Chapter 28
Blake
I’m in the kitchen, stirring a pot of risotto, following a cookbook recipe for what might be the second time in my life. The aroma of garlic and white wine fills the air, and even though it’s a basic meal, it’s hard not to feel a little proud of myself.
Mom’s kitchen is a warm, inviting space that feels like the heart of our home. The walls are painted a soft yellow, and the cabinets are a creamy white, with wooden bench tops, giving the room a bright, cheerful farmhouse vibe, a place where many family meals were shared and memories made, before Mama Charlotte made a decision that cast a pall over everything the three of us had together.
Pots and pans hang from a wrought iron rack above the island, and a collection of cookbooks lines a shelf next to the window. The countertops are cluttered with jars of spices, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a well-used coffee machine.
I’m barefoot and the terracotta tiles are cool. Ethan’s on his way over and my mom is setting the kitchen table, humming softly to herself, wearing a pretty gray linen dress, her hair swept back into a bun. The home phone rings, and I wipe my hands on a towel before picking it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me.” It’s Mama Charlotte and my heart skips a beat. I haven’t heard from her in more than a week, and last time we spoke she was talking about looking for a bigger place so I could come and visit. Which means coming home is not high on her list of priorities.
“Hey, Mama Charlotte.”
Mom straightens, staring at me. We lock eyes across the room.
I hold the phone closer, hating the spike of anxiety lancing through me. “How are you? Do you want to talk to Mom? She’s right here.”
There’s a pause. “Actually, I don’t have much time. I just called to say hi to you and see how things are going.”
I glance at Mom, who’s looking at me with a hopeful expression. A small shake of my head that hurts me just as much as Mom—I can barely handle the look on her face when she realizes Mama Charlotte doesn’t want to speak to her.
“Oh, okay,” I say into the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well, things are fine. We’re just about to have dinner.”
Mom turns away, staring at the woven placemats the two of them bought on vacation in Honolulu a couple of years ago, her finger teasing the rough edge. I want to ask Mama Charlotte so many things—what’s going on, if she’s still seeing that other woman, when she’s coming back, why she won’t talk to Mom—but I’m scared to rock the boat and drive her further away.
“Look I should go. I have something on the stove.”
A heavy pause, bulging with all the things we don’t say. “Okay. Call me when you have more time. I’m thinking of you.”
“Yeah, we miss you, too,” I reply, the words feeling hollow. “I’ll try to get hold of you tomorrow.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up, a solid, choking lump in my throat, and turn to Mom, who’s busying herself with the cutlery, pretending she’s fine. I walk over and wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. She leans into the hug, and we stand there for a moment, both full of unspoken questions and worries.
“How’s the risotto coming along?” Mom asks, her voice a little shaky.
“It’s almost ready.” I pull back, giving her a reassuring smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Someone knocks on the door, and I glance at my watch. It has to be Ethan, and I hurry to let him in. He stands there on the porch in the dusk light looking impossibly handsome, wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, holding a bottle of red wine. His dark curly hair is still a little wet from the shower and the strong line of his jaw is freshly shaven.
As soon as he steps through the door and sees we’re alone, he pulls me into an intense kiss. His lips are warm and demanding, sending a thrill through my entire body. I lose myself in the moment, my fingers tangling in his hair, before finally pulling back to catch my breath.
“Come on,” I say, leading him into the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
He grabs my hand, holding me in place, an urgent look entering his gaze. “Have you heard from David?”
“No, nothing.”
He looks a little relieved and gives me a nod, finally releasing my hand.
Mom looks up from the stove when we walk into the kitchen. She’s stirring the pot of risotto, and her face brightens when she sees Ethan. “So glad you could make it tonight. Blake’s been slaving over this meal for the better part of an hour. I think it’s the longest she’s ever spent in the kitchen!” She winks at me.
“Good to see you too, Mrs. Summerton,” Ethan replies, kissing her on the cheek and giving her the wine. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I think Blake’s got it under control. Why don’t you sit down while we plate everything up? ”
“The kitchen smells amazing.” Ethan glances at me as he sits and deliberately folds his hands in his lap, holding my gaze as if to say, see—I don’t always take over . He smirks as I roll my eyes.
The garlic bread comes out of the oven and I spoon the risotto onto plates, before grating some parmesan cheese and adding chopped flat-leaf parsley, feeling proud. Soon the plates are on the table, and Mom pours the wine, and we’re eating and drinking like Mama Charlotte never even called at all.
Mom looks at Ethan. “How was your week?”
He leans back in his chair, looking relaxed and happy to be here. “Pretty good, thanks. It’s a relief that most of the clean up is done.”
“I bet. It’s been a long couple of months.”
“It hasn’t been all bad. We had a great team. And you should have seen some of the guys on the beach—they’ve been a riot.”
He shoots a look at me, and I nod, both of us sharing a smile.
“The other day,” Ethan continues, “Carlos and his brother decided they’d show off their surfing skills on an old piece of driftwood. Let’s just say it didn’t end well. Carlos ended up being dumped by a big wave face-first in the sand, and none of us could stop laughing.”
Mom swallows a mouthful of risotto and laughs softly, the sound a little forced but genuine. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the crew.”
“They keep things interesting,” Ethan says. He takes a sip of the wine, his eyes on me. “And Blake here, she’s been amazing. Couldn’t have done it without her.”
“She’s a wonderful person,” Mom replies.
“And how have you been, Mrs. Summerton? What have you been up to lately?”
Mom straightens in her chair. “Oh, you know, keeping busy. I’ve been volunteering with Patrick’s group, helping out with the clean-up efforts. It’s good to stay active and feel like I’m contributing, especially seeing as Blake has the Tavern under control.”
I work hard to keep my expression neutral, nodding to confirm everything’s fine . We continue to chat about the clean-up until Mom excuses herself, pushing her chair back slowly. She gives Ethan a soft smile before disappearing down the hall. My heart tightens as I watch her retreating figure.
Turning to Ethan, lowering my voice. It’s gotten a lot easier to open up to him, but there’s still a bit of hesitation before I speak.
“Mama Charlotte called earlier.” My fingers play with the edge of the tablecloth. “She didn’t want to speak to Mom. Just called to check in with me.”
Ethan’s brow furrows, concern etched in his beautiful gray eyes. “Yeah, your mom didn’t seem herself. I’m sorry about that. I really hope they can work things out. It must be tough on both of them. And on you.”
I bite my lip, feeling the truth of his words. The tension between my moms has been a constant shadow, and the uncertainty gnaws at me. I hate seeing Mom so down, and not having Mama Charlotte around is agony. Some days I feel like I’m a kid again, the constant worry over whether I’m going to be moved, and if so, where.
Ethan’s looking at me and I force away all the fears I know are so damned irrational. I’m a grown ass woman. I invited him over for dinner, not a therapy session, and tonight I don’t want to dwell—what I need is a distraction, something to shake off the heaviness in my chest. A sudden burst of inspiration hits me.
“You know what? I’m sick of thinking about all of this. How about a night swim? That first beach we stopped at on our last adventure is only about a half hour drive from here.”
Ethan looks at me, eyebrows raised, a skeptical expression in his eyes. “A night swim? We have an early start tomorrow. We’re too busy, princess.”
I finally laugh, the sound light, some of the tightness easing in my chest. “Come on, Mr. Boss Man. You know how good it feels when you let go and do something a little wild. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
He hesitates, glancing around as if weighing the pros and cons. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, his instinct to stay in control battling with the temptation of spontaneity. And I know he’s remembering how much fun we got up to last time. It’s time to change tack, really convince him this is a good idea.
“Look, I know you’re worried about tomorrow, but we’ve been working nonstop. We deserve a break. And I need this. I need to feel like everything isn’t falling apart for a little while.”
His expression softens, analysis giving way to understanding. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s do it. But you owe me for dragging me out on a crazy adventure when we should be getting an early night.”
“Deal. Now let me grab a couple of towels and let’s get out of here.”
I let Mom know I’m heading out and we walk to his pickup. The night air is cool but refreshing, and the slight chill prickles my skin in a way that feels exhilarating. It’s just what I need to take my mind off everything.
As we drive, the familiar sounds of the town fade away, replaced by the soft hum of the truck’s engine, the landscape around us dark and shadowed. We pull off the main road and turn onto a dirt road, the tires crunching over gravel and kicking up small clouds of dust behind us. The way is narrow and potholed, flanked by dense bushes and tall grasses.
Ethan navigates the twists and turns with ease, and soon we reach the secluded beach. It’s a hidden gem, small but picture perfect. The moon hangs low in the sky, its silvery glow casting a magical light over the sand and waves, the ocean shimmering, each wave catching the light and reflecting it back like a thousand tiny mirrors.
“I remember this place from our adventure. You’re right, it’s beautiful. What’s this beach called?” Ethan’s looking around like he finally thinks this crazy swim idea isn’t actually so crazy.
“I don’t know. Let’s just call it our Secret Spot .”
“I like that.”
We park the truck and step out, kicking off our shoes and walking barefoot toward the water, the cool sand crunching beneath our feet. The beach is deserted, and the only sounds are the gentle lapping of the waves and the distant call of a night bird.
“Come on,” I say, letting go of his hand and running for the water.