18. Ethan
eighteen
“Anything else you need me to do?” The missing packages have been retrieved from two counties over and delivered, the products shelved just like Grace wants them to be (Claudia said so herself), the boxes have been flattened and placed in the recycling dumpster.
But I still haven’t been able to talk to Grace. She’s been too busy.
“No thank you, young man,” Claudia says. “You’ve been a godsend.”
Tell that to Grace.
I glance toward the door to the treatment room.
Claudia smiles kindly at me. “You might want to try her another day.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I get to the door.
“Oh and Ethan?”
“Yes?”
She hands me a bunch of brochures for A Touch Of Grace, and I take them awkwardly, not sure what I’m supposed to do with that. “For your mother and her friends,” she says, then hesitates. “Grace… she might need a little time. Just… don’t give up too soon on her.”
I nod and get on my bike. Too soon? What is that supposed to mean? She keeps mementos of anything that has to do with us. Yet she doesn’t want to talk to me. Doesn’t seem interested in me. At least, not the way she used to be.
Okay—maybe not all the time. Sure, she wasn’t indifferent when I had her straddling my knee. Fuck, the way her pulse beat in her wrists? The glaze in her eyes? Her panting breaths?
The way her whole body so effortlessly molded against mine, followed my lead—fuck but I wanted to take her. All she needed to do was say the word. Just say my name in that way that used to drive me crazy.
Still does.
But she didn’t.
I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll have this conversation with her. Meanwhile, I just need to kill time. So I go to my brother’s pub.
Lazy’s is crowded, both on the sidewalk and inside. I find a free stool at the bar, close to the register. Perfect. I’ll wait ’til it quiets down and see if he knows anything about what’s up with Grace. I could start there. It would help to have some context.
“Hey, Justin, when’s your next community dinner?” a female voice asks behind me just as Justin storms out of the kitchen, holding two burgers and fries.
“Not ’til after foliage, Kiara. I’ll be in touch.”
What’s a community dinner? It’s the first time I’m hearing about that.
Someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to see Colton standing there. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Hey! Can I buy you a beer?” Returning the favor seems to be the thing to do. Not sure, though, that he’s who I should be talking to. Just a beer will do.
“Nah, thanks. Still got a car to deliver to a client tonight.” He stands there, though, doesn’t go anywhere. “Yo, Haley, any chance Shane can get me something to go? Anything’ll do.”
“Lemme check,” my sister answers and disappears behind the kitchen’s swing door.
“You deliver cars?” I ask him.
Colton nods. “That kind of car, yes.” He takes a deep breath. “Ah, man, it never stops.”
He takes the glass of water Haley hands him, then looks at me. “I heard you were a pretty good carpenter.”
I shrug. “I’m just handy,” I say, thinking he’s talking about the bleacher repair I did for the fair.
“So what was wrong with Damian?”
Damian? Grace’s cat? Shit. I clear my throat. “I-I think he’s gonna be alright.”
“Uh-huh? Good. That’s good. I take it her door is fixed?”
“Yup.”
Haley hands him a paper bag. “Here’s Chef’s treat, Colt. Don’t ask me what it is. Got no time!” Before he can answer, she’s at the other side of the bar, filling orders. Justin whips by us, carrying dirty dishes in both hands. He gives us a chin tilt and disappears into the kitchen.
Colton slaps my back. “One day at a time, man. Just don’t make it worse for her.” Then he leaves, giving Haley a wave on his way out.
I pull out my phone, feeling totally useless. Worse. Feeling like an outsider. I thought the hardest part of my stay here would be resisting feeling at home. Resisting the familiarity. The rut. The old jokes and the stale gossip.
It’s not.
It’s feeling like I don’t belong anymore.
The farm is doing great without me—and why wouldn’t it?
My young brother is a pillar of his community and has more work than he can handle.
My sister has two—or is it three—jobs and is rocking each one of them.
My first and only love can barely look me in the eye.
My childhood friend doesn’t know if he can trust me with his sister.
I’m just the guy who ran away. The guy they’re all watching, in case I mess things up again.
The guy they like better when he’s not around.
Instead of ordering another beer and looking like the loser I feel I am, I slide into the kitchen. “What can I do?” I ask Justin as he comes out of the walk-in cooler.
He looks me over top to bottom, seeming to hesitate. “Dishes?”
“You got it.”
For two hours straight, it’s an endless stream. The minute I have my clean racks stacked away, loads of dirty dishes are dumped almost literally on my lap. Finally the flow slows, and a couple of young guys—twins—come in. “We’re taking over from here,” they say.
“Hey, guys. Thanks.” They look vaguely familiar. Do I know them? But they don’t seem to recognize me—it’s almost refreshing—so I leave it at that.
I wash and dry my hands and head out to the bar, hoping to catch up with my brother, if only for the heck of it. I don’t feel like talking about anything serious anymore, but just a beer at his pub would be nice.
I’d like to tell him how impressed I am at his operation.
But when I walk out, I see Grace sitting at the bar, deep in conversation with Justin. My brother is scribbling on a piece of paper she’s intently looking at. I hear the words “liquor license.” Someone’s name. A dollar amount.
She glances up at me then pores over the paper again. Unfazed. Uninterested.
I pull up a bar stool next to her. “Hey. Got a minute?”
“I’m in the middle of something,” she snaps.
“I’ll wait.” I stand, go behind the bar, and just like I saw Colton do the other day, I grab the gun and fill a tall glass with club soda, then plop a slice of lime in it. Justin cocks an eyebrow at me. His mouth twitches into a repressed smile, but he says nothing. Then I grab a paper coaster, set it in front of Grace, set the glass on top of it, and round the bar to stand next to her.
“It’s gonna be a while,” she says, staring at the glass but not touching it.
“Then lemme get you somethin’ to eat.”
She shuts her eyes briefly, and I take it as my cue to go.
By that time I know the lay of the land. Two hours doing dishes didn’t happen without noticing how things were run and where stuff was stored. I don’t want to bother the chef, Shane, so I grab a plate and make Grace an Ethan special.
“The hell is this?” Justin asks when I set the plate in front of Grace a half-hour later.
I shrug. “Just—proteins and vitamins to keep her going. Nothin’ fancy.”
“Nothin’ fancy my ass,” Justin comments. “Let’s pick this up later, Grace. Enjoy.” He leaves, silent laughter shaking his shoulders.
I sit on the stool Justin just vacated, sideways so I can look at her looking at her food. Or at me. Whatever she chooses.
She clears her throat. “How d’you do that?” she asks, picking a radish delicately carved in the shape of a rose.
I shrug. “Eh. Some people say I’m good with my hands.”
At least she graces me with the shadow of a smile. Runs the radish in the hummus that’s nested in a carved-out tomato and bites into it. Then her thin fingers pick up a julienned carrot that’s been wrapped into the shape of a heart. “That must take forever to make.”
“I have all the time in the world for you.”
She nods slowly. Dips another radish in the hummus and eats slowly. Wipes her mouth, squeezes the wedge of lime in the club soda, and takes small, ladylike sips, her throat bobbing in the most erotic way. Then she picks up a piece of toasted baguette lathered with olive oil and herbs. “Would you like some?” she asks.
“Not yet. You’ve worked all day. You’re exhausted.”
“I don’t want to eat alone.”
“You’re not alone. I’m watching you.”
She smiles, a big smile that hits me right in the heart, warms me to the core. She glances at me sideways, just a flash, just a nanosecond of eye connection. She places a piece of prosciutto on the baguette, tops it with a cornichon, and turns to me, our knees brushing briefly.
“Chris and Justin, they have this thing about food bringing people together. Either you’re eating with me, or I’m not eating at all.” Her smile is soft and confident as she brings the food straight to my mouth, and this time our eyes connect and never let go, and I don’t have anything to say. So I close my mouth on her fingers.
She blushes deeply and turns back to face her plate. “Thanks for picking up the delivery today. Claudia told me.”
“Was nothin’. Happy to help.”
She nods and blinks a few times. “It’s been crazy busy at the spa.”
I nearly reach over to caress her hair, tell her it’ll be alright, cup her cheek. The temptation to touch her is too big, so I turn to face the bar. “Any news on the sale ?” I ask her. It has to be the main thing on her mind—it’s not like I’m bringing up a topic she’s trying to forget.
She shakes her head. “There was a visit. The realtor almost lost it when the girls pretended to be buyers and talked the building down in front of his clients. Apart from that, nothing.” She plops an olive in her mouth and chews pensively, her gaze fixed nowhere in particular.
I clear my throat. What can I say or do to make her feel better? Nothing comes to mind. “Do you need something stronger than water?”
She shrugs softly. “Maybe later.” Then she takes a deep breath and turns her adorable face to me. “You wanted to talk?”
“It can wait.” Right now, I want to see her happy. I want her to finish her food. I want to give her a foot massage. I want to pour her a glass of wine. “You’re not finishing your veggies?”
“They’re not veggies. They’re works of art. I can’t.”
“You better not put them in your box,” I growl.
She laughs softly. “I guess you have a point.” She plucks at the carved carrots, the radishes, the thin slices of zucchini, and eats them one by one. “I should have taken a photo.”
“I’ll make you others.” My heart hammers, trying to escape. Trying to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her everything will be alright.
She blinks and stops eating. “Why don’t we go for a walk,” she whispers.