Ellie's Advice (sweet romance) (5 page)

This.
This was what he should've felt for Judith, wasn't it? It made him unbearable sad to realize that, and he looked down guiltily, gaze settling on the squirming animals.

"
Here." Ellie nudged the water bottle up to the pups. He looked at her hands, aching inside with that bittersweet longing mixed with sorrow and guilt.

Was this why his wife had preferred movie stars, because he had never had such a passionate depth of feeling toward her? Warmth had been the size of it; warmth and kindness. And those were on the best day
s. He had developed an ability to tolerate Judith and her moods, but there had been days when he couldn't, when he retreated or hid to earn some peace and freedom.

Yes, freedom. Sometimes his marriage had felt like a prison. Why w
as it so hard to admit that? He knew the answer. Because good Jewish boys did not fail in their marriages. And however a person looked at it, his marriage had been a failure.

No children.
A wife who hated him. Widowed before he was thirty.

A terrible marriage.
And yet so often people who were matched up did seem to make happy lives together. It couldn't be that; it must be him. Or was it Judith? Or both of them, or neither, just the cruel winds of circumstance that took a huge toll on some people?

He wished he wasn't thinking about his dead wife and their ruined relationship while he was with the woman of his dreams.
Ellie. He could even call her Ellie now. The thought cheered him immensely.

Am I the luckiest man in the world?
he wondered, as he looked up at her, daring to gaze at her face as she fixed the blanket around the pups.

She glanced at him,
and he met her gentle smile with one of his own.

Mr. Silverberg — Shel — sat at the kitchen table, a cup of fresh, hot coffee held between his hands. He stared thoughtfully at the table. Except for when he watched Ellie.

She
moved with careful precision around the kitchen, trying not to stare at her guest.

He wore
her overlarge fluffy blue bathrobe, tied tightly. It was decent enough, even if it did give her rather lovely glimpses of his bare lower legs, intriguing feet, and arms — and the slightest hint of his slightly hairy chest. Oh, it would be difficult not to stare, if she didn't have something to occupy herself with.

And she did; he'
d wanted to go home, but she'd absolutely insisted he couldn't leave while so wet and cold. He'd begun to shiver even in the warm apartment.

"If you get sick, I'll never forgive myself," she told him seriously. "I can't send you all that way wet as a dog."

They looked at each other, and then laughed shakily at what she'd said. "I mean, soaked," she corrected, and hurried on with her plan to wash his clothes for him. He hadn't interrupted her, simply stood there and listened, his gaze warm and patient, his face the way it looked just before he smiled.

Now, he sat at the kitchen table while she ran his filthy, wet clothes through a quick wash and tumble dry. She was fortunate to have her own
personal washer and dryer, and suddenly grateful she'd learned how to use them, even though Mrs. Fine did most of the laundry when she came in every day.

Ellie
also made coffee for herself and Shel, feeling quite proud and capable under his gaze. She just couldn't help feeling good about herself with his gaze on her. Never before had she felt such respectful admiration from a man's eyes before. He hadn't said a word of it, but it was there in every line and pore of him. He didn't watch her the way some men watched women, as though they were funny and to be looked down on and laughed at, or lasciviously, as if they were things to be eaten up and devoured like cream cakes. Nor did he look at her with that calculated expression, the one that hid greed for her inheritance.

Oh, she
was just loving this day. The man of her dreams here, in her apartment, as she cooked and cleaned for him. Well, after a fashion, at least. It was the best feeling she hadn't even realized she wanted so badly until she was getting a little glimpse.

After the clothes were set
to wash and the coffee poured and sipped, she sat down opposite him at the table. "Would you like to listen to the radio while you wait? Or perhaps go over my letters? It might save time later. You can do whatever you like, of course," she added quickly. She didn't want to tell him what to do.

But oh, how lovely it w
ould be if they were to go over the letters together, sitting near one another, heads bent over the written words, deciding and discussing, two members of the same team with the same goals.

He looked at her, and his eyes said so much. She knew she could be reading
things into his gaze, but all the same, she smiled back, her heart filling with a warm feeling like melted chocolate.

"I would love that," he said.

"I'll fetch them, then," she said softly, putting down her cup of coffee and getting up. She moved with a careful precision, as if this was a holy moment that should not be disturbed by haste or inattention to detail.

And when she brought the letters and they sat side by side,
it was just as good as she'd imagined. Better. She waited while he read, carefully and giving great attention, both to the letters from strangers and to hers. Had there ever been another man who was so careful, gentle, precise, and perfect? She was sure there hadn't.

And for once, just for this brief time, she had him all to herself.
At least, to herself, the letters, and the puppies. They both got up frequently to check on the little animals, now resting peacefully, their bellies full. They curled small and cute next to the water bottle and each other.

I will
remember this. When I'm old and alone, I will still remember him, and sitting here in my kitchen reading together, and loving him just so much.

She watched his hands as he held the papers, watched his gaze, his way of giving utter attention to what he was doing. His hands were strong and yet elegant, his arms slightly hairy but not too much. His nails
were short and his hands clean.

She found herself wondering what it would be like to have his hands touching her.
Then she had to excuse herself and escape to check on the laundry until her cheeks cooled.

Oh, my goodness. Eleanor Paula Goldman, you are far too old to be thinking like this
!
She dampened her hot cheeks with water from the sink by the washing machine and fanned them to cool herself.
You are not a schoolgirl anymore.
Though, to be honest, even as a schoolgirl she'd never been this bad. Her biggest fluttering-hearted feelings had been about the soft-spoken English teacher she'd admired during her brief high school attendance.

Come to think of it, he'd had dark
curly hair and warm eyes as well. Perhaps she had a type after all? But it was his intelligence and gentle manner that had drawn her, and she'd even spent some time writing her first name in cursive next to his last name. It was a silly thing, of course, and hadn't lasted long — she'd gotten ill and had to leave school to recover, and then be tutored at home.

I wonder where Mr. Bing is
today?
She had never even found out if he was Jewish, though she didn't think he was. It hadn't made any difference to her at that age, and it shouldn't matter greatly now. She only rarely attended synagogue and didn't keep kosher. It wasn't important in her family, who had so often tried to blend in with the gentiles they needed to do business with. But her faith and heritage had become gradually important to her as she grew up, and it gave her a secure, warm feeling to know she'd fallen, this time, for a man who shared her heritage. They hadn't spoken about it once, but she knew, and he knew; they were both Jewish.

That was a shared bond
, whether they liked it or not. Since the War, and the great horrors it had wrought on her people, they could never again forget that heritage that would always be part of them, and was enough to make some people want to wipe them off the face of the earth.

If
she had developed feelings for a gentile, she'd have had to wonder how he would look at her when he found out she was Jewish. If his expression would change to caution or disgust. With Shel that wasn't an issue.

Of course, he could be strictly religious,
in which case her relatively non-observant status could become important. But even in that case, she could probably simply become more observant for him. If anything were to come of them, of course. And she was being silly yet again, rushing too far ahead in her thoughts.

Fanning her cheeks once more, she watched the washe
r as it finished its last few turns and stopped with a squeak. She took the clothing out and transferred it carefully, almost in awe, to the dryer. She was holding his clothes. She was touching the cloth that touched him, day after day, that lay against his skin, as she longed to do.

Time to fan her cheeks again.
I am being such a child,
she thought, and hurried to finish so she could go back to his side.

*

Shel kept stealing quick glances at Ellie.

He li
ked her nickname. It suited her: unpretentious, appealing, and gentle. He hadn't known such an elegant, gentle woman existed for real. But as she stepped back into the kitchen, his eyesight once again confirmed that not only was she real, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

He struggled to keep from letting his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her, and had to force himself to look away.
It would be highly inappropriate if he simply sat here and stared at her. Especially since he was wearing her bathrobe.

For a moment, h
e wanted to laugh. The robe was large and roomy, and quite warm compared to wet clothes, but the absurdity of it still struck him as funny. What would his family, his workmates think of him sitting here in a woman's bathrobe? Well, he knew what they would think, but all the same, he couldn't bring himself to care, or even to feel too utterly embarrassed.

He noticed suddenly that Ellie's
cheeks were flushed. A chill touched his heart. "Was it too much for you?" he asked softly, gesturing to her face. "I don't want you to catch something."

Her hands flew to her cheeks, and the color there deepened.

Oh.
Now he felt himself blushing in silent sympathy. Of course; she was embarrassed to have a man in her apartment, even though he wasn't embarrassed. And it was strange that he wasn't, actually. He'd always been a quiet, shy man, not the bold sort at all. But he felt perfectly natural being here with her in her kitchen. How odd was that?

"I'm sorry if I'm causing you embarrassment," he s
aid ruefully, smiling his apology. "I've given Mrs. Jansen more to gossip about, haven't I?"

Her smile brightened to a fierce brilliance. "Let her!" She sat down defiantly next to him, touched his arm lightly. "I don't care what she says about me, because she would hate me no matter what."

"Why's that?" he asked softly. He asked, because he had the feeling she wanted to tell him but was holding back.

His skin tingled under her touch, and he was excruciatingly aware of every inch o
f his body. He should draw back, and yet he never wanted to move away.

She moved her hand
, leaving his skin forlorn and lonely. She reached up, and smoothed back her red hair. "She was glad enough to have a new neighbor, until she learned I'm Jewish."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know what you mean." And he did. There were plenty of people who looked down on h
im for his being Jewish. It was something he'd grown up with, adjusted to because it was a fact of life, but never really stopped hating. That someone could despise another person for this and this alone; it meant the world was broken in a severe way.

And it was clearly not just a
ll talk, when Jewish people had been killed by the millions to eradicate them from the earth. It had happened in their lifetime. Looking at Ellie now, he saw in her eyes the sorrow he felt in his own heart when he thought of them, the ones who would never grow up. He'd lost many relatives, including several young cousins he'd grown up playing with in Germany before the War. He and his family almost never spoke of their losses; it was too painful. But they were often in his thoughts. He wondered what sort of men his cousins would have grown into, and he missed them. So many lives cut short, for no reason beside hate.

He pushed the thoughts away now, at least as far as he could, and made an effort to smile at her. "
I'm sorry she's so hateful." And now it was his turn to touch her hand, almost without realizing it, till he felt the little jolt of electric attraction between them and realized.

What was it about this woman
that he couldn't seem to look away from her, and wanted at every moment to touch her, to press his face against her beautiful red hair and just inhale the scent of her?

She was staring at him now. And he was staring at her.
And thoughts of hate were the last things on their minds.

And he knew that if he stared for one moment longer, with her soft, appealing face so close and wistful and full of longing, that
he would kiss her. He got up quickly, and moved to check the puppies, his heart pounding.
How dare I? How dare I even think of it, when she's put herself in such a compromising position?

Mentally castigating himself, he looked down at the little animals, judged them well asleep, but still didn't move.

Behind him, Ellie left the room quietly. He regretted her absence, but was grateful for the chance to breathe, to collect himself and make himself behave.

"Mr. Silverberg," said Ellie as she returned to the kitchen
. She spoke surprisingly formally and sounded close to tears.

Had he hurt her so much,
already? He'd thought he could only hurt Judith without knowing how he'd done so. He turned anxiously to face Ellie.

She stood in front of him, her face pinched and pale, her mouth turned down, her eyes large and looking ridiculously close to tears. She held out his clothes.
The jacket had shrunk by at least two sizes; he could probably have fit it when he had his bar mitzvah. "I'm so very sorry. I apparently shouldn't have d-dried it in the dryer."

He laughed
as he accepted the clothing; he couldn't help it. He met her gaze, smiling. "It's all right. I needed a new jacket anyway. And I didn't know, either." He wished he could kiss her, anything to take that look of bitter self-recrimination off her sad face.

"I
should have." She turned away and moved to the table, touching the letters, moving them slightly with her fingers, but clearly not seeing them. "I shall, of course, pay for a new one."