Chapter Ten
“I’m coming,”
Hannah mumbled into her pillow as her hand blindly searched for the source of the incessant ringing. Finally locating her cell phone, she glanced at the screen to confirm it wasn’t yet another reporter hoping for a comment, and reluctantly answered. “Liv? Is everything alright?”
“Oh no, were you sleeping?”
her friend asked over the sound of the Sesame Street theme song blaring in the background. “I’m sorry. My sense of time is all off. Sleep regression,” she said.
“It’s fine. What’s going on?”
Hannah dragged herself to a seated position, though her eyes were still barely open. Somewhere in the distance Terrence McFancyCock crowed…again. She wondered if there was any place in town that sold ear plugs. Or a rooster murdering kit.
“Can’t I check in on my friend?”
Hannah’s eyes opened. “Liv, seriously. You’re freaking me out.”
“How’s your new roommate?”
Liv asked in a sing-song way.
Hannah sighed. “I take it you talked to Jamie and Tessa.”
Liv squealed, the sounds of Elmo and his friends growing more distant. “What are the freakin’ odds? Is it amazing? Are you having the best sex of your life?”
“We’re not doing that.”
“Why not?”
Hannah could practically hear her friend’s pout through the phone.
“Because he wasn’t exactly thrilled to find out I had a boyfriend,”
Hannah said, lowering her voice.
“Fake boyfriend. Come on, he can’t really care about that.”
“He did very much care about that.”
“Okay, well now you don’t have a fake boyfriend anymore, right? The statement is everywhere. Daemon got stopped on his way to the gym this morning by some guy from Encores.com looking for information about how to find you.”
Hannah’s stomach churned. “What did he say?”
“You know Daemon. He grunted and the guy backed off. You haven’t had any issues where you are, right?”
“No, no issues.”
Except I can’t stop thinking about climbing Ethan like a tree.
“You sound tired. I’ll let you go back to sleep and I’ll see you at the premiere.”
They said goodbye and Hannah let the phone drop. The premiere was in a little over a week and she had no idea what she was going to wear. She and Jennifer had planned to go shopping before her entire world imploded. Maybe she could convince Tessa, Kyla, and Sabrina to help her find something nearby on their girls’ day.
Terrence crowed again. There was no use trying to go back to sleep, not with an agitated rooster terrorizing the neighborhood and the anxiety over finding formalwear that fit her hips beginning to gather behind her sternum. Resigned, she pulled herself from bed, tugging on the hem of her oversized sweatshirt as she gathered a change of clothes for the day. A hot shower always did wonders to calm her nerves, even if Ethan did have the largest bathroom mirror she’d ever seen in a private home.
She was so lost in thought about her need for a premiere outfit that she didn’t even notice Ethan standing in the bathroom doorway until she’d nearly collided with his chest. He shot a hand out to grip her upper arm and steady her, holding her away from his bare chest, the swirl of dark brown hair between his pecs and the hard lines of his abdomen. He wore a towel slung low around his hips and her face heated as her eyes fixated on the loose knot keeping it in place.
“Sorry. Didn’t know you’d be up so early,” he said.
“I’m not usually. Liv called and—I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,”
she stammered.
She should take a step back, give them both space to breathe.
But she didn’t.
His lip quirked and she realized too late she’d left her panties on the top of her stack of clothing. With a sharp inhale, she pressed the stack to her chest, trapping the stupid sensible cotton briefs against her. His exhale almost sounded like a laugh and he cuffed the back of his neck, drops of water falling from his wet hair and sliding down his throat, over his chest.
“I was thinking, if you want, I could come with you today. Show you the sights.”
Her eyes snapped to his, stupid, reckless hope fluttering in her chest. “I thought you had to work.”
“They can live without me for one day.”
Her stomach flipped, a strange sort of giddy anticipation bubbling through her, as though she were fifteen again and had just been asked on her first date. “If you’re sure… That would be great.”
He nodded once and moved past her, out of the bathroom and down the hallway, his chest brushing against her arm as he went past. Sparks burst along the place where they’d touched. She watched him go over her shoulder, his powerful thighs and ass moving beneath the towel as he made his way to his bedroom at the other end of the hall.
She was so fucked.
She shut herself in the bathroom, flipping the lock, and hurried out of her pajamas as the shower warmed. The small room was still humid from Ethan’s shower and it smelled like him, like citrus and pine and man. The water hit her overheated skin and her eyes fell closed as she let the scent surround her, losing herself in the knowledge that only moments before he’d been in this same spot, naked.
Her hands skated over her breasts, plucking at the already hard tips before sliding down over her belly, her hips. Just one orgasm, to take the edge off, she told herself as her fingers found her clit. Just one little orgasm.
Had Ethan done the same? Did he stroke his cock in this very shower minutes before, needing to come too badly to care if she was in the next room?
The thought had her on edge faster than she expected. She pressed her forehead against the cold tile of the shower wall and circled her fingers faster as she pictured him, his cock hard and aching with the need to come, the way it would swell in his hand as he jerked himself, rough and fast the way he liked. How he would tilt his head back, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he came, the way his abs would contract and his cock would lengthen, thicken. How he’d paint his stomach with his release. How badly she wanted him to empty himself inside her instead. She clamped her lips together to muffle her cry as she came, her head rolling against the tile.
It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was the best she could manage with hands alone. She cursed herself for not thinking to pack a toy or two when she’d thrown together her luggage for this trip, but she hadn’t planned on Ethan Hart.
She quickly finished her shower, dressing in a soft, floral sundress that accented her waist and skimmed over the flare of her hips. Ethan was in the kitchen when she was done, making coffee and looking slightly unsure of himself.
“How do you want it?”
he asked. She froze, a thousand dirty thoughts flashing through her mind. Dammit, that orgasm hadn’t scratched the itch at all. “Cream? Sugar?” he asked.
“Yes, to both,”
she said, shaking off the images of their time together last weekend, the filthy fantasies that had accompanied her in the shower.
He set a coffee cup on the counter and tilted his head towards a stool, inviting her to sit. She watched as he moved about the kitchen, gathering items from the refrigerator—a cardboard container of pastries, a jar of homemade jam, another container filled with mini quiches, a carton of strawberries. He set them all on the counter before taking a seat opposite her. They filled their plates in silence, but Hannah couldn’t help stealing glances at him. First the knee under the table at the diner and now a full breakfast spread after flashing some serious man chest? She wasn’t going to survive another week in his house.
“So, what did you have in mind for today?”
Hannah asked as she helped herself to a mini quiche with zucchini slices arranged in a rose pattern in the center.
“There’s the art museum at the university. And Aster Place is a historic house museum here in town, that could be fun,”
he offered.
She took a sip of her coffee, holding the warm mug between her hands as though it were some kind of shield, keeping space between them. “Sure. Those both sound good.”
He took another bite of his Danish, his lips tugging into a frown. “What would you be doing if you were home?”
“Let’s see, it’s Wednesday, so I’d start my day with a yoga class, then do some vocal warmups, practice, maybe make a self-tape or two for any auditions.”
She spread butter on a carrot cake muffin as she continued. “Wednesday is albondigas soup day at the deli down the block, so that would be lunch, then maybe wander a few shops, bookstores, the quirkier the better.”
She took a bite of the muffin, moaning as the spices hit her palate. “Oh my God, that’s good.”
Ethan’s eyes were locked on her mouth, his tongue sliding over his lower lip as he watched her eat. He was always doing that, as though the sight of her enjoying food was somehow attractive. She blushed at the thought.
After a moment, he blinked, looked down at his plate. “Tessa makes them. Brings me a box every week.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“She thinks I can’t cook for myself.”
“Can you?”
He speared a mini quiche on the end of his fork and popped it into his mouth whole. “I manage.”
“Meaning you know how to boil pasta?”
she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
“And make grilled cheese.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe your daughter and son-in-law are literal chefs and you can’t make yourself a real dinner.”
He frowned again and set down his fork. “Didn’t much see the point in learning to cook when it’s just for me.”
She set down her own fork, reaching for him across the table. Her hand landed on his wrist, thumb dragging over his forearm. “Because nourishing yourself is important. And cooking for yourself is a small way to remind yourself that you matter. It can be incredibly healing.”
His eyes held hers, a question forming in their depths she wasn’t prepared to answer.
“You trying to fix me, Hannah?”
he asked softly.
“Do you need fixing?”
He swept up their empty plates and carried them to the sink. She got the sense he was taking longer than was necessary to rinse the plates and lay them in the sink. After a few moments, he turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. “I know where we should go today.”
∞∞∞
“Oh, Ethan, aren’t you a doll to stop in today?”
Mrs. Kemp smiled at Ethan and Hannah from behind the small antique table the museum used as its check in station. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”
“Probably since we came on that class field trip,”
Ethan said.
“No!”
Mrs. Kemp cried, pressing a hand to her chest. “Ethan Hart, that was over thirty years ago!”
“Mrs. Kemp was my third-grade teacher,”
he explained to Hannah.
“And I clearly did not properly instill in you the value of our town’s little museum,”
she tutted.
“What kind of museum is it?”
Hannah asked.
“It’s an everything museum!”
Mrs. Kemp exclaimed. She pointed to the sign on the table. “The Museum of Everything. See?”
Ethan handed over a ten-dollar bill to cover their entrance fee then led Hannah through the doorway into the museum proper, Mrs. Kemp trailing behind them. The Museum of Everything was housed in a decommissioned elementary school on the edge of the Town Common, the wide hallways cluttered with a hodge podge of mismatched display cases and tables. Ethan kept his hand low on Hannah’s back as he led her into one of Aster Bay’s more eccentric cultural institutions, more to keep her close than anything.
After that moment outside the bathroom and their exchange over breakfast, something had shaken loose in his chest, leaving him itchy and on edge in a way he didn’t understand. But with his hand on her back, feeling her body shift beneath the thin fabric of her sundress, the itch subsided, soothed by the heat of her against his palm.
“Oh my God.”
Hannah spun in a circle, her eyes darting around the wide red-brick-and-linoleum hall, the fluorescent lights humming above them. She loosed an astonished laugh before turning back to him. “What is this place?”
He grinned, her delight releasing something in his chest he hadn’t realized had been caged before. “Like Mrs. Kemp said, it’s the Museum of Everything.”
Mrs. Kemp stood in the center of the hall, holding court as she explained the story to Hannah. “It’s in the town charter that Aster Bay maintain a museum of its history, but—as the story goes—no one could agree on what was considered worthy of being included. So, the town administrator threw up his hands and told the group of volunteers who keep this place running to do whatever they liked with it.”
She gestured to a small bronze plaque on the wall commemorating the official christening of the museum in the late 1960s under its current moniker. “Anything that any town resident deemed significant could be submitted for inclusion. But with no guiding criteria, everything that’s ever been submitted has been accepted.”
“You’re kidding.”
Hannah moved closer to the first display: a collection of hats, ranging from a delicate pale pink pillbox hat with a gauzy lace veil to a garish yellow baseball hat embroidered with the town’s name in a slanted script. “It’s like the world’s largest time capsule.”
“It is,”
Ethan agreed.
“The volunteers, like myself, meticulously document every item donated to the museum. New acquisitions are published in the paper along with testimonials for the reason why someone thought they were important.”
Mrs. Kemp indicated the baseball hat. “That hat was worn by Lonnie O’Garrity on the day he led Aster Bay High to its first baseball championship.”
Next, she pointed to the pillbox hat. “And that one was worn by Mrs. Ethel Whitfield on the occasion of her third marriage to Mr. Josiah Whitfield. It was both her third marriage in general and her third marriage to him.”
Hannah chuckled. “This might be the coolest museum I’ve ever seen.”
Mrs. Kemp smiled. “I’m glad you think so, dear.”
She handed Ethan a fat stack of index cards held together with a metal ring through their upper left corners. “That will tell you anything you want to know about any of the items in the museum. Make sure you return it to the desk on your way out. Have fun, you two.”
And then they were alone. Hannah moved between displays, excitedly pointing out items that caught her eye for Ethan to look up in the index cards: a wooden spoon Johnny Paulsen had whittled in Cub Scouts in the ‘80s; a pristine, child’s-sized white gown worn by Harriet Fox when she was the first child to be baptized at the newly built St. Anthony’s Church in 1912; a cracked China serving platter that had allegedly once been owned by George Aster himself. Ethan read off the stories, but he hardly registered them. He was too busy cataloging Hannah’s reactions, the things that made her squeal with delight (a piano forte with a polished lid) and that made her recoil in repulsion (a taxidermied fox).
“What the hell is that?”
she squeaked, spinning away from a display case and burying her face in his chest.
Ethan peeked over her shoulder at the shelves of ceramic clowns, each one flashing an unsettling, sinister smile. He chuckled, skating a hand down her spine. “Not a clown fan?”
“Hell no. Look at them.”
He leaned forward slightly, cradling her head against him, until he could read the label on the case. “Ceramic clown collection of Mrs. Winifred Penlow, long-time children’s librarian. Donated by her children.”
“Because her children knew those things were cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“Possessed. Haunted. Whatever. Let’s get away from them, please. I can feel them watching me.”
He laughed again, guiding her away from the clown display. When they were out of sight, he gently lifted her face away from his chest. “All clear. You can open your eyes now.”
She opened one eye, as though she didn’t entirely believe him. “Thank you,”
she said, sheepishly.
“For saving you from the inanimate objects? Any time, Han.”
They rounded a corner display of every sports trophy Aster Bay High had ever received and were met with a wall of yearbooks dating back to 1907. “Which one is yours?”
Hannah asked, trailing her finger across the colorful leather spines.
Ethan reached around her and pulled a thick volume from the shelf, handing it to her. She arched an eyebrow at him in question, fingers poised to open the cover. “Go ahead,” he said.
She flipped open the cover, skipping over the dedication and haphazard collages of dated fashion choices. “No way. Is that Baz?”
she asked, pausing on a photo, but her attention was quickly drawn away. “Oh my God, look at you!”
She jabbed her finger at his high school portrait, the floppy hair with the center part that had been so popular. “You had heartthrob hair.”
He laughed. “It was the style.”
She flipped a few more pages, stopping to laugh at Gavin’s shoulder-length hair cut, until she got to the half pages designed by each graduating senior. Where his classmates had filled their half pages with collages of logos of their favorite bands, homecoming photos and snapshots of family pets, his stood in stark contrast. There were only two photos beneath his name. First, a photo of him, Baz, and Gavin as kindergarteners, standing triumphant in the treehouse in Gavin’s backyard, juice boxes clutched in their six-year-old fists. Second, a department store family portrait of him, Stephanie, and one-year-old Tessa. It was the first time he’d seen that portrait in years.
Hannah ran her fingers over the photos, first the one of him and his friends as children, then the family portrait. “You look tired,” she said.
“I was seventeen with a baby and a girlfriend who refused to talk about the future. I was exhausted.”
“Are you two still friendly?”
she asked.
“She passed a few years back,”
he said around the lump in his throat. His face was hot and his nose stung, as it did every time he said the words. He and Stephanie hadn’t been together for over a decade at the time of her death, but it didn’t make her loss any less painful. She would always be the mother of his child, a woman he had cared about deeply.
“I’m so sorry. Ethan, I had no idea.”
“We hadn’t been together in years. In fact, that photo was taken about twenty minutes before Steph told me she didn’t want to marry me.”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Not because he didn’t want Hannah to know about his past, but because it didn’t seem like the right place or time to unearth teenage traumas.
“You were just kids,” she said.
“I wanted to protect her. Both of them,”
he said, unable to stop talking about it now that he’d started. “Steph’s parents kicked her out when she got pregnant. It was the biggest scandal this town had seen in…a long time. I wanted to make it better. I fucked up her life and it was all anyone could talk about. She said it felt like everyone was staring at her, thinking about how we couldn’t keep our pants on. I just wanted to fix it. But she wouldn’t let me.”
Hannah set down the yearbook and took his face in her hands. “You were teenagers and you made decisions, together, that gave you a beautiful daughter.”
“She didn’t want to stay here and I couldn’t see how we could leave. But everyone was talking about us everywhere we went. I would have fixed it if she would have let me."
“Maybe she didn’t want you to.”
He pulled away from Hannah. It felt wrong to have another woman’s hands on him while he talked about Steph, like he was betraying her memory or something.
“Ethan, I only meant—”
“You’re right. She didn’t want me to fix it. She didn’t want me. She took my kid and left town, and it didn’t matter that I wanted to be there for her, that I wanted to be the father Tessa deserved, because Steph couldn’t handle being a town curiosity so she made those decisions for all of us.”
He felt like he’d downed an entire pot of coffee, the strong stuff they brewed at those fancy coffee shops in Providence. He was jittery and too aware of every prickle on his skin but he also felt like he was teetering on the edge of a crash, a comedown so epic he could see it from a mile away but was powerless to stop it.
And he couldn’t stop talking. Why couldn’t he stop talking?
“So now you know.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned away from her. “That’s my sordid little story. I fucked up when I was sixteen and no matter what I did I couldn’t put it right. I couldn’t make us a family. I lost out on most of my daughter's childhood because I was always going to stay and Steph was always going to leave.”
He blew out a long breath, shaking his head. “Bet you’re glad you let me tag along with you today.”
“I am, actually.”
She stepped towards him again and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
He tensed under her touch, but only for a moment, before he hugged her back, as though she could hold together the pieces of himself that were threatening to rip apart at the seams, the old doubts and fears bubbling to the surface. Hannah brushed her lips over his bicep and, as she did, some of his tension seeped away only to be replaced by a new kind of ache, a longing not for what might have been but for what could be.
For the first time in a long time, he let himself consider what it would be like to have what he wanted, not because it was the right thing or what someone expected of him or because it would fix anything, but because he wanted it.
He wanted everything.
With her.
Maybe this could be his second chance, one he hadn’t dared to hope for. An opportunity to prove to himself—and the town —that he could do things right. He could love someone enough for them to choose him. He could have the picket fence and the kids and the life he’d forfeited when he was still a dumb kid.
Hannah lifted her head, her eyes studying his. “I want to know you, Ethan Hart. Even the messy, sordid parts.”