27. Ethan
twenty-seven
Being with Grace is just so much more than I ever anticipated. Hoped for. Dreamed about. She was my dream woman when we were just kids, and she’s even more so now. Funny, sweet, sexy, strong.
But mostly, she makes me feel… at peace.
My brief freak-out last night? Everything I feared is true. I’m falling hard for her. It’s going to hurt like a bitch when I leave. But so what?
No regrets. I have no regrets. I could live a lifetime on the memory of this one night, this one morning with her. I don’t need anything else. I’ve had it all.
This is the present, and I’m going to savor every second of it.
I snap a picture of Grace’s shopping list before leaving her house on my bike. Just in case. She’s working, I’m on vacation. It seems like the least I could do. I’m going to take a wild guess that she’d say no if I offered to do her shopping. Could be any reason. I just don’t see her eagerly accepting.
Once it’s done, though? Different story.
Or not. We’ll see.
My saddle bags aren’t huge, but Grace’s shopping list is tiny. Tomatoes, ham, yogurt, basil cleaner—whatever that is.
Seriously. That’s all that’s on the list. What does she actually eat?
I stop at Noah’s general store. There’s no point going to the small supermarket on the outskirts of town. Noah will have it all. The store hasn’t changed. I’m instantly thrown back decades by the slight bend of the wooden planks giving under my weight.
It’s a large space, made of several buildings connected together over the decades. A deli corner on one side with produce and cold cuts and salads. Kitchenware on the other. The same seemingly bottomless barrels of candy are still at the very front, near the checkout registers and the greeting cards. There’s a sign that says ‘More cards at the bookshop.’ My third-grade teacher is sifting through them.
“Hi, Ms. Angela.”
The little lady beams at me. “Oh hi, sweetheart.” She puts the card back and picks another one up, turning it in her fingers. Louder, she says, “Noah, I’m rearranging your cards, if you don’t mind. This doesn’t make sense the way it’s done. I’m gonna do it the way they have it at Shy Rabit.”
Noah’s muffled agreement sounds from somewhere in the middle of the store.
Cookies and sweets and canned goods are in the middle. Moving toward the back, three steps on the left lead to a wine cellar in a separate room. The clothing section is still central. Wandering farther inside, I notice a new section—pets. My eye lands on a toy that will be perfect for Damian, so I snatch it.
If nothing else has changed, farther inside will be toys, then hardware, construction and garden items, and finally the loading dock, for those heavy bags of seed, the occasional wheelbarrow, shovels, bags of sand. I resist verifying how many changes Noah has made. One thing that hasn’t changed, is that this unassuming shop seems endless, and I don’t have the required hours at the moment to tour it all. Another thing is the smell. Old wood and dust and burnt coffee. I guess they still have that terrible coffee machine. You could get a coffee for a quarter back in the day, and even that seemed expensive.
Fuck, but that smell brings back so many good memories.
I make my way back to the wine cellar, wondering what Grace likes.
“Heard you been busy.”
Turning around, I see Noah, hands on his hips, big smile on his face. My forehead feels warm, just thinking about last night. About Grace’s mouth under mine, her hands on my body, my jersey she’s been sleeping in for years.
Noah extends his hand and pulls me in a half-bro hug. “Coaching hockey, helping out Thalia and Lucas… and your dad mentioned all the fences and barns you’re repairing.”
Shit. Now it’s my chest feeling warm. What the hell? “Ah, just keeping busy.”
“Damn. I missed you, dude.” He glances at the bottle I’m holding. “How long you here for?”
“’Nother few days.” I’ve yet to hear from my commanding officer. When I got here, I was anxious to get my orders. Now…
He nods slowly. “I uh… wonder if you’d mind talking to my kids—my coding club kids.” He shakes his head. “Still summer, but most of them are around, and matter of fact, we’re meeting tomorrow at the high school. They’d love to talk to you ”bout your career. Give’em some ideas.”
Noah is tall and muscular, but in a sinewy type of way. His locks of blond hair are now trimmed shorter than they used to be, and between his slightly receding hairline, his glasses, his tan, and his corded forearms, my impression of him the other night at Lazy”s is confirmed: he looks like an outdoorsy nerd. I bet the kids in the coding club love him.
“You run the coding club? Course I’ll come. Tell me what time tomorrow.”
He smiles. ”We meet around noon.”
“That for Grace or Lynn?” Ms. Angela’s voice startles me. She materializes next to Noah, and she’s looking at the Chardonnay I’m holding.
“Um…” I huff. Yep, small town.
Noah grabs two bottles. “Lynn is partial to her Finger Lakes Riesling, but if it’s for Grace… you can’t go wrong with this Russian River Zinfandel.”
Ms. Angela nods. “What I was going to say.”
I put the Chardonnay back. “I’ll take both.”
Noah gives me a wink that our retired teacher doesn’t see and walks with me toward the front.
On my way out, I take some yogurt and freshly sliced ham from the cooler, then stop at the small produce section and start bagging a few tomatoes. Ms. Angela slides next to me and whispers, “If you could ever show me how to carve fruits, I’d love to. You know, for the bed and breakfast. You know I have a bed and breakfast now, right?” she adds.
“I heard about the bed and breakfast, and yes, I’d be happy to show you. Strawberries would be great for that.”
I eye a colorful bouquet of flowers wrapped in a simple kraft paper and tied with twine. Would Grace like that?
“You know, I’m happy for you and Grace.”
Well, we’re not printing wedding invitations yet.
“You’ll find a way,” she adds, reading my thoughts, or her own fantasies.
I pluck the bouquet out of the bucket, turn it around.
“You were meant for each other.”
I clear my throat.
“You’re finally the right age and the right… everything for each other.”
I shuffle my feet and can’t help but feel the heat creep up my face again.
“She’ll like the flowers. Nice and simple. Start small.”
I pretend to put them back in the bucket. Getting the hint that she won’t get anything from me, Ms. Angela mumbles something and scampers out under Noah’s mild frown. I stick the flowers under my arm.
“D’you see Owen yet?” Noah asks as he weighs the tomatoes for me.
“Yeah, I bumped into him.”
He smirks. “He’s gotten better.”
I have to chuckle at that. Owen was a bully when we were growing up. I had to teach him a couple of lessons.
“Believe it or not, he and Colton get along.”
“Do they now?”
“Seems like you drilled some sense into him. Shit, I’ll never forget that time.” He laughs.
Back in the day, Colton was a scraggly boy. He took a while to blossom. Owen, on the other hand, was always big. He took advantage. I never could understand the appeal of being mean to others, but as long as it stayed within certain limits, I let Colton deal with Owen however he could. But one day Owen crossed a line, and I did too.
And I’m glad I did. Owen never bothered Colton again. Colton knew he wasn’t alone. And Grace had even more hearts in her eyes when she looked at me.
What a bunch of idiots we were. I smile big at the memory. “His mom seems to like me,” I drop.
“I bet she does. Gave him the whipping she couldn’t. Hell, turned him into a close-to-decent human being.”
“That’s all we ever wanted.”
“Amen to that.”
We make our way slowly toward the front. I stop at a display of chocolates “Proudly Made in Emerald Creek”.
“Kiara makes those,” Noah informs me. “They’re dangerously good.”
I snatch a box. “Hey, any idea what basil cleaner is?”
Noah frowns briefly. “If it’s for Lynn, I don’t know. If it’s for Grace, here you go.” He hands me an all-natural, all-purpose, organic liquid soap.
I take the soap. And feel that fucking blush again.
“Shit, man,” Noah says, smiling, “never thought I’d see the day.”
I chuckle slightly, hoping he doesn’t elaborate.
But he does. “Ethan King buying groceries for Grace Harper.”
“Cute, right?” Ms. Angela pipes up from god knows where.
I stifle a smile. “So—tomorrow, noon at the high school?” I say as I pay.
“Awesome. Thanks, man,” Noah answers.
On my way out, I crane my neck to holler goodbye to Ms. Angela and literally bump into Colton coming in. He holds the door open for me and glances at my groceries. “That a Zin you got here?” he asks with half a smile. “You gonna carve the cork into… ah, forget it,” he fumbles.
I hear Ms. Angela’s cackle all the way to my bike.
As I fire my bike up, Colton pokes his head back out. “I thought you were gonna drop her off. The rattle.”
I can’t help the smile. “I will.”
I meet Grace back at the house. She fusses over the flowers, tries different vases before settling on one. Then she folds the kraft paper carefully, places the twine on top of it, disappears toward her bedroom and reappears empty-handed.
The chocolates, she sets in a cupboard.
“Car or bike?” I ask her, pulling her out of the contemplative mood she seems to be falling in.
“Bike!” Grace answers right away.
“Really? The… the chick magnet?” I feign surprise.
She throws a beach towel at me. “How big are your little bags on the side?”
“The saddle bags? Big enough.” I roll two towels tight and grab some water bottles, give Damian a scratch between the ears, and we’re off.
The feel of Grace on the back of my bike is… more than I thought it would be. She’s wearing shorts. “I flashed enough of Emerald Creek last night” is her excuse for forgoing a summer dress, and when the road is straight or we’re at a stop sign, I run a hand on the silky skin of her thigh and feel her tighten against my lower back.
God this woman. She’s under my skin, always was, always will be. No matter what happens between us, she’s the standard I’ve compared all others to.
It was unfair to them. Being back in Emerald Creek and being with her feels natural, and also a little surreal. As if I’m having a glimpse at what my life could have been, if it hadn’t derailed.
Ironically, we reach the intersection where Justin had his accident, ten years ago. I slow down to take the curb, my head turning to where his car was propelled. Of course there’s no trace of it, it’s been so long. I wasn’t even here after the crash, but knowing that’s where it happened gives me chills anyway.
Thinking about it darkens my mood.
After a few minutes, Grace points to a carriage trail branching out from the road we’re on. “Go as far as you can on that path,” she yells over the roar of the engine. After a couple of minutes in a wooded area, I see the blue ribbon of the river below us just as the carriage trail turns into a path. When we can’t go any further, I stop the bike and we gather our stuff from the saddle bags.
Grace is quiet, leading the way down to the river, to a flat rock that juts above the water. She lays the towel flat, meticulously pulling on its corners. Then she takes her shorts off and folds them neatly, setting them on the small side of the towel.
“Last one in the water is a chicken!” she cries and runs away from me, from the hug I was going to give her, from the words I was going to say to her.
And now I see it clearly. Now that’s she’s running away. I wanted that, with her.
This quiet, small-town life. The simple pleasures. The shared friendships.
I jump after her.