’s something I love almost as much as books, it’s the typewriter machines.” I have no trouble to confess. “The only difference is that it was Mr. Mooney who taught me how to love books and taking good care of them; while the typewriter machines… it’s something just mine, I’ve learned to love them on my own.”

“It’s good to have something to love on your own. So, enjoy your trip back in time.” You smile, as you take your laptop from your rucksack and place it on the bed. “Here instead it’s Nowadays Zone.” 

I chuckle, as you sit on the bed and put the laptop on your crossed legs.

“If you had met me some years ago, in my flat in Bed-Stuy, you would have seen all my twenty-nine typewriters.”

“Twe… twenty-nine?” You repeat, astonished.

“Yep, and I had every intention of getting even more ones; but, you know, from L.A. on I had to make drastic changes… I miss them a lot.” I sigh.

“Well, now you can restart the collection.” You wink at me.

“It was such a lovely one. There was Hector, a ‘92 Smith Corona, Larry, a Smith Corona Clipper, Jacqueline, an Olimpia sm2, James, a Remington Rand, Caroline, an Olivetti Lettera 22, Roger, a Rover 1000, Madeline, an Olivetti Lettera 35… and the list could go on and on.” I start enumerating them.

Gosh, I didn’t mean to turn this nostalgic.

You can’t repress a chuckle.

“Wait. Did you actually name all of them?”

“Of course I did, how am I supposed not to make something I love feel even more mine?”

I pause.

“Do you think it’s crazy?” I ask you, a little worried.

“Huh? Nope, I find it cute. I mean, it’s not that you talk with your typewriters, right?” You shrug.

“Of course I don’t. Books are way much better listeners!”

You burst out laughing.
Okay, you think I was joking and maybe it’s better if you do.

“Here’s something I love about you and missed a lot, Joe: the way you make me laugh.”

I just show you a smile, afraid that any word could spoil this moment.

“So, how about the new entry? C’mon, do it now: choose a name.” You challenge me.

I study your beautiful gift for a while.

“I guess Janine suits her.” I decide.

“Geez, now you make me want to name something I love too, but I only have one laptop.” You snort.

“I beg to differ. There’s something you love, which is something I love as well, and you practically collect them. Tons of them. Your cardigans.”

You laugh at first, as if you were thinking I’m joking, but then you seem to realize how serious I am about it.

“So, name my cardigans, you say?” You chuckle, as you toy with the one you’re wearing now - as a proof of my theory. - ; a long, cotton, burgundy coloured one, with large perforations and buttons as big as ping pong balls. “I don’t think Suzanne would like it.”

Oh, finally you’re playing my game.

“Suzanne? She would strike me more as Pam…”

You throw at me one of the decorative pillows and I laugh.

“Don’t even try; my cardigans are just mine to name!” You laugh as well.

“At least can we decide together the name of the cardigan you wore when we kissed for the first time?” I venture to ask.

“Huh? I bet you don’t even remember what it looked like!”

“The short one, up to the waist, a colour between greenish gray and powder blue, with wavy edges…” I start describing it as if I had seen it yesterday and not more than two years ago.

You stare at me, dumbfounded.

“Wow. Just how…”

“I framed in my mind something I love, especially something connected to a moment I love. And I guess you should name it Cassidy, for the assonance with ‘kissing’.” I suggest.

“Our first kiss coincided also with the first time we had sex, so I guess Eros is a better choice.” You make me notice.

Oh, the hot memories flooding my mind.

“I guess we have the winning choice.” I grin. “So, any chance I'll see you wearing Eros again?”

“Well not now that Summer has just begun, Eros is an autumn/winter one.” You chuckle.

“So, any chance I’ll link Suzanne to a good, sexy memory?”

Bronte’s POV

Link this cardigan of mine to a sexy memory.

And to think it would be oh so easy.

I should just beckon you to reach me here, on the bed.

You would oblige, getting closer and closer to me, you would place your hands on my shoulders, caressing the soft fabric at first, maybe even toying a little with the large perforations.
 

And then you would make Suzanne slide from my arms, slowly, without any rush, kissing the displayed skin, more and more…

Wait a minute… Why did you get up and now are walking towards the bed?

“Joe, what are you doing? I didn’t say it’s gonna happen now.” I stop you half way.

“Well, not verbally, but there was something in your eyes, something I love to see again.” You smirk, taking another step closer.

It’s still too soon, Joe.

“There was nothing in no one’s eyes!” I point out and I’m relieved when I see you coming back to the desk.

But there’s a way too satisfied grin plastered on your face.

“At least, Bronte, admit that you were daydreaming about it.”

Shit.

“You’re wrong.I was just thinking about the new chapter I have to write and you should do the same.” I deny the evidence. “And if you don’t feel like writing, you can always read. Did you have a look on the shelf upon the desk?”

And there you go, examining one by one the first edition I managed to find of ‘Crime and Punishment’, ‘The Miserables’, ‘Oliver Twist’, ‘Dorian Gray’s portrait’, ‘Of time and the river’ , ‘Of love and other demons’ and ‘The Lady of the Camellias’.

“I’m sure you’ve already read them all, even more than once, but…” I add, since you don’t seem to talk anymore.

“It’s so perfect. And sweet.” You murmur, almost touched. “It’s like to have a small piece of Mooney’s still here with me.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I missed it when I left for L.A:, then Madre Linda, Paris and London. I missed it when I was back in New York but it was closed. And then something happened. Something I love. Something that made me want to give Mooney’s a second life. You happened.” You smile at me, heartily. “Sure, I mourn all those precious books lost forever, but the memories with you there… Those are priceless.  And also the one with Henry. The two people I love the most. But with him the memories there are so few. I wished for more ones. Happier ones…”

Don’t think I didn’t notice how your voice is getting broken, as I slide closer to the edge of the bed.

“He just barely saw me opening Mooney’s again… then that British bitch took him away from me, in London, all those weeks… if he would have remained with me we could have done so many things together. I didn’t even get the chance to show him the coolest books in the cage… he could have parties there in Mooney’s, bringing his friends. And I could have advised them all about which books to read and Henry would have been so… proud of his Daddy…”

You are crying now, but my hand is already holding yours tight.

Despite everything, I love holding your hand more than I’ll ever admit.

“You’re right, Joe. The flames may have destroyed everything, but all the pages of your beloved books, all the memories of your dear ones will always live in your heart and in your mind, which are even safer than any cage.” I manage to steal a smile from you. “And about Henry, how things could have been… sure, he must be shocked by the bad things he found out about you, but this doesn’t automatically erase all the good memories he must still have of you; I’m sure he also recalls that, especially now that he’s supposed to mourn you. And we already faced this topic: one day he’ll know and there will be room for many awesome memories of you and him together. Indestructible, anti-inflammable memories.”

You chuckle among the few tears you’re already wiping.

Just with one hand, the other is still holding mine.

“Thank you, Bronte. I feel a lot better now.” You smile that crooked smile of yours that really gives me trouble reminding myself that we shouldn’t have any sort of sexy contact.

“If I knew that seeing a bunch of rare books would have this effect on you I would have never done that…. maybe it was better a stock of King’s latest books you could have used outside as skeet shooting.”

Now you’re laughing, right before you pull me closer and kiss my temple.
This is not a sexy contact. It’s a tender one.
Not only is it allowed, it’s something I love.

“Oh, Bronte, what would I do without you?”

“Said the one who tried to kill me three times!” I part from you, coming back to my bed.

“Well, thank you for being so resistant and resilient!” You make me smile.

I still can’t believe the ease and naturalness with which we manage to joke about a very-close-to-death experience.
It’s something I love about us.
It probably also helps that it happened more than two years ago.

“Okay, now it’s writing time. If you don’t feel like doing the same you’re not forced, of course; but please let me do my job. I have a pending schedule.” I say, opening my laptop.

“I promise I’m going to write as well, but first I’d like to hear more about you.” You say, reaching me on the bed, but you politely sit on the corner, not invading my space. “What are you working at?”

“‘That’s not for you’.” I reply and I might sound harsher than I meant.

“Oh, okay, there’s no need to be so rude. How can you be so judgemental to know it’s a genre I don’t like even before talking about it?” You sound insulted.

I chuckle.

“No, Joe, you misunderstood. ‘That’s not for you’ is the title of my new romance.”

“Oh.” You remain with your mouth open for a while. “So, what’s about?”

I close my laptop and put it aside to give you all my attention.

“Okay, there’s this girl, Gabrielle, who used to have a boyfriend, Jim, but things didn’t go well between them. After a couple of years they casually met, Jim confesses to her he never forgot her and would like to have a second chance with her; he swears to her he’s changed.”

“Changed how? What was wrong with him before?” You start asking the good questions.

“They had such a toxic relationship. He was so jealous, he controlled every single step of her, he was hyper possessive and extremely manipulative.”

You scoff.

“What a horrible guy!”

“I know, right? And yet Gabrielle is so naive that she tells him she’ll think about it.”

“I don’t think Gabrielle is naive, she’s just hopelessly romantic; trying to find a glimmer of light even in the darkest kind of love.” You state.

I must have something in common with Gabrielle, although it’s another character I identify more with.

“However, she’s so full of doubts that she confides with her long-distance friend, Lottie. Due to the distance, Lottie never met Jim, nor Gabrielle ever showed him pics of Lottie when they were together. Lottie advises Gabrielle, she’d better wait for a while before giving Jim that second chance. That’s why Gabrielle tells Jim she’s not ready yet for coming back together with him.”

“That Lottie is such a nose-parker!” You snort, interrupting me.

“In order to help her friend, Lottie leaves Tampa and her job that wasn’t so important…”

“Which is her job?” You inquire.

“I still have to decide it, but that’s not the point and quit fucking interupting me every second!” I throw another pillow at you, playfully. “The point is that she reaches Gabrielle in Miami and tells her that the best way to find out if Jim has changed for real is to keep an eye on him and Lottie is up for that mission. At first she begins to stalk him, from a distance, then she sneaks into his life under the fake name of Brigitte and ends up working in his same editorial staff, ‘Sunny Isles Beach’...”

“Uhmm.. fake identities, catfishing, where did I already see that?” You pretend to wonder and this time it’s you who hits me with the pillow.

“Dont’ you know the first rule of every good writer? Write about something you know well.” I stick my tongue at you. “However, that’s all you get to know about my book for now. Now I have to write about the two friend’s reunion.”

“Fine. I’ll check what Ezra feels like doing.” You get up and go back to the desk.

And after a bunch of seconds, there it is, the sound I’ve missed so much.

“Look at us, both enjoying the pleasure of writing. It seems we went back to more than two years ago, when everything was perfect.” You murmur, as you keep pressing the keys of the typewriter pretty fast.

“When everything pretended to be perfect!” I point out, as I go on with my lighter typing. “Trust me, it’s a lot better where we are now.”

----------------------------------------

Joe’s POV

Days go by and I’m getting accustomed to the pleasant routine between us.

A routine made of books to read, music to listen to, movies to watch and rewatch, walks to take.... well only the short ones across the woods behind the house, but it's always better than nothing.

You're the only one who gets out for grocery and other commissions. I miss going out a lot, but it's a price I'm prepared to pay.

Prudence is never enough.

And there's the writing, another of the things that connect us so deeply.

You enjoy sharing snippets from the romance you're writing and Lottie/Brigitte keeps scoring in my preference of the characters.

While I prefer not to reveal anything about what I'm writing.

It's part of the gift I wanna give you.

Today, 6th July, is about to end, which means there are only three days left before your birthday. 

And still no news from Will.

In our new found routine there's only a difference from the past: we're not having sex, we didn't even kiss after that only time  after the locks game.

But it's another part of the price I can pay if it means to have you back in my life and be back in yours.

Doing things just right this time.

"I'm back. Would you mind helping me with the grocery bags in the car?" You say and I rush to take them.

"What about salmon steaks and mashed potatoes for dinner?" I suggest, as we empty the bags.

“Sounds so yummy!" You cheer.

"You just have to relax and let me do everything." I kiss your temple.

It's a habit I'm liking more and more.

"Are you sure I can't help you with something?" You offer. "After all, I'm getting better and better. Do you remember the pasta with broccoli I made yesterday? All on my own?"

Al dente pasta. Not too salty water.

Not burnt broccoli.

"Of course I remember. The Italian part of my roots is deeply touched." I make you smile. "To spend a lot of time with me will make you a terrific cook.”

“Exaggerate much?” You  laugh. “I’d settle for being able to cook food that is edible enough.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen tonight. The kitchen is my realm and I’m gonna rule all alone. So you’re free to go work on your romance, or watch TV, read a book, flip through the pages of a magazine, have a long, warm shower, whatever makes you relax, sweetheart.” I insist and to see you heading to the bathroom is my personal victory.

The dinner is perfect and at the end, as you insist to wash the dishes - in our next house we’re going to have a bigger dishwasher - you anticipate to me you have to talk about something important.

“So what’s the big deal?” I ask you as we sit on the sofa.

“Now that I have at least one tenth of my new book ready to be edited; I made a decision and I asked to call a meeting.”

“Oh, so you’ll need absolute silence, I can hide in the bathroom or go outside or…”

“No, Joe, it won’t be a video call, but a physical one, I need to go back to New York.”

I don’t like it. One bit.

“Why?”

“Because I have to talk all my staff into letting me publish the second book under a nom de plume and it’s something that requests to stare at people right in the eyes, not from a screen.” You explain. “Plus, I don’t want to risk someone might analyze the ip address and track me. I’m doing that also to protect you.”

Sweet.
But still I don’t like the idea of you getting so far from me.

“You’re not speaking and it’s not a good sign.” You stare at me, concerned.

“I’m just trying to get acquainted with this news, but I don’t like it.” I grumble.

And once again, you’re holding my hand.

“I don’t want to leave, too, but think about it: if I published the book with my real name it would mean lots of promotion to do in every corner of the States if not even abroad! This way instead I’ll just rely on the promotion by the Publishing House only, my face won’t be needed. The less attention Louise Flannery gets, the better it is for us. This means freedom and tons of time I can spend with you.”
 

“Okay, you’re making me like it a bit more…” I scoff.

“I know, Joe, but New York is only about more than two hours from here, I’ll be away not even for a whole day, I’ll set the meeting in the early afternoon and I’ll be back to you by dinner time.” You reassure me. “If you keep cooking this way, be sure I’ll always be here in time for dinner.”

I smile at you, as you leave my hand.

“So, when are you supposed to leave?”

“In two days, I just preferred to inform you now.” 

“This means that tomorrow you’ll still be here, right?” I look at you.

“Of course, Joe, I’m not going to move from here, so much that you’ll be sick of having me around and will count the hours until I get in my car and go!” You make me laugh.

“So, can you tell me the nom de plume you want to use?” I grew curious.

“Nope, because it could bring bad luck, but if they approve it you’ll be the first to know.” You reply. “I’m also afraid we won’t even keep in touch with phone calls or text messages or anything else.”

Fuck. I’m liking this less and less.
This is not something I love.

“I know Joe. I’m putting you through such a challenging test. Almost a whole day on your own, without me and without any chance to control me or what I’m doing. This is a huge leap of faith.”

“It’s a lot to bear all at once, Bronte.”

“I know, honey, I know; but it’s something necessary.” You murmur, as you caress my short, curl-less -is it a word?- hair.

Wait a minute.

“Did you just call me… honey?”

“I did.” You nod and your hand doesn’t stop her caresses. “But the real question is: can you trust me, Joe?”

I bring my finger below your chin, in order to raise your gaze a bit more.

“How many times did these eyes deceive me, Bronte?”

“Have you ever asked yourself if, deep inside, you wanted to be deceived? You wanted to believe in the dream?”

I chuckle.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but you can’t play mind games with the Master of mind games.”

“Okay, Joe, so ask yourself this question: what would be the sense of that?” You ask me, parting from me.

“Huh?” I frown.

“Let’s suppose that yeah, I’m going to deceive you for the umpteenth time. Why should I set you free from prison, investing all those money and resources?”

Well, this is fucking good question.

“I don’t know, to set someone here to kill me, with the excuse that you’re away for work?”

Now it’s you the chuckling one.

“I didn’t kill you when I wanted to, I didn’t kill you either when you begged me to; why should I do it just now that neither of us want that?”

This is an excellent answer.

“If you don’t trust my words, honey, trust my eyes, trust my heart, trust my soul.”

Your eyes are getting teary and I hate to be the cause of it.

I grab your arm and pull you closer to me.
No hugging.

No kissing.
Just eyes in the eye.

Breath against breath.

Forehead against forehead.

“I can see all of this. And I trust you. I love you.” I state with not even a shadow of a doubt.

“I love you so much that I've totally lost my mind.” You laugh and cry at the same time, rubbing your face against mine.

But still no kissing.
It would ruin the moment somehow.

In order to unburden the umpteenth deep, emotional moment between us, we watch TV for a while.
You get up, saying you’re pretty tired, you wave your goodnight and go to your room.

I’m still not that sleepy, that’s why I prefer a little walk outside.
Just as I'm enjoying the fresh air among the trees, my mobile rings.

Finally, the call I’ve been expecting for a while.

It’s Will.

“Hey, Will, what’s up? Do you have anything to tell me?”

“Hell yeah, my brother. I’m sorry for the delay but the gift you asked me to get took a while, but now we’re ready.”

“You’re always the best!” I cheer.

I’m sending one of my trusted men on a plane tomorrow, he should be able to get to you the day after.” 

Oh.
So this means I’m going to get my delivery on the only day when I’ll be completely alone.
Here, in the middle of nowhere.
Without even a car, since you’re -more than reasonably - using it.

Totally exposed.

Well, what could possibly go wrong?

TBC