Accidents, Alibis, and the Almost of it All
1024 Words
Eliot hadn’t meant to fall asleep in her bed.
He remembered the way she had kissed him—slow and then fast, sweet and then not, and how her hands trembled when she touched him like she wanted to memorize the feel of his skin before common sense woke up.
They hadn’t done anything beyond kissing.
But it had felt like everything.
Now, lying there with the morning light slipping through her curtains, he felt like an intruder in his own fantasy. Vivian was still asleep beside him, curled away, the curve of her spine visible under the thin sheet. One of her hands hung off the bed, fingertips brushing the floor.
Eliot didn’t dare move. Not because he was scared of waking her, but because he didn’t want the moment to end.
But the clock ticked. And reality, ever the jealous friend, began to whisper again.
You’re her stepson.
You live in her house.
This is insane.
He rolled out of bed as quietly as he could and tiptoed back to the guest room.
Thirty seconds later, Winston—the vacuum bot—bumped into his foot.
“Traitor,” Eliot whispered, dodging it.
---
Downstairs, the coffee brewed and toast popped.
Vivian eventually came down wearing oversized sunglasses and a cardigan that practically swallowed her.
Eliot poured her coffee without a word and slid it across the counter.
She raised the mug to her lips, took a long sip, and said, “We need to talk.”
“Great,” Eliot said. “The sexiest sentence in human history.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” He leaned on the counter. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. I don’t want you to feel like I expect—”
“I kissed you first,” she interrupted.
He blinked. “You did.”
“And I haven’t regretted it,” she added. “Not once. But I also can’t ignore how complicated this is.”
Eliot nodded slowly. “It is complicated. But not wrong.”
“Bridget would disagree.”
“She disagrees with toast if it looks at her funny.”
Vivian cracked a smile but quickly sobered. “You know what I mean. People talk. People judge.”
“Let them,” he said. “Let them think whatever they want. They don’t know what we’ve been through. What this feels like.”
Her eyes flicked to his.
“You make me feel like I’m seen again,” she said quietly. “Like I’m not just a widow and a mother and someone who hosts book club. You make me feel… alive.”
He stepped closer. “Then let’s be alive. Together.”
She touched his cheek gently. “I want to. But I need time. And space. And maybe a plan for how we don’t implode.”
Eliot nodded, even though he wanted to scream Screw the plan.
“Okay,” he said. “Time. Space. No implosion.”
Vivian took another sip. “And no more sleeping in my bed.”
“Technically, I passed out in your bed.”
“Semantics.”
They both smiled. Soft. Nervous.
Then Bridget burst in the front door.
---
“Okay, weird vibe in here,” Bridget announced, tossing her keys on the table. “Did someone die again?”
“Nope,” Vivian said quickly. “Just drinking coffee. Talking about… paint.”
“Paint?”
“Paint samples,” Eliot added. “For the kitchen. Super exciting stuff.”
Bridget narrowed her eyes.
Eliot turned to Vivian and whispered, “This is why we can’t have spontaneous passion. She’s always here.”
“She lives five blocks away,” Vivian whispered back.
“She has a sixth sense for weird energy.”
Bridget stared at them both.
“Are you two whispering about me?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“God, you’re both awful liars,” she muttered, grabbing a banana. “Anyway, I’m heading to a spin class. If you’re hiding a body, now’s the time.”
“Noted,” Eliot said.
Vivian’s smile faltered just as the door closed again.
---
After Bridget left, silence returned.
Eliot sat on the couch while Vivian paced the living room.
“So, what are we?” he asked finally. “Are we a secret? Are we… friends who kiss sometimes? Are we nothing?”
She stopped pacing and turned.
“I don’t want us to be nothing,” she said. “But I also don’t know how to be something without blowing up everything we know.”
He looked at her. “You know, most people just text each other weird emojis for a few weeks and let things fall apart naturally.”
She laughed. “We’re not most people.”
“Yeah, we’re way more dramatic.”
She walked over and sat beside him. Their knees touched.
Vivian took his hand, looked down at their fingers. “We don’t have to figure it out all at once.”
“I’m okay with that,” he said. “As long as I get to keep holding your hand.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
He closed his eyes.
For a while, they just sat there. Together. Quiet.
Until Vivian whispered, “But maybe don’t kiss me in front of Bridget. I want to live another day.”
---
Later that night, they watched a movie—something French, overly artistic, and full of people whispering in rain. Eliot didn’t understand a single plot point but kept nodding like it all made sense.
Vivian curled against him, blanket pulled over them both.
“Is this cheating?” Eliot asked halfway through.
“On what?”
“On normalcy.”
Vivian looked up. “We stopped being normal the moment you walked back through that door.”
“Good point.”
“And for the record,” she added, her voice soft and low, “if this is wrong… I still don’t want to stop.”
He didn’t answer.
He just kissed her again.
---
End of Chapter 7
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- Writer
