Chapter 24
Blake
Walking down Main Street toward the bank with the Tavern’s meager earnings for the week, the kernel of worry in my gut grows. The sun is warm on my back, but there’s a heavy, cold feeling in my chest as I get closer to the branch—each week the deposit has been getting smaller and smaller.
We finished up our turn at the wildlife center on Friday, and this week Ethan’s group moved back to the beach. I’ve just spent a long morning picking up tar balls in the shadow of the lighthouse—it was hard work, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, although the smell of oil still lingers even though I was wearing gloves and washed my hands several times since finishing.
Passing the quaint shops lining Main Street, my phone pings. My heart skips a beat, and I’m reaching for it, hoping it’s David finally returning my messages. Instead, it’s Ethan. A smile spreads across my face as I read his text, telling me how beautiful I am and how he can’t wait to see me later.
He’s coming to my hip-hop class tonight. He was hesitant when I asked, but he agreed, which kind of shocked me. Everyone knows Ethan doesn’t dance, and just the thought of him trying to follow along makes me giggle. But there’s a method to my madness—he’s been extra pedantic with everyone on the beach, and I want to remind him how much more fun he has when he lets go of his intense need to control everything just a little.
It’s been a week since we decided to give our relationship a proper go, and it’s been amazing. Ethan is still a control freak about a lot of things—like organizing the cleanup crew and planning out our days down to the minute—but it’s just who he is. And honestly, part of me loves that about him. He makes me feel grounded in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
And even though he doesn’t listen sometimes, I know he’s doing it because he cares. Like how he insists on helping me clean the bar even though I’ve told him a hundred times that I’m fine. He’ll take a sponge, his jaw set in that determined way of his, and start scrubbing the bar himself, like he can’t handle just watching while I work.
When we’re grocery shopping, he’ll meticulously arrange the cart, making sure nothing gets squished, and then later, when we’re making dinner, he’ll take over entirely, insisting he has the perfect recipe and that I should just relax and enjoy the meal.
I’ve realized it’s not about him thinking I can’t do it. It’s his way of showing he cares, of making sure everything is perfect for me. And the truth is, I’ve grown to appreciate it even if it irks me sometimes. His need to control every detail is just one of those mildly annoying quirks that can actually be pretty endearing.
When he calls to remind me of our plans for the day, or sends a text outlining the schedule for the cleanup, there’s a part of me that feels taken care of, like I have someone in my corner. It’s a new feeling, and I’m still getting used to it, but it’s surprisingly good.
Reaching the bank, all thoughts of this morning’s cleanup and Ethan evaporate in an instant. I push open the glass door, cool air conditioning washing over me as I step inside, the teller greeting me. I nod in return, the kernel of worry returning bigger than before as I join the line. The numbers have been troubling me. A lot.
As I wait, my phone pings again. Another message from Ethan, this time with a silly selfie of him and Bandit, the blue heeler drinking a puppuccino in front of May’s bookshop. My smile returns briefly.
The line shifts and it’s finally my turn. After making the deposit with the teller, I ask to see the bank manager. Mr. Thompson is older, with graying hair and thick-rimmed glasses that magnify his pale blue eyes. He’s a kind man, always has been, but today I need more than kindness.
We sit down in his small office, surrounded by stacks of papers and the faint hum of the air conditioning. I fold my hands in my lap and meet his eye, getting straight to the point.
“I’m sorry to ask, but I really need an extension on our next mortgage repayment. The Tavern’s earnings have been hit hard by the oil spill, and we’re going to be struggling to make the next one.”
He leans back in his chair, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Blake, I understand your situation, but the mortgage is in your moms’ names. Without them coming in to discuss this, there’s not much I can do. Bank policy, you know.”
I swallow my disappointment. “I get it. I’ll talk to them and see if they can come in.”
“Please do. We’ll do our best to help, but we need to follow the rules.”
“Please don’t mention anything to them if you see them around town. I want a chance to speak to them first.”
“Of course.”
I thank him and leave the bank, heading straight to the Tavern, hoping the familiar routine will help me clear my mind and figure out what the heck I’m going to do. Telling my mom we can’t make the mortgage repayment is not an option, especially when she’s finally starting to do a little better.
When I arrive, Lucy is already there, setting up the bar for the day ahead, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s a good worker, and it’s always nice to have her around. We chat about our days as we work, and her older brother—and my good friend, Jake—comes up in conversation.
Lucy leans against the bar, turning to look at me, tanned arms folded across her chest. “Adele’s going to be thirteen in a few months. Can you believe it?”
“Thirteen? God, I remember when she was born.”
“I know, right. Jake’s freaking out about having a teenage daughter.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I can imagine. I bet he’s remembering everything we got up to in high school.”
“Yeah, he’s trying his best to act cool, but he’s worried.”
Thinking back to when Jake’s ex-girlfriend found out she was pregnant just after senior year. He was dating Kelly Charleston at the time and they seemed so in love, but he ended things with her to do the right thing . It was the biggest scandal at the time. Things didn’t work out between Jake and Adele’s mom, but they’ve managed to have a good co-parenting relationship for Adele. And Jake is such a good dad.
An unexpected jolt hits me: a memory of my own dad, of the bedtime stories he used to tell me. How much I still miss him sometimes.
Lucy’s looking at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking back to high school. We were all a little crazy. Ethan was probably the worst.”
“He was such a bad boy. All the girls wanted him. Remember that black leather jacket he used to wear? And that beat-up car his dad got him? He was the first one out of the boys to get a car and they’d all pile in.”
“Yeah, I remember.” It feels like only yesterday, back when Danny was still alive, before we even started dating. Time has a way of slipping past so fast, everything changing in small ways, little by little. Then one day, looking around, everything’s different.
The memory of those high school days feels both distant and close, like a dream I can’t quite grasp. I think about how much we’ve all changed since then, the ways we’ve grown and the challenges we’ve faced, like losing Danny.
Lucy grins at me, pulling me from my thoughts. “It’s funny to think Harbor’s Edge’s biggest playboy is at your beck and call. I never thought I’d see the day that Ethan would be swooning over anyone .”
“Ha. It’s not like that.”
“Yes it is. He’s obsessed with you. In a good way!”
“Maybe.” Although part of me knows she’s right, and I love it.
I get through the rest of the shift on automatic, my mind switching focus from Ethan to a whirl of numbers and worry. Lucy chats about her weekend plans, and the bar remains quiet, like it has for weeks—by 7 p.m., it’s clear we’re not getting any more customers tonight. Lucy leaves first and I lock up, the click of the door echoing in the empty space.
Texting Ethan, I head straight to the community center. He’s already there, leaning against the wall outside, fidgeting, hands in his pockets: he’s feeling out of his element. When he sees me, he straightens up and gives me an adorable crooked smile.
“Seriously? I’ve got two left feet, remember? I’m going to embarrass you so bad tonight.”
“You’ll do fine.” I step closer. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me softly. For a moment, the world feels a little less heavy.
“How was your afternoon?”
“Nothing to report,” I reply quickly.
His eyes search mine, concern etched in his features. “Are you okay? You seem... off.”
“It was fine. Just the usual stuff. Class is about to start, we should go in.”
He doesn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing slightly, but he shrugs. “Alright. Lead the way.”
We walk into the community center together, heading for the dance and yoga studio at the back. The room is brightly lit, mirrors lining the walls, and a few people are already warming up, upbeat music playing in the background.
“Let’s just have some fun. It’ll be good to let off some steam.”
Ethan still looks skeptical. “If you say so, princess.”
Taking his hand, leading him to the center of the room. We start stretching. He looks so out of place, but there’s something endearing about it. He’s here for me, even though it’s not his thing.
The hip hop dance instructor, Jaz, walks in. She’s a whirlwind of energy with a muscular build, brightly colored leggings, and a tank top that shows off her tattooed arms, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail.
As Jaz calls the class to order, Ethan shoots me another concerned glance. “You sure you’re okay?”
The knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s do this.”
We begin with some basic moves, and I catch Ethan glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, trying to mimic my steps. “You’re doing great,” I whisper to him, nudging him playfully with my elbow.
“Liar,” he mutters. His movements are stiff and awkward, and his handsome face frowns.
“Come on, loosen up. Think of it as a workout.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods. The music picks up pace, and his steps are still hesitant, but he soon starts to get the hang of it, his body moving more fluidly until he stumbles over his own feet, drawing good-natured laughs from the others in the class.
He shrugs: “I’m never living this down, am I?”
“Probably not.”
Jaz claps her hands, her voice cutting through the music. “Alright, everyone, keep those feet moving! Remember, it’s all about the rhythm. Feel the music, let it flow through you. Hip hop isn’t just a set of moves, it’s art with your body.”
She steps forward, her energy infectious, and throws her arm out to the side with a sharp snap, then brings it across her body in a fluid wave. “Like this, everyone! Sharp, then smooth. Come on, you got this!” She repeats the move a few times, her body flowing effortlessly to the beat, encouraging us to follow her lead.
She glances at Ethan, who’s stopped in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, looking totally lost. “Come on, Ethan! You got this! Don’t be afraid to let loose. Give me some attitude!”
“You heard her, Mr. Boss Man. Show us what you’ve got!”
Ethan rolls his eyes but can’t seem to help the smile tugging at his lips. “Attitude, huh? Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you all.”
Jaz smirks. “Come on, give us your best diva strut, and don’t forget that arm movement I just showed you. Sharp and then smooth.”
Ethan tries to strut, exaggeratedly swinging his hips while trying to follow Jaz’s routine, and trips again, sending everyone into fits of laughter.
“Okay, maybe not that much attitude,” he says as he gets to his feet.
Jaz shakes her head, still smiling. “You’re doing great. Just keep moving!”
I lean in close to him. “I think you’ve got a new career ahead of you. Maybe a backup dancer for JLo?”
Ethan pauses, catching his breath. “I think I’ll stick to jumping out of planes. But hey, this is actually kinda fun.”
“And you’re getting better. Look at you, Mr. Boss Man. Getting out of your comfort zone. It’s nice not always being the one in charge, right?”
He gives me a sideways glance, his voice dry. “Who would’ve thought?”
As the class progresses, Ethan continues to improve. He’s still the worst in the room, but he’s having fun, and by the end of the class, he’s smiling and genuinely enjoying himself.
When Jaz calls it a night, we thank her and head out together. It’s dark outside, and we both wave and call out “Good night,” to a group who attended the dance class and are heading in the opposite direction.
Once we’re alone, Ethan pulls me aside, leaning back against one of the big glass windows of the now dark community center, his thighs bracketing mine as I stand in front of him. His previous smile is gone, eyes now filled with concern. A sinking feeling moves through me: I know what’s about to come next.
“Blake, what’s really going on? You’ve been off this evening. And there’s no dance class about to start, so don’t brush me off.”
“I’m really fine.” But he sees right through it, looking inside, making me feel bare, vulnerable.
“Hey, we agreed to give this relationship a shot. That means I’m here for you. That we can rely on each other, right?”
I’m so uncomfortable I’m fighting the urge to just start running down the street, putting as much distance between us as possible. But the way Ethan’s looking at me, like his life’s mission is to make me happy, to take away my burdens, makes me pause. I give a small nod.
“So tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s just... the mortgage on the bar needs to be paid, but earnings are way down because of the oil spill, and I don’t want to tell my mom.”
“She’s not going to blame you.” His hand strokes my arm gently, grounding me. “Just talk to her about it.”
“It’s not just that. I didn’t tell you before, but my moms are having some trouble. Mama Charlotte left a few months ago. She rented a place in Philadelphia and they’ve supposedly trying to figure out their relationship, but they hardly talk and never see each other. It’s been really hard on Mom, and I don’t want to burden her.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
I pause, feeling a lump in my throat. “She’s been a little fragile lately. If she thinks I’m falling apart, it might push her over the edge. I can’t risk that.”
Ethan’s expression softens, and he pulls me into a hug. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help.”
The sincerity in his voice makes me feel a little lighter, but there’s nothing he can do. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything that will help. Unless you’re a miracle worker.”
He holds me tighter. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
Part of me is still desperate to sprint away, to put distance between the two of us, but another part enjoys the feel of his arms around me, his promise that everything is going to be okay. And so I lean in, letting the broadness of him wrap around me, closing my eyes. Breathing him in.