Walking back to the kitchen, I hear Elliott and Marabella arguing.

I can make out Elliott's voice say, "How about Thai, then?"

"I don't wanna eat that! That has vegetables, I don't want to eat vegetables today!" Marabella's response makes me hurriedly stifle a laugh.

Elliott's groan sounds loud throughout the kitchen when I walk in. "Marabella. Everything has vegetables."

Elliott's standing with both hands on his hips, staring down a very miffed Marabella. She doesn't seem to believe Elliott's words, and the child glares up at her father with unbreakable resolve.

This time, my laugh does escape the hand on my mouth.

Marabella's eyes widen when she sees me, and she rushes over to tug on my waist. "Hey, Diamond, do you know something we can make for dinner that doesn't have vegetables?"

My heart still feels heavy, but this little girl's outbursts are making it hard for me to not dissolve into laughter. I wrap an arm around the small child as Elliott takes the towel from my other hand. He stares Marabella down sternly, before smiling and ruffling her hair. He hands her the towel and sends her off with a quick command: "Laundry room."

Elliott then looks down at my folded dress. "I'll be right back too, I'm going to find a suitable bag for you to put that in," he points at the dress.

A suitable bag? Oh please, it's just a dress. "Please don't bother, a clean plastic bag will work just fine."

"Oh. Well that's... okay." He bends down to one of the cabinets beneath the counter and pulls out a white plastic grocery bag.

He hands it over to me, and I put my dress in the bag. Elliott then takes the bag from my hands to set it in the corner of the counter, just as Marabella comes back to the kitchen. She's pouting and it makes me want to just hold her close and coddle her.

I look down before my gaze wanders to a large door opposite the fridge. "Is that your pantry?"

"Yeah?" is Elliott's monosyllabic answer.

The dark outside and the cold I felt earlier has made me crave comfort food. If Elliott has the right ingredients, I may be able to help out with dinner and solve Marabella's dilemma too. "May I?"

I take the nod of his head as a cue and open the pantry door.

Oh, my. The pantry's huge. It's probably around the same size - if not bigger - than my walk-in closet. A light automatically comes on when the door swings open, and I step in, genuinely feeling like Alice in Wonderland. 

A few minutes of searching later, I emerge from the pantry to find Marabella sitting on the island playing with her father's hair. I'm glad the two aren't having a glare-off anymore.

I hold up the jar in my arms and ask, "Is this Chickpea flour?"

An odd sort of grimace overcomes Elliott's face, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Yes. I'd bought it because Marabella and I were going to experiment a little bit. It turns out, that stuff is not meant for baking a cake." He throws his hands up in what I take to as an "oh, well" gesture. "That's why there's so much of it still there."

I nearly drop the jar.

"You," I wheeze, "baked, with Besan?!" [Indian name for Chickpea flour]

I manage to place the jar safely on the island before succumbing to laughter. Elliott looks at me with unease, but Marabella has started laughing with me.

It takes an enormous amount of effort, but I eventually get myself to stop laughing. "I'm sorry," I start off with an apology. "I wasn't laughing at you, Elliott, I promise. It's just that, the thought of baking with this type of flour just caused me to sort of... lose it."

Elliott's blushing again, but I don't allow my gaze to linger on his face until it becomes impossible to tear my eyes away.

I decide to make pakoras for the two of them. Onion and aloo pakoras are my favorite comfort food, and though they're a less than traditional dinner, I think it's a perfect solution to Marabella's "no vegetables" rule. [a fried Indian snack] [potato]

I look up at Marabella - since she's still sitting on the island. "I think I have an idea for what we can do for dinner but can we pretend onions and potatoes aren't vegetables? We'll need those two - only those two, I promise."

"Only if I can help you make dinner too."

I smile. "Absolutely. I'd love a little sous chef to help me with this."

Elliott picks Marabella off of the island, setting her gently down on her feet before joining in, "I'll help too."

***************************

What should have been a simple 15 minute prep ends up taking the three of us closer to half an hour to complete.

It would have taken me less time to do on my own, but I had two rowdy chefs in the kitchen with me. They'd insisted on helping me - and made more of a mess than anything else - but it's been a fun experience.

By the time the oil in Elliott's deep frier is hot enough for frying, we're all covered in Besan.

Someone had thought it would be a good idea for him to "demonstrate his strength" by lifting the large jar of Besan with one hand, high above his head. He didn't account for it toppling out of his hand as he brought it down, however, so half of the jar's contents spilled out before he could get a good grip on it again.

I won't name names, of course, but Elliott's covered in the most Besan.

After an excessive amount of insisting, I manage to shoo my two helpers to the chairs behind the island and place large dinner plates in front of them.

"We're not going to eat at the dining table?" Comes Elliott's question. "And wait, we have to eat together."

That's not how you... that's just not the proper way to eat pakoras! "You'll get them hot out of the frier, and we are together," I tell the man. "I'm right here, aren't I?"

I turn away from the two of them and scoop up some of the Besan and onion mixture and drop it into the hot oil. The oil sputters loudly, and little droplets pop up, causing me to take a step back. The air above the oil already smells mouth-wateringly good - like fried heaven.

I carefully sieve the pakora out when I decide it's done, placing it on a plate beside me. The process is repeated until there's a considerable pile on the plate, and I take a break from making pakoras.

"Eat," I command, placing a pakora each into Elliott and Marabella's plates.

I watch closely as both stare at me, then at the food. I'm suddenly feeling fidgety - I really want them to like the pakoras. They'll love them - won't they?

My mind flashes back to the first time I cooked for Tom; I'd made pakoras.

With every blink of my eyes, I see Tom's poorly concealed look of disgust as he slowly chewed through the food which starred in most of my favorite childhood memories.

After that one time, he'd insisted to be the only one who would cook between the two of us. I'd said I was fine with it. I told myself that love is compromise, and I love Tom. But I'd lost a small piece of my heart with that compromise.

This moment feels like I've found that itty bitty bit of my heart again, only to give it up to Elliott and Marabella. I realize that this is the reason I'm nervous - I don't want to have to hide that part of me again, even if Elliott and Marabella may be more temporary than Tom is... than Tom was.

The sound of careful chomping fills my ears. My eyes rise to flip between Elliott and Marabella, looking for any sort of reaction, anything at all-

"Mmm. Can I have more? I like these vegetables," Marabella perks up. Her eyes are bright and she reaches for the plate in my hand, which holds more pakoras.

I feel the tension, the fear, disappear from my shoulders. My hand extends the plate full with pakoras, and I watch as Marabella's hand nears it. Just as her hand is about to land on a particularly big one, though, a large hand swoops in and claims it.

Elliott talks with his mouth full, teeth and tongue busy devouring the pakora, "I want more too."

I leave the pakora plate with the two hungry humans, and turn to make some more.

My hand quickly touches my chest, over where I know my heart is beating fast. It seems whole for the moment. I feel the burn of happy tears in my eyes as I fry more of the pakora batter.

***************************

Elliott and Marabella are finishing up by the time I finally join them. I'd managed to push my hunger away for quite some time, but it rushes back as I drop into one of the chairs by the island.

I reach out to grab a pakora from the main plate before I realize that I'm not at home and that I cannot eat so casually. I draw my hand back, but just as I am about to get up and get a new plate for myself, Elliott nudges the plate with the pakoras on it toward me.

The lapse in formality has me sinking into a comfortable mindset and I munch on a potato pakora. All that's missing is Mumma telling me to clean up the kitchen when I'm done eating - then it'd feel like I'm right at home.

Marabella leaves us once she's announced that she's going to wash her hands.

Elliott shifts from his left-most seat to sit down in Marabella's vacant seat, right beside me. "Thank you. I don't know how I would have fulfilled Marabella's demand for 'no vegetables'." He's slumped, face propped up on his fist as he looks at me. "This is also probably the fastest we've finished dinner, honestly. I definitely need you to give me the recipe."

I stop nibbling and laugh. "Give you the recipe?" I repeat. "You were here helping me prepare it, though."

"I thought the whole flour incident would have made it clear I wasn't the most attentive person in the kitchen."

Oh yes, there was that. "You were doing it for Marabella," I say with a shrug. "I'll give you your recipe."

And then, it's like there's a magnet behind my eyes, pulling mine to his. I stare straight into those two deep pools of honey brown and see them shining with the same love I've seen in Papa's eyes for as long as I can remember. "You're a good father."

A deep sigh is all I hear from him in response. He turns away and so do I.

It's quiet for a little bit. I continue eating, and Elliott stares straight ahead. Marabella hasn't come back, and I find myself missing her. That cute little ball of explosive energy would be able to break through this silence.

It's when I've finished eating and am taking the dishes to the sink that I hear, "I'm trying my best. I try again every day."

The dishes clatter loudly when I drop them into the sink. I quickly wash the oil off my fingers and then turn back to find Elliott's hands pulling at the curls on top of his head.

"Marabella's mom, she - she's not in the picture," he continues. "And I'm a little bit of a mess myself."

I stay silent.

"The first day of school was hard this year. She saw everyone's parents. You know, like, both. She didn't say anything to me, but I saw her eyes asking me: what about me? And it's my fault she doesn't have that. My trying isn't enough for my perfect daughter. So, no, I'm not a good father."

I know I've only just seen this man for the first time in my whole life, this morning, but I feel an inexplicable urge to hug him right now. I want to hold him and assure him that he's doing a great job in raising a sweetheart like Marabella. But I've only met this man for the first time in my whole life, this morning. I can't do that; I don't.

"She loves you, you know. So, so much." My voice is soft and cautious, "I met Marabella today because she'd come into the cafe, with her own money, to get your coffee. She did that all for you."

Elliott's eyes stare up at mine, the sparkle returning slowly. It urges me to continue, "So, either you've managed to completely brainwash this child - which, if you have, I'll probably need to report you to the authorities." I receive a grin in response to this. "Or, you're doing a wonderful job as a father for that little girl."

Marabella chooses exactly that moment to skip into the kitchen. She hops into Elliott's lap and wraps her arms around him as far as she can stretch them. "Hiya, Daddy."

For a moment, Elliott just stares down at his daughter. But then, a smile overcomes his face, and he leans down to rub his nose against Marabella's. "Hey, my Merrybelly."

"Daddy, no! I don't like that name!" Marabella shrieks gleefully, obviously enjoying the nickname despite her protest.

I feel like an outsider watching the two until Elliott looks up and shoots me a grateful smile. Where my heart was dully beating, I feel it thundering - fueled by the amount of pure, raw love in the atmosphere.

By impulse, I find my body approaching the duo. I sit down on my formerly abandoned seat and curl a strand of Marabella's hair between two fingers. She looks at me hopefully. "Do you know how to braid hair?"

"Of course," I answer smiling, before adding, "Would you like me to braid yours?"

Her eyes gleam. "Yes, please!" She turns to face her father once more, "Hey Daddy, can we do it by the fire pit?"

Elliott chuckles, standing up with Marabella still in his arms. He secures his hold on her before nodding at me. "Come on, we'll show you outside."

***************************

Elliott and I work together to build a structure of logs for the fire to burn through. By that, I mean: I stand two feet behind him, yelping every time a spark from the initial fire gets too close to my skin.

Let's just say Marabella didn't spare an inch of my pride with her laughter.

Once the fire has grown into a more stable state, I find myself enjoying it a lot more. There's a blanket draped over my shoulders, and I sit in a cushioned wicker chair with my legs folded in front of me, criss-cross applesauce.

Marabella sits on my lap as I carefully braid her long locks. She regals me and Elliott with more tales from school. There's her teacher, Mr. Gagnon, who, despite his name, was apparently amazingly good at losing during class games. Her classmates are pretty interesting too - one pair in particular: twins named Charlotte and Charlie - the latter being the fellow who tried to kiss Marabella. And my personal favorite: the straight-from-France new boy named Etienne, on whom Marabella is developing a crush on, by the sound of it.

Elliott's lips are pursed disdainfully the whole time Marabella describes every wave of Etienne's "long, flowy yellow hair" in detail. It takes all my self-control not to burst out laughing. He starts scowling when I ask Marabella if the two of them are friends yet. And of course, the scowl only deepens when she replies with an ecstatic, "Yep!"

In a last-ditch effort to change the subject, Elliott asks, "Didn't you have art today, Marabella? Do you have anything from that you'd like to show Diamond?"

"Oh yeah!" Without warning, Marabella jumps up out of my lap and runs inside.

I take her absence as an opportunity to address Elliott, "She's allowed to like a boy. You know that, right?"

Elliott's jaw is set, and I swear I can hear the sound of teeth grinding against each other. "No. I mean, yes, but not yet. It's not allowed right now."

"Right... and when will it be allowed?" I laugh.

"I don't know. When she's 20?"

I really can't tell if he's being serious right now, but I'm not going to invade his paranoid parenting any more. Besides, Marabella is only eight. Hopefully, Elliott will grow out of his overprotectiveness by the time it actually matters.

Marabella rushes back just as our little talk ends. She shuffles over to where Elliott is sitting with her hands behind her back. After settling herself comfortably on his lap, she finally holds up a piece of paper. I lean over to see what's on it: a rudimentary drawing with three discernable humanoid figures.

"We had to draw our family today in art class," Marabella says. "That's me," she points to a girl in a red dress. "And that's you, Daddy," her finger shifts to a tall man wearing a shirt and pants.

Marabella stops her explanation there, leaving the identity of the third form a mystery, which is curiously half man, half woman.

So I ask, "Who's the other... person?"

"That's Mommy and Oliver."

I don't know who Oliver is, though the name seems familiar. If I had to guess, I'd say Oliver is Marabella's mother's current lover by the way that they're joined as one person.

Marabella goes on, "He never let me call him Papa, so I call him Oliver."

Her eyes fall down to her lap, and suddenly, I'm a jumble of emotions. The insecurity in Marabella's voice has me wanting to drop down to my knees in a plea to God to ensure that she never sounds like that again. The other half of me boils in rage. I may not know who this Oliver is, or anything about him, but denying a child the right to call him a father? The label of a parent is sacred, I know this much. Whether it be by blood relation or close companionship, it's not easily earned, and nothing short of a blessing from above. How dare this Oliver shoot it down - shoot Marabella down - like such?

I peek at Elliott's face to see his reaction to this, and find a frown on his face. Not an angry one, but rather, an I'm-about-to-break-down one. So I take matters into my own hands.

I lift Marabella out of her father's arms and into my own. "Hey," I say, holding both of her hands in my own. "Marabella, you are such an amazing little girl. You are smart, and sweet, and funny. I love braiding your hair, and I love all the stories you've told me today. If I have a daughter one day, I hope she's just like you, darling."

My hands let go and cup her face, wiping away the stray tears which have fallen from her eyes. "It's not okay that Oliver didn't let you call him Papa, but he's the only one missing out right now."

"Okay?" I whisper.

"Okay," Marabella repeats in a shaky voice.

I look back at Elliott and find a small smile on his face. My eyes follow his as his lips go through the motions of mouthing a quick "thank you." His pink, soft... kissable lips.

Where did that come from? I start panicking. That's such a wrong thought, Diamond! What are you thinking?! I want to slap myself until I understand what is going on with me. Tom. I love Tom.

But... I don't know anymore if Tom loves me back.

My eyes widen with the realization as the hurt starts seeping out of my heart and back into the rest of my body.

Marabella shifts in my lap and yawns. It catches Elliott's eye, and he stands up.

"Okay Marabella, let's go now." He walks to our chair, "Come on Marabella, it's bedtime."

She only snuggles in closer to me. My body's automatic response causes me to hold her closer, but my mind is elsewhere.

Tom. Oh, Tom. I love you, Tom.

My eyes are fixated on the fire, observing as it forms orange curls in the empty air. I am vaguely aware of the blankets shifting, and Marabella being lifted out of my arms. Elliott walks away with her in his arms. He says something like "I'll be right back," and I think I shrug. I don't know for sure, though. My mind is elsewhere.

Tom. Oh, Tom. I love you, Tom.

My heart squeezes uncomfortably. You don't hurt someone you love, but Tom hurt me. My love for Tom hurt me.

This pain is too much. Tears already prick at the corners of my eyes. I just want to forget my love for Tom. Somehow delete it from my brain forever.

For now, I just push it all away - his voice, his eyes, all my memories. I shut it out and force my mind to remain blank.

***************************

I don't know how much time has passed when Elliott comes back from tucking Marabella into bed. I've just been staring at the crackling fire in his absence. Not thinking, not feeling, just staring. Elliott sits back down in his seat, and for a while, we're both silent, watching the flames rise and disappear into smoke.

He's the first to break the silence. "Diamond, is everything alright?"

I'm still staring. Not thinking, not feeling, not hearing. Just staring. "No," I say.

He tries again, "Would you like to-"

"No. Please, no."

And we're back to not talking. The only sounds around us are of wood burning and the chirping of distant crickets.

My phone buzzes on the armrest beside me just before a loud ring erupts from the device. I stare down at it with a stoic expression.

I want to laugh - I used to be skittish when it came to sudden sounds or noises, and here I am, just looking down at the unknown number on my phone. One major shock in my life, and suddenly I'm imperturbable.

I'm so broken.

Still, I force myself to answer, bringing my phone closer to my ear. I'm not expecting it to be anything but a telemarketer, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

A voice cuts through the quiet: "Hello." It's a deep greeting. Raspy, and... slightly slurred? Not a telemarketer then.

I rise and gesture toward my phone at Elliott before walking a little ways away. I'm about to ask who it is calling me, but the voice interrupts again, "Hello, I'd like to have phone sex."

I blink, once. Twice. And a third time. So maybe I'm not completely apathetic just yet.

My voice is quiet when I say, "I think you have the wrong number, Sir."

No reply. I bet whoever called me is currently mortified, and therefore unable to respond. I decide that I'll spare him the embarrassment and simply cut the call when-

"Wait, Diamond?"

How. What? I can't believe it. "Who is this?" I demand.

"Me!" It's a jovial response. I'm starting to think whoever called me must be drunk. This person isn't in my contacts, and not only knows my name but expects me to recognize their phone voice? Who could this even be?

My patience with this weird caller is dwindling, but I manage to ask "That doesn't help me. What's your name?" without sounding too snappish.

"Diamond," The slur is almost non-existent now, the voice sharper, colder even. It's almost familiar...

"It's Liam."

I just had to think I was imperturbable. Life really loves to kick me in the ass today.

Is this really Liam, though? Like, Liam Liam? How does he even have my number? Yes, I've known him for almost five years now - ever since Richard's company merged with Papa's - but I'd barely talked to the guy a handful of times. He's always smug and entitled, and after just one conversation with him, I'd known I'd always want to avoid him. My decision hasn't wavered, seeing as his personality remains the exact same, five years later.

Nothing makes sense. "Liam, how do you even have my number? Why are you calling me?"

What he says back is a nearly inaudible mumble, which causes me to press my phone uncomfortably close to my ear, "Well you're saved under my favorites, but I didn't really mean to call you."

Liam isn't giving me a straight answer to my questions - if anything, he's adding more. At this point, I don't know what else to do but cut the call.

While I'm debating whether or not he deserves a "goodbye", he says, "And I think I'm drunk." His voice has gone back to its initial deep raspiness, and the extreme slur of his words hits me hard.

I sigh. I don't really hate people because hate's a strong word, but if I ever had to say I hate a person, it'd be Liam. But Liam's beyond drunk and God knows where. I have to do the right thing.

"Where are you, Liam?"

"Uh, at work? My office, Vancouver, British Columbia, Earth, Canada, the Milky Way bar. Is that the right order? I don't know."

Why do I have to do the right thing? "I'm going to call you and Uber. Get down in five minutes, and go home and sleep this off, Liam."

"No." No?! What is he, five?

"Liam. Get your ass downstairs, NOW!"

"I can't leave my car behind!"

I groan, holding the phone away from me so that Liam doesn't hear it. I want to tell him to drive his car then, but I have a feeling he won't make it home alive if he does that. It's five past ten right now, and I've stayed at Elliott's for a while now. It's time for me to get out of his hair anyway.

"Nevermind, Liam. Stay put, I'm on my way."

***************************

By some miracle, I manage to find an Uber seven minutes away from Elliott's home in the middle-of-nowhere. I feel bad that I'll be leaving so abruptly - that too after I shot down his very nice offer of talking. I just don't want to talk about it. I don't even know what I'd say.

I make my way back to the firepit, where Elliott is now poking a new log of wood into the fire.

"Hey, Elliott." He looks up to me. "I am so so sorry. Something just came up - I need to leave."

"Where to? Do you need a ride?" Elliott has straightened out, opening the back door. "I can tell Marabella I'm leaving, and drive you - if you need that. I know it's hard to get out of this place otherwise."

I follow him inside and shiver, it was warmer by the fire. "No need. It's a wonder, but I have an Uber coming here pretty soon. Thank you, though."

There's a loud honk outside. I wince, hoping that the sound didn't wake Marabella.

"That's me." I hurry to the front door, not wanting to keep my driver waiting. The sooner I get to Liam, the sooner I can crash at my parents'. "Thank you for tonight, Elliott. Today hasn't really been my day exactly, but I loved dinner with you and Marabella."

I slide my feet into my heels, not bothering to fix the straps or anything, and swing the door open. "I'm so sorry again for rushing out like this. Goodnight, Elliott."

When I look back one last time, It's like watching a scene from a movie. Light falls down on Elliott, who leans against the empty doorframe of his front door. His hair glows, brown curls spilling down his forehead like little springs. Elliott's hands are clasped in front of him, just over the top of his pants, and they pull his shirt taut. I see the outline of muscles rising up his chest, muscles I hadn't noticed before.

Oh, wow. That's a lot of abs.

His eyes stare into mine one for one last time tonight. "Goodnight, Diamond."

I look through the open window of the SUV in Elliott's driveway. "Vivian?"

The woman, Vivian, nods yes and smiles. I drop into the backseat before closing the car door. My seatbelt is buckled, and I lean back into the plush backrest, looking out of my window.

Elliott's still there, in the same position, watching as the car reverses out of his driveway. My eyes don't leave his figure until Vivian turns, heading out on the main road.

"Where to, tonight, Ma'am?"

I can't see Elliott anymore, but his image is burned behind my eyes for some reason. That is so wrong, it should not be. But it is, and now that it's no longer in front of me, I want to close my eyes and see it again. If I knew better, I'd say I miss it. Miss him.

I clear my throat, trying to clear my mind of all these thoughts. All these wrong, confusing thoughts and wants. "Downtown Vancouver," I say, pulling out my phone to give her the exact address of the office.

Vivian hands my phone back to me once she's got the right address. There's a text from "Idiot", a quick contact name I'd given Liam's number in case I'd need to call him again: "r u cominf?"

I roll my eyes. He's so drunk.

I almost don't reply, but remember that Liam is currently a wild card. I text back "Yes. Sit and STAY."

I stare out of the window at the blur of passing trees and sigh.

I forget I am Diamond, and rush to the rescue (of an absolute idiot).

***************************

Don't forget to vote! :) (if you liked it - of course - no pressure!)

and I hope you enjoy the next chapter! (I enjoyed writing it quite a bunch :)