The Heart's Desire chapter five
1942 Words
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CHAPTER FIVE
The rain eased into a thin silver mist, soft enough that it beaded on Ava’s cheeks rather than soaked her. She remained on Eli’s porch long after he went into the kitchen to get them towels, needing a minute—just one minute—to let her pulse slow down. She didn’t know what that nearly-kiss had awakened inside her, but it felt like opening a door to a house she’d once lived in and suddenly remembering where every piece of furniture belonged.
She heard the screen door squeak open behind her.
“Ava?” Eli’s voice was gentle. Too gentle. “You okay?”
She turned to him, taking in the sight of him holding two towels, the steam of the warm house drifting around him like he was some kind of lighthouse in the fog.
“Yeah,” she lied. “Just… thinking.”
He stepped closer. “About what almost happened?”
She froze, her stomach flipping. “Eli—”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m not pushing. I just don’t want you standing out here in the cold pretending nothing’s going on.”
A breath left her chest shakier than she wanted. “A lot is going on.”
“And you can talk to me.” His hand lifted slightly, like he wanted to rest it on her shoulder, maybe even pull her in, but he let it fall to his side. “Or you can come inside, dry off, and we won’t say a word about anything until you’re ready.”
The offer was so gentle it almost hurt.
That was the problem with Eli Carter. He wasn’t a fling. He wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t someone she could walk away from without leaving a piece of herself behind.
“Inside,” she whispered. “Let’s go inside.”
He nodded and held the door for her.
---
Inside the house, warmth wrapped around her instantly. It smelled like cedar, old books, and something faintly citrus. A fire crackled in the living room, casting honeyed light over everything. Eli handed her a towel, and she pressed it to her hair, rubbing away the mist.
“Sit,” he said, motioning toward the couch. “I’ll get you some tea.”
She stared at him. “You remember I like tea?”
He paused in the doorway, something like a smile touching his lips. “Ava, you used to steal the last peach teabag from my mom’s cabinet every time you came over. Hard to forget.”
Her stomach dropped at the sudden rush of memory—summer nights, teenage laughter, his mother’s soft voice, Eli’s hand brushing hers as he passed her a mug.
She sank onto the couch.
A full minute passed before he returned with two steaming mugs and set one carefully in front of her. “Still peach,” he said. “Didn’t want to risk getting it wrong.”
She wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into her. “Thank you.”
He sat across from her—not too close, not too far. Everything about him felt measured, respectful. Which somehow made her want to climb into his arms even more.
“Want to talk now?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not about… that moment.” She swallowed. “Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“But I do want to talk about something else.” She took a deep breath. “You. Your life. What you’ve been doing all these years.”
A short laugh escaped him. “Not much to tell. Still here. Still working construction. Still fixing things.”
“You run your own crew now,” she said softly. “That’s not nothing.”
His jaw flexed—habitual, defensive.
“You always had this thing,” she continued. “You pretended like your dreams weren’t big because you were afraid they wouldn’t come true.”
For a moment, he looked startled—like she’d peeled back a layer he’d forgotten she knew how to find.
“You used to say,” she added, “‘If I build something with my own hands, no one can take it away.’”
He looked down at his fingers, rough and strong, before replying quietly, “I still believe that.”
Ava sipped her tea and studied him. “And what have you been building?”
His eyes met hers. “A life. One that’s steady. Predictable. Not perfect. But mine.”
“Anyone… in it with you?” she asked. The question slipped out before she could stop it.
He leaned back, stretching his arm over the sofa’s backrest. “Not in a long time.”
That surprised her. “Why not?”
He hesitated. “Because the last time I gave my heart to someone, she left.”
Her breath caught. “Eli…”
“It was a long time ago,” he said, not unkindly. “But it was real.”
Guilt pressed against her ribs. “I was seventeen. I barely understood anything.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “I’m not blaming you.”
She looked down into her tea. “I’m sorry anyway.”
A silence settled between them—not heavy, but intimate. The kind that only existed between people who remembered each other too deeply.
The fire popped, sending sparks dancing up the chimney.
Finally he stood. “Come on,” he said gently, “I want to show you something.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
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Ava followed him down the hallway to a small workshop room she’d never seen before. The scent of wood polish and pine was strong here. Tools lined the wall. A half-finished piece of furniture sat on the worktable.
But what caught her breath was the cabinet against the far wall—glass doors, carefully arranged shelves.
Inside were small wooden carvings.
Dozens of them.
Her heart stuttered.
“These are…” She reached out but didn’t touch. “Eli, these are—”
“You,” he finished.
The carvings were unmistakable—little figures of a girl with long hair, sitting under a willow tree, reading a book, holding a mug, standing on a pier with wind in her hair.
“Every time you left for the summer,” he said quietly, “I’d start another one. I don’t know why. I guess… it was my way of keeping a piece of you around.”
A lump rose in her throat, tight and aching.
“You carved these for years.”
“Yeah.”
“And you kept them.”
“Couldn’t throw them away.”
She turned, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Because,” he said, meeting her gaze with absolute honesty, “I want you to understand something before you decide what you’re doing here.”
A trembling breath escaped her. “Okay.”
“You matter to me, Ava. You always have. And maybe nothing comes of this—maybe you’re only here a few months, maybe you leave again, maybe this is just… nostalgia.”
Her chest constricted.
“But if there’s even a chance,” he continued, stepping closer, “that you’re here to stay—or to try—I needed you to see the truth.”
His voice lowered.
“I never stopped caring.”
It was too much. Too honest. Too raw.
She stepped back on instinct, hitting the edge of the worktable.
“Ava—”
“No,” she breathed. “I… I can’t do this. Not right now.”
He exhaled softly. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… steady.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
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The walk back to her grandmother’s cottage was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The mist had faded into a velvet night sky sprinkled with stars. The world felt too beautiful for how tangled her emotions were.
At her door, she fumbled with the key, her fingers shaking.
“Ava,” Eli said, his voice low.
She turned.
“You don’t have to rush,” he said. “Whatever this is—it doesn’t have to happen all at once.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“And I’m not asking for anything you can’t give.”
Another nod.
“But I am asking,” he murmured, “that you don’t run.”
That hit her harder than anything else.
“I won’t,” she said softly.
He stepped back, hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight, Eli.”
She watched him walk down the path until the dark swallowed him.
Then she stepped inside, closed the door, and sank to the floor.
Her pulse raced. Her mind spun.
And one truth whispered through her like a thread of lightning—
She wasn’t afraid of Eli.
She was afraid of what he made her feel.
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The next morning arrived too early.
Ava woke with sunlight streaming through lace curtains, her brain still replaying Eli’s words from the night before. Her heart felt swollen—full of things she didn’t know where to put.
She dragged on jeans and a soft sweater, grabbed her laptop, and sat on the porch, pretending she was here to focus on work and not her heart in freefall.
Willow Springs was quieter than she remembered. The hum of distant traffic didn’t exist. Instead she heard birds, the clatter of someone hammering wood, and—
Oh god.
Eli’s truck across the street.
He was already loading equipment, his muscles flexing under a faded green T-shirt as though the universe was determined to torture her.
Before she could retreat inside, he spotted her.
And smiled.
Not a small smile.
A slow, warm, knowing smile that hit her like heat to cold skin.
She clutched her laptop like a shield.
He lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Morning.”
She cleared her throat. “Hi.”
“You sleep okay?”
“Fine,” she lied.
He laughed under his breath. “Sure.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Act like you can read me.”
“Ava.” He leaned on his truck door, the picture of calm confidence. “I’ve been able to read you since you were fifteen.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, people change.”
“Not that much.”
Her pulse fluttered. “You’re being cocky.”
“Only when I’m right.”
Her cheeks warmed.
This was not fair. No man should be allowed to look like that at eight in the morning.
She straightened. “Don’t you have a job to get to?”
“Yep.” He tapped the truck door. “But I’m back this afternoon. You’ll be home, right?”
Her stomach flipped. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, climbing into the truck, “I owe you lunch. And an apology if any of last night was too much.”
Her breath caught. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“Maybe not. But I want to.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Eli gave her one last look—slow, lingering, tender—and drove off.
Ava sat very, very still.
Then she groaned into her hands.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “This is bad.”
Because she already knew—
She was falling.
And she wasn’t sure she could stop.
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- Writer
