LOGINSusan
They say you never forget your firsts. First day of college. First time living away from home. First real taste of independence. And for me, my first love. I still remember the way the sun drenched the campus that morning, illuminating the sprawling lawns and the old brick buildings. I was 18, full of ambition, and ready to conquer the world...or at least my little corner of it. My backpack was heavier than necessary, my schedule meticulously planned, and my nerves barely under control. I had just exited the lecture hall after my orientation when I saw him. At first, it was just a passing glance. He stood out...not just because of his height or his sharp features, but because of the effortless way he seemed to exist in his space. Like he belonged there. And then I tripped. It wasn't a graceful stumble, either. My heel caught on an uneven patch of pavement, and I went sprawling forward, my books and papers scattering across the ground. "Whoa...careful there." That voice...smooth, calm, and amused...was the first thing I noticed. Then came the hand, strong and steady, reaching out to help me up. I looked up, squinting against the sun, and there he was. Dark hair, impossibly blue eyes, and a smirk that seemed to say, I could save you, but I'm enjoying this too much. "Thanks," I mumbled, cheeks flaming as I let him pull me to my feet. "You might want to watch your step," he teased, bending down to gather my papers. "Rough first day?" "Something like that," I said, trying to laugh it off as I brushed dirt off my jeans. When he handed me my notebook, our fingers brushed, and I felt an inexplicable jolt. I wanted to say something witty or charming, but all I managed was a breathless, "Thanks again." "No problem," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I'm Elliot, by the way. Elliot Prescott." "Susan," I replied, finally managing a smile. "Susan Hart." "Nice to meet you, Susan Hart." His smirk softened into something almost kind. "Try to stay on your feet." I watched him walk away, my heart beating so fast for reasons I didn't fully understand. *** Elliot The freshman chaos was always entertaining. Watching a sea of wide-eyed students clutching campus maps like their lives depended on it was one of the few perks of the first week. It was amusing how nervous they looked, as if taking a wrong turn would ruin their entire academic career. I had just finished a lecture I barely paid attention to when I saw her. She was hard to miss. Blonde hair catching the sunlight, moving quickly like she had somewhere important to be...or maybe she just didn't want to get swallowed by the crowd. Then it happened: one misstep, and she went sprawling. Books, papers, and what looked like half her life exploded onto the pavement. I don't know why I stepped in. Maybe it was the look on her face...a mix of frustration and embarrassment...or maybe I just wanted a break from my routine. Either way, I found myself reaching out. "Whoa...careful there." She looked up at me, cheeks flushed, her green-blue eyes wide and uncertain. I couldn't help it...a smirk tugged at my lips. "Thanks," she mumbled, letting me pull her to her feet. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, like she wasn't used to being the center of attention. I bent down to pick up her papers, glancing at the neat handwriting scrawled across the pages. "You might want to watch your step," I teased, handing her the notebook. "Rough first day?" "Something like that," she said, trying to laugh it off. There was something different about her. She wasn't like the others, the ones who made a show of their confidence, flashing smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. She was… real. "Susan," she said, smiling a little. "Susan Hart." "Nice to meet you, Susan Hart." I tucked my hands into my pockets, my smirk softening. "Try to stay on your feet." I walked away before I could overthink it. She seemed sweet, but I didn't do sweet. Not then, anyway. But for the rest of the day, I couldn't get those green-blue eyes out of my head. **** Present day-Susan By the time I stepped out of the boardroom, my legs felt like they might give way beneath me. My grip on the portfolio was so tight my knuckles were white. Elliot Prescott. The name alone was enough to stir the whirlwind of emotions I'd spent years trying to bury. Seeing him again...seeing him in that chair, commanding the room, so composed, so...unaffected...was almost too much to bear. The elevator ride to the ground floor felt agonizingly slow. I leaned against the wall, willing my heart to settle. This wasn't about him, I reminded myself. It couldn't be. I'd walked into that room for one purpose: to secure a project that could put my career back on track. And yet, the way his piercing blue eyes bore into me, cool and calculating...it was like no time had passed at all. I had expected awkwardness, some hint of vulnerability. But no, he was unreadable...controlled and detached, like I was nothing more than another business proposition. It stung more than I cared to admit. I stepped out onto the busy city sidewalk, the noise of traffic and pedestrians a welcome distraction. I needed space to think, to process what had just happened. The problem was, no matter how far I walked or how deeply I inhaled the crisp air, Elliot's face stayed with me. Had he really moved on so easily? Could he honestly look at me, after everything we'd been through, and feel nothing? I shook my head, pushing those thoughts aside. I didn't have time to fall apart. The past was the past. It had to stay there. *** Elliot The door had barely closed behind Susan before Gerald turned to me, grinning like he'd just found the deal of the century. "She's sharp," he said, tapping the folder she'd left behind. "If you ask me, she's the perfect candidate for this project." I nodded absently, my eyes fixed on the door as if I could still see her walking out. Susan Hart. It wasn't just her name. It was the weight of everything that came with it...memories I'd locked away, emotions I thought I'd buried for good. Seeing her again after all these years was like being thrown into the deep end of a freezing pool. She was as poised as ever, her confidence as sharp as I remembered. But there was something else, too. A flicker of hesitation in her eyes when she saw me. She'd masked it well, but I knew her too intimately to miss it. Ten years. A decade. And yet, it felt like yesterday. "Elliot?" Gerald's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked, realizing he was holding out a sheet of paper. "Are you even listening?" he asked, half-amused, half-exasperated. "This is her contact information. You'll want to follow up about the next steps." I took the paper without looking at it, my mind still elsewhere. "Thanks, Gerald. I'll handle it." He gave me a curious look but didn't press further, excusing himself from the room. Alone at last, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the sleek conference table in front of me. I should have been focusing on the details of Susan's proposal...her strategy, her execution plans...but all I could think about was the way she'd looked at me. Not with warmth. Not with anger. Just...distance. And I hated it. I wasn't sure what I'd expected. For her to walk in and act like no time had passed? For her to smile at me like she used to? Or maybe for her to let the hurt show, just a little, so I'd know I wasn't the only one still haunted by the ghosts of our past. Instead, she'd been perfect. Professional. Detached. And it drove me crazy. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. This wasn't the time or place to dwell on old wounds. Susan Hart was here as a consultant, nothing more. I needed to keep it that way. But deep down, I knew that was a lie. Because the second she walked into that room, the carefully constructed world I'd built for myself started to crack. And now, I wasn't sure if I wanted to rebuild it...or let it crumble.SusanThree years laterThe dog got to the door first.He always did. He was enormous, ridiculous, and the color of old wheat, and he had never once in his life been taught that a door was something you opened rather than something you flung yourself against. By the time I'd set down my bag and slipped off my shoes, he was already prancing in circles in the hall, tail beating the wall like a drum."Yes," I said. "Hello. I missed you too.""Mama!"The word came from somewhere around knee level, followed by the thunder of very small feet. I turned just in time to catch him, two and a half years old, damp from the bath, wearing one sock and a pair of pajamas decorated with cartoon boats, running full tilt down the hall as though he'd been shot from a cannon.I scooped him up. He smelled of soap and warm skin and, faintly, of toast."Hi, Julian," I said, into his hair. "Did you have a good day?""Gerald came.""Did he?""He brought a book." He pulled back, serious, and held up two small f
ElliotBy late spring, the third center was finished.I had watched it rise from the ground in stages, as one watches a child grow in photographs...a bare lot in winter, a skeleton of beams by February, a roof by April. I had walked the site only twice, both times at Susan's invitation, and both times I had kept my hands in my pockets and my questions to a minimum.It wasn't my project. I had learned that lesson, finally, and I had learned it well.But on the morning of the opening, standing at the edge of the crowd in a plain dark suit, I felt something swell in my chest that had nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with pride.The building was low and bright, with a wide front porch and a bank of tall windows that caught the sun. A banner hung above the door, hand-lettered by the children who would use the center in the fall. A hundred folding chairs stood in rows on the lawn, and most of them were already full...staff and volunteers, families from the district, neighbo
SusanThe first thing I noticed about the foundation, on my first morning back, was that the receptionist stood up.She had done it before, on the Monday the news first spread. But that had been tentative, the half-rise of a woman unsure of the protocol. This time she was on her feet before I reached the door, with a bright, nervous smile and a small folded card in her hand."Welcome back, Mrs. Prescott," she said.I stopped.It was an ordinary greeting. It was, I understood perfectly well, meant with nothing but kindness. But the name landed on me like a coat I hadn't tried on yet, too new, too stiff, a little too big across the shoulders.I smiled at her anyway."Good morning," I said. "And thank you. But honestly, you can call me Susan.""Oh." She flushed. "I didn't want to presume...""You're not presuming. I'd like it." I took the card from her hand. "Everyone here has been calling me Susan for a long time. I'd hate for that to change."She nodded, relieved and a little amazed, a
SusanOn the last night, we didn't go anywhere.There was no dinner reservation, no long walk, no plan. Elliot lit the fire in the old stone hearth, and I opened every window in the house to let the sea air through, and together we cooked something that was neither dinner nor a disaster. We ate it on the porch with our feet propped on the rail, watching the tide draw out across the sand in long silver sheets.Ten days had gone by like a single long afternoon.I hadn't opened my laptop once. I hadn't checked a message, or a calendar, or a board report. I had slept until I woke, eaten when I was hungry, and talked until the words ran out and then kept talking in the silence. I had stopped counting hours somewhere around the third day, and I had never felt so rested in my life.And tomorrow, we were going home."You're quiet," Elliot said."I'm saying goodbye.""To the house?""To the ten days." I turned my head against the back of the chair. "I know we'll go back to our real life. I'm l
Elliot The morning after the storm, the whole world looked rinsed.I woke to a sky so blue it hurt, and sunlight pouring through the curtains in long, bright bars, and the smell of wet earth and salt drifting in through the open window. The air had a crispness to it, a new washed clarity, as though the night had cleaned the edges off everything.The other side of the bed was empty.I lay still for a moment, listening. And then I heard it, a clatter from the kitchen, a muffled curse, and the unmistakable sound of a woman trying very hard to be quiet and failing.I was smiling before I'd even opened my eyes."Do not come in," Susan said, when I reached the kitchen doorway.I stopped.She stood at the counter in one of my old shirts, her hair piled messily on top of her head, a streak of flour across her cheekbone and a wooden spoon clutched in one fist like a weapon. Every surface behind her was covered in bowls. A pan sat smoking gently on the stove. Something that might once have bee
SusanThe rain came on the fifth day.It arrived without warning, rolling in off the sea in a long gray wall, and by midmorning the whole world beyond the windows had dissolved into water and wind. The waves heaved against the shore. The porch boards drummed. The shutters rattled in their frames, and somewhere under the eaves a loose piece of tin tapped out a ragged, patient rhythm.I loved it at once."It's a proper storm," Elliot said, standing at the window with a mug of coffee, his hair still rumpled from sleep. "I should have checked the forecast.""You really shouldn't have," I said from the couch, tucking my feet beneath a blanket. "This is perfect.""It's the end of our beach days.""It's the beginning of our inside days." I patted the cushion beside me. "Come here."He came. He sat down, and I leaned against him, and he pulled the blanket over both of us. The fire he'd lit in the old stone hearth crackled low and golden. Outside, the storm wailed and battered at the glass, an
Elliot I woke up alone again.The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. I ran a hand through my hair, irritation already simmering beneath my skin. This had become a pattern...Susan leaving at dawn before I even got the chance to hold her, to talk to her, to feel like we w
Susan I thought the heat of Elliot’s touch would linger longer than the tension in my chest, but as I sat across from Manuel Fernandez in the sleek glass conference room, the memory of Elliot’s possessive kiss was already fading beneath the weight of unspoken words. Manuel wasn’t just an artist.
SusanSince being clingy didn’t work, I had to switch tactics. If I couldn’t push Elliot away with desperation, I’d do it by being a financial burden. Men loved independence...they hated when a woman cost them too much. So, I was going to be the most high-maintenance fiancée in history.At 8:00 a.m
ElliotThe moment I stepped off that stage, the tension in the air was so thick one could cut it's edge with a knife..I barely made it into the hallway before Gerald caught up to me, his voice low but urgent."Sir..." He hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "That was unexpected."I smirked. "W







