Return To You: A Small Town, Second Chance Romance

45. Grace

forty-five

We left the farm with enough meat and vegetables to feed a whole family, and Ethan helps me store it away.

“That’s making me hungry,” I say.

Ethan pulls out a butcher block I never use. “I’m cooking.” He starts chopping onions, the sound making Damian appear out of nowhere, then pulls chicken thighs out of the fridge. Looking at Damian, he takes a pack of ham out and throws him a piece.

“I’ll catch up on emails.” I bring my laptop to the kitchen counter and start working, getting lost in work while Ethan does whatever he set out to do. There’s a lead from Alex for a building in another town. I decide to leave that aggravation for another day, and switch to the notifications of our latest reviews, all five stars. I take a few fulfilling moments answering them, then send congratulations to my staff. I flag invoices for tomorrow, then focus my attention on Ethan.

The chicken thighs are marinating in a mixture of olive oil, finely chopped onions, and spices from small glass containers I almost forgot I had. In a frenzy of nesting, I let Chris convince me to buy those, but never used them. It’s a good thing spices have a long shelf life.

I nudge myself behind Ethan and grab two plates. “Want me to start the grill?”

He pulls me into him. “Let me do this.” He plucks the plates from my hand, sets them on the countertop, and softly rubs his nose against mine and, god, why does this feel so erotic? “I want to take care of you. You go sit down before it starts raining.”

I turn around to the deck. The table is set, candles and all, all the way to a sweaty jug of margarita.

“Hurry up,” he growls in my ear. “Weather’s gonna start any moment, and I been meaning to serve you a drink, rub your feet, and grill for you all day. Don’t want a couple rain drops ruining it.” He peels himself away from me.

“All day?”

He narrows his eyes on me. “Way more than all day,” he mutters. Grabbing the chicken and a colorful salad I’m only now seeing, he swats my butt gently. “Go.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m biting into the most tender, tastiest chicken I’ve ever had. I have a nice little buzz going from the margarita I drank way too fast. “I mean, you ever get tired of being a super, secret whatever-it-is-you-do, you could definitely work with your brother.”

Ethan stops with his fork midair. “That the alcohol talking?” he asks with that adorable smile.

I’m not tipsy enough to forget our earlier conversation. “Yesh. Drank the margarita too fast. The chicken’s great though. Like I said, something to fall back on if… never mind.” I don’t want him thinking I changed my mind about him not leaving the Air Force. I didn’t. “I was just paying you a compliment.”

He smiles at me. “Thank you.” His eyes dance on my face, like he’s thinking something good but doesn’t want to share with me.

“You’d be bored here. Don’t you dare.”

“You’re right. I’d be bored grilling all day for strangers. Wouldn’t mind cooking for you every night, though.” Those mischievous eyes again. What is he up to? I can’t say that his talk about cooking for me isn’t making me melt at some very intimate level.

I frown at him. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Ethan,” I warn him.

“I said I wouldn’t mind it.”

You said you wouldn’t mind it like it was the only thing on your mind. Like it was a lifetime goal. Like cooking for me every night was the end-all, be-all.“Okay.”

“Okay.” Those damn eyes dancing on me again. “Now eat.”

We eat in silence for a while, looking at Woodbury Knoll seemingly swerving as the trees sway under the wind. It’s warm out, with that sense of foreboding and release that precedes the rain.

Then fat drops start hitting us, and we scramble to our feet.

“Shit,” Ethan growls and picks up both our plates and cutlery. I follow with the margaritas and the candle, then we both run back out to grab the pillows as the rain intensifies.

I can’t believe how quickly and forcefully the storm is hitting us. “I’ll check the windows,” I say as Ethan runs back out to deal with the barbecue and the umbrella. As I shut the bathroom window, I see him on the other side of the house, closing my car windows. By the time he’s back inside, he’s soaked. “They weren’t kidding,” he says, looking at the weather radar on his phone screen. “Shoulda paid closer attention.”

He strips to his underwear and throws his shorts and T-shirt in the dryer.

Rain is now pummeling my little house, the barreling sound on the roof so loud it’s almost scary. I glance at his bike, outside in the pouring rain. “Is it going to be alright?”

“We’ll find out. No big deal.”

I should build a garage.

“Come on.” He squeezes my shoulder and guides me to the living room.

We sit on the couch facing the deck, watching as the howling wind bends the trees. I instinctively nest myself inside Ethan’s embrace when the dreadful crack of branches sounds. Lightning strikes in the distance, Woodbury Knoll strobing eerily.

“It’s kinda beautiful,” I say. Ethan wraps me tighter against his warm, hard, and almost naked body when thunder rolls. “I watched it go down. Our tree house,” I add in a whisper. “Two summers ago.”

Ethan stays silent. It’s possible he didn’t hear me, the noise from the storm is so loud. But he pulls me against him and kisses my hair tenderly. So maybe he did hear me. Maybe he did and he’s just like me. There’s nothing really to say.

Lights flicker and the power goes out.

“Shit,” Ethan says, pulling himself gently from me to stand. I hear him open and close the dryer.

“Are they dry?” I ask.

A deafening crack tears through, the house seems to shake, and Ethan stomps up the staircase. “Fuck.”

As he barrels back down, I jump off the couch to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

“What is it?”

“There’s water coming through the ceiling. Probably a tree. I’m gonna check. Try to find Damian,” he orders, then steps outside. If trees are falling, shouldn’t he stay inside? As he steps out, another tree falls with a murderous roar, taking the limbs of other trees with it as it lands with a bounce on the side of my front yard.

“Ethan!” I shriek. “Come back here!”

“Shit,” he says as he steps back inside. The wind recedes as quickly as it had picked up, but the rain persists, long, steady sheets of water coming down. “D’you have a bucket? Or three,” Ethan says, looking up. The telltale plop-plop-plop of a water leak is unmistakable.

“Under the kitchen sink,” I say as I go to the bathroom to take another one.

We both run up the stairs. There’s a mostly empty room at the end of the hallway, but of course that’s not where the leak is. No, it’s where Skye’s bedroom is. Right next to her bed. Ethan starts pushing the furniture away from the water, and I roll the area rug and hoist it out of the room. The first bucket is almost half full already.

Ethan frowns when he sees me. “It’s not safe here. Wait for me downstairs.”

I empty the bucket in the small upstairs bathroom and return to find him leaning out the window.

“Ethan!” I screech.

He pulls back in, shuts the window, and shakes the water off his hair. “Yeah, babe?”

“What are you doing?”

“A huge branch fell through your roof. It’s not safe here. Pack a change of clothes. Soon’s the front is gone, I’m taking you out of here.” He takes my hand and pulls me down the stairs. “Call your parents, see how they’re doing. See if I can drop you off there. The roads to the farm might be cut off by fallen trees.” He stomps to my bedroom and looks under the bed. “Come here kitty-kitty. Come on!” He pulls a trembling Damian out. “Got a bag for him?”

The protective streak is sweet. “I’d rather stay here and look after my house.”

Ethan turns around, Damian cuddled in his arms. “I’ll look after your house. I’m gonna go find tarp. I’ll see what needs to be done to the roof. But I can’t do that if I’m worried about you.”

Seriously, how can I resist that? The vision of my little cat protected by his muscular arms. The idea that he’s putting me out of danger so he can take care of my house.

The wind is receding, but the rain keeps falling steadily, with no sign of letting up. There’s an ominous crack upstairs.

“Let’s go,” he says, seeing my resistance weaken.

When we get to Mom and Dad’s, they’ve lost power too. To top it off, their basement is flooding. There’s a small brook behind their property that’s generally dried out in the summer. With the sudden rain, that seems to have hit the whole state, it overflowed with a rage, and water quickly seeped inside the house. “There’s a washer and dryer, plus a freezer down there,” Dad says, standing uncertainly at the top of the basement stairs.

“Where’s the breaker box?” Ethan asks.

“Over there,” Dad answers.

Ethan shuts the power off. “Safer this way, when the power returns.” Then he asks, “You have a generator?”

“Shed,” Mom says, wringing her hands. “There should be a fuel container next to it. Dennis keeps it full.”

“I’ll help you,” I say, setting a frightened Damian on Dad’s lap. “You two look after each other,” I add with a playful wink toward Dad.

As we step outside to the shed, Colton drives up. Ethan quickly fills him in, and the two of them get the generator started and hooked up to the refrigerator and a couple of extension cords. “I’m gonna go with Ethan,” Colton tells me. “Get a pump for Mom and Dad and see what’s up with your roof.”

And just like that, the two of them are gone.