The End

Chapter 14: There It Is...

The world was growing restless, quarantining, socially distancing, it was all starting to cave in. The realization that the pandemic wasn't going anywhere anytime soon was heavy. Two weeks to slow the spread suddenly feeling laughable. Over three months had passed.

Ellen's quiet desperation had led her back to a place she thought she'd never be. Three months of talking to him nearly every day. Three months of sneaking away to see him. Three months of remembering.

Their weekly dates had grown increasingly sentimental. Today they found themselves in a park in Burbank, the very neighborhood they both lived before they were cast in the show. Some people are meant to be in your orbit. Patrick recalled her words fondly. She was meant to be in his. He was sure of that.

Another strange thing about the pandemic was that it grounded a lot of paparazzi. It was freeing to stand with her in the open and not wonder if their picture would find its way to the cover of Just Jared tomorrow morning. Still, there were more people here than there had been a few weeks before.

The sun was nearly set in the sky. June had made way for late night meetings. It was nearly 9:00 PM, much later than either of them had been away from home in months. They sat together on a bench just a few feet from their cars. "I meet with Krista this week." Ellen filled the silence. She was still waiting for Patrick to answer about coming back to the show. "They are talking about a late August, early Sept return date."

"Wow," Patrick answered, "You'll be one of the first." Referring to the fact that not many shows had returned to production.

"I think that's kind of the point," Ellen shrugged, "pave the way."

"Are you ready for that?" Patrick asked lightly.

"I am, I think it's time for everyone to start living again," Ellen's eyes hovered over his. A nearby streetlight turned on and flared in the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," Patrick nodded. The questions speeding through his mind. He wasn't ready to go back to his pre-pandemic life. What would that leave of them?

"You don't have to do it," Ellen gave him an out, "I get it. It was a lifetime ago. Things are different now."

"Are they?" Patrick's eyes challenged her.  Time seemed to stand still as his words again questioned her to the core.

"No," Ellen confessed softly. She shrugged "It's just an excuse to keep seeing you."

Patrick laughed, "I guess I'll have to do it then."

"Really?" Ellen smiled.

"You think I'd miss a chance to work with you again?" Patrick spoke firmly. Ellen smiled her eyes melting into his. The distance between them even smaller now.

A stillness returned again, her mind at war with her heart. They battled over the words to speak. "I don't know what I was thinking," She surrendered to her heart with a glimpse of frustration. She didn't part her eyes from his. "I thought this would go away." Ellen gestured between them, "I didn't text you to invite you to come back to the show. I texted you because the quietness was eating me alive. You were haunting my thoughts and dreams." Her voice trailed off, "Don't get me wrong, I have a great life but I think you were meant to be in it."

For the last few months, there was an imaginary line between them, separating them. They would tip toe along it carefully. Walking as close to the flame without getting burnt as possible. Each time pushing their limits a little further, each time a little more comfortable in each other's presence. Forgetting a little more the importance of distancing. Getting a little more lost in each moment. Clinging a little more to this quiet escape they had made for themselves.

Patrick's hand once again found the edge of that line. And Ellen's hand found Patrick's. "You're cold," Patrick observed the feel of her fingers.

"I'm fine," She insisted.

"I have a coat in my car," he was up before she could protest. The moon and the lights of the surrounding houses illuminating a path from his Porsche back to the bench. When he returned, Patrick held out a black jacket for her to put her arms into. She turned to push her arms through.

 This simple, friendly gesture a spark to the gasoline between them. Ellen turned to face him. "Thank you," her voice faded as she found herself consumed by his eyes. He fixed the collar around her neck. He was suddenly closer than he'd been to her in years. His hands brushing both of her shoulders. "Patrick," she tried to fight the fierce attraction. She could feel the flames first singeing the delicate hairs on her arms, and then brushing her skin with an aggressive passion.

Patrick stood next to her in the fire. Consumed by the flames between them, the line of right and wrong ceased to exist. For a fleeting instance there wasn't a need to distance himself from her, there was no pandemic, no history, they didn't have families waiting at home, or careers to consider, they only had each other. Ellen closed the small space between them, she pressed her lips against his. They stood together, in the fire, numb to the flames.

The passion between them was insurmountable but the second her lips touched his, there was an urgency, like a flipped hourglass. The flames had an expiration date and before the ashes of consequence set in, they were determined to soak up every moment of sweet affection. Every nerve in his body seemed to sing, as if a lost part of him had returned home. Their lips at war with each other, their hands tracing each other's frame with both a softness and intensity. The desire building as the fire burned out around them.

Patrick parted from her but their eyes still danced. His breath was heavy in his chest. They didn't speak. The distance had returned but they both acknowledged they had crossed a line that they couldn't go back from.

There was something about pining alone that was more bearable than pining together. Pining alone was somehow intertwined with ignorance is bliss. Pining alone could convince you love was unrequited. It could trick you into burying the emotion in the dark where it wouldn't be seen. But pining together, the feeling of an undying mutual desire, that was hard to bury, that bubbled to the surface with every glance, with every conversation, that kind of pining screamed in a quiet room.

As if the ashes that their passion left behind weren't enough to confirm what he'd been suspecting, hoping, for months, she put them into words, "I'm in love with you," she bit her bottom lip. "I don't know what the hell that looks like," she threw her hands in the air. "but there it is."