Collisions ^Confessions >and Cooking 1378 Words
1378 Words
Vivian wasn’t used to waking up with someone else in her bed anymore. For years, her mornings had been predictable: stretch, coffee, news, light reading, maybe a long sigh at the banality of life. But now?
Now she woke up to Eliot sprawled diagonally across the bed, one arm across her ribs, his foot hanging off the side like he was trying to make contact with another planet. And she was… weirdly okay with it.
He snored. Softly. Like a sleepy goose. It was ridiculous.
She liked it.
She stared at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time how her life had ended up in this situation—half soap opera, half fairy tale, all chaos.
And then Eliot muttered something incoherent and tried to burrow into her side.
She poked him gently. “You’re crushing me.”
“No,” he mumbled. “I’m protecting you… from the bed goblins.”
“Goblins?”
“They hate love.”
She chuckled. “You need caffeine.”
---
Downstairs, the kitchen was warm with the scent of toast and overconfident coffee brewing. Vivian flipped pancakes while Eliot set the table. They moved around each other like they’d been doing it for years.
“You know,” he said, biting into a piece of toast. “If anyone walked in right now, they’d think we’re just a regular couple.”
She glanced at him. “We’re not?”
“Technically, we’re… a heavily red-flagged, scandal-adjacent anomaly.”
“Catchy.”
“But we’re also a regular couple in the ways that matter,” he added.
Vivian smiled faintly, then turned back to the stove.
They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted only by Bridget’s name flashing on Vivian’s phone.
Vivian stared at it. “If she’s figured us out, I’m hiding in the attic for a month.”
Eliot pointed with his fork. “She can’t climb stairs in heels. You’ll be safe.”
Vivian sighed and answered.
“Hey, Bridge.”
“Good, you’re alive. Listen, I need your help,” Bridget said without greeting.
“What now?”
“I’m hosting a dinner party. My boss is coming. I need moral support and someone who can cook better than a raccoon.”
Vivian raised an eyebrow. “And you’re inviting me?”
“Yes. You. The competent one. You’re coming.”
Vivian hesitated. “Eliot’s here too.”
“Oh. Bring him. Actually… do bring him. My assistant is single and thirsty.”
Eliot raised his eyebrows as Vivian turned the phone on speaker.
Bridget continued, “It’s a win-win. You help me look sane. Eliot distracts Grace with his cheekbones. Come at six.”
She hung up before Vivian could object.
“Your friend is terrifying,” Eliot said.
“She’s also incredibly effective. Guess we’re going to a dinner party.”
“Fantastic,” he groaned. “Time to pretend I’m not sleeping with my stepmother while flirting with a complete stranger.”
“Just don’t be too good at it,” Vivian warned. “I have jealousy issues.”
---
That evening, they dressed up. Vivian wore a deep green dress that made her look like she was composed entirely of secrets and elegance. Eliot wore a blazer and promptly tripped over the rug.
“You clean up nice,” she said, eyeing him.
“You say that like it’s a miracle.”
“It is.”
They arrived at Bridget’s townhouse fashionably on time, meaning just late enough that all eyes turned toward them the moment they entered.
Bridget swept over, kissed both their cheeks, and immediately shoved two glasses of wine into their hands. “Okay, rules: Don’t mention politics, don’t discuss your whatever-that-is, and don’t let Grace corner you in the bathroom, she’s aggressive.”
Vivian blinked. “You’re very relaxed about this whole thing.”
Bridget hissed, “I’m being held together by mascara and pretense. Don’t ruin this for me.”
Eliot leaned over to Vivian. “She’s a national treasure.”
The party was a blur of wine, laughter, and awkward mingling. Eliot found himself trapped in a conversation with Grace, who had the enthusiastic energy of someone who thought personal space was a suggestion.
“So,” she purred, twirling her hair. “Are you single?”
“Emotionally? No. Logistically? Also no.”
“Mm, mysterious. I like that.”
Vivian, watching from across the room, sipped her wine and quietly fumed.
Bridget sidled up. “Want me to hit her with a breadstick?”
Vivian snorted. “Tempting.”
“Seriously though. You two have a weird vibe. Like… magnets that shouldn’t be in the same drawer.”
Vivian tried to smile. “He’s just staying with me for the summer.”
Bridget tilted her head. “You keep saying that like it explains everything.”
Vivian opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Bridget narrowed her eyes. “Wait.”
“Don’t.”
“Wait.”
“Bridget.”
“Are you two—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“You are!” Bridget gasped, practically vibrating. “Oh my God. You’re doing it with your ex-husband’s kid!”
Vivian’s face was scarlet. “Not so loud!”
“I am screaming internally.”
“Well scream later,” Vivian hissed. “And keep it to yourself!”
Bridget grabbed another glass of wine and downed it in one gulp. “This is better than any show I’ve ever binged. You’re living a full-blown erotic dramedy!”
“Please shut up.”
“I’m so proud.”
---
After the party, they returned home in silence. Vivian drove with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
“Bridget knows,” she said, finally.
Eliot sighed. “Figured. She looked at us like she was watching a scandal unravel in real time.”
“She’s going to tell someone. I can feel it.”
Eliot reached over, gently touching her arm. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together.”
Vivian pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. “What if we can’t? What if everything explodes?”
He leaned closer. “Then let it explode. As long as I’m next to you when it does.”
She looked at him, eyes shining. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love.”
“That’s worse.”
---
The next morning, Bridget showed up unannounced, coffee in one hand, donuts in the other.
“I come bearing caffeine and confidentiality,” she said, barging in.
Vivian blinked. “You’re not blackmailing us?”
“No. I’m your friend. I just wish you’d told me sooner.”
“We were terrified.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything.”
Bridget sat. “Look. I get it. It’s… unconventional. It’s also not illegal, technically. And honestly? You look happy. Genuinely. That’s rare.”
Vivian stared. “Are you saying you’re okay with this?”
“I’m saying I love you, and I won’t be the one to ruin your chance at joy.”
Vivian hugged her, tight. “Thank you.”
Bridget smirked. “That said, if you ever write a memoir, I want a cut of the profits.”
---
Days turned to weeks.
Vivian and Eliot became braver, more casual. They touched hands under the table, kissed in the hallway when no one was looking, made breakfast together like it was a shared religion.
And one evening, while dancing barefoot in the kitchen to a cheesy love song on the radio, Eliot pulled back and looked at her seriously.
“I want to tell him.”
Vivian froze. “Tell who?”
“My dad. James. I want to tell him.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“He’ll lose his mind.”
“He lost that years ago when he left you.”
She stared at him. “Why now?”
“Because I want to stop hiding. Because I want to walk into a room with you and not wonder who’s judging us. Because I love you. And I’m not ashamed.”
Vivian’s heart pounded.
“This could ruin everything,” she whispered.
“Or it could be the start of something better.”
---
End of Chapter 10
- Writer
