Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHLOE
I stare out my window at where Ethan works, shirtless and wearing a pair of safety glasses that—I can’t lie—are definitely doing it for me.
Don’t even get me started on how freaking adorable he looked yesterday holding that kitten so gently in his big, rough hands.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say my neighbor was deliberately trying to provoke my libido.
But unfortunately for us both, I do know better.
If not even a soapy, post-surfing shower could entice him, nothing will.
I’ve had to close that chapter and move on to the one where I focus on all the other stuff in my life.
Does it make me sad? Of course. Is there anything I can do to change it? Unfortunately, no.
Which sucks so damn bad, because all that man-muscle glistening in the sun is making my head spin. And it’s not just the way he looks; it’s everything else about him too… how hard he works, how smart he is. His quiet version of kindness that isn’t boastful.
If he changes his mind, all he has to do is walk across the gap between our houses and say so.
I let my hand fall to the stack of mail that’s been piling up, carrying it over to the table along with my steaming “Coffee = Life” mug.
I’m usually full of energy after work, but today, I’m dragging.
The espresso machine at Mugs is on the fritz and it looks like I’m going to have to order a new one.
Not a huge deal, since I have an emergency fund for this sort of thing, but the fact that it’s going to take four days to get here is a bit of a problem.
The first two envelopes contain bills that aren’t due until the end of the month, so I tuck those into my folder where I keep my ever-growing “To Do” list.
The moment I open the thing, my plans for Mugs’ expansion float out, falling to the floor. The piece of notebook paper with frayed edges might not look like much to the untrained eye, but to me, this represents everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.
Back when I was in high school, Mugs was an ice cream parlor, and in the four years since I bought the building, I’ve taken it from dull and dilapidated to beach-chic.
Originally, I thought I could eat into the parking lot to add an outdoor space, but we’re so busy and need every single spot we have.
So last year, I spent the bulk of my savings on the sliver of land right next door.
More parking and a beautiful sitting area for folks to enjoy their coffee and the view.
Eventually.
All I need now is someone to take on the job of building the pergola I have in mind.
The floor creaks and Rick appears from the hallway, his hair a mess and about three-days’ worth of stubble covering his jaw. “Morning,” he croaks, shuffling to the cupboard to retrieve a mug and filling it to the brim with the coffee I brewed.
“Hey, Rick.”
He cups the mug with both hands, breathing in the rich, dark roast. “What’s that you have there?” He lifts his chin at the paper still in my hands.
“Nothing.” Even as I tuck the page back into the folder, he moves forward, reaching for the whole thing.
I clutch the folder to my chest, my smile brittle. What am I supposed to do now? I should tell him it’s something personal. Something private like… medical records. Yeah. That’s what I should say. “Medical records?”
Why did I say it with an inflection at the end, like I was asking a question? Dammit. I hate lying, and clearly I’m no good at it because Rick is frowning and gesturing for the damn folder.
He wants to see it? Fine. Maybe he’ll only notice the bills and offer to pay them.
HA! Man, I’m funny. It’s a wonder I’m still single.
I’d love to say my gaze doesn’t stray immediately to the window, but I’m weak, and when I catch a glimpse of Ethan bare-chested with that circular saw, my mouth goes drier than the sand on the dunes.
Rick snatches the folder right out of my hand, flipping it open without my permission.
The wrinkles across his brow deepen, and his lips turn down. “Is this for your place?”
Feign ignorance. It’s your last chance to avoid a very awkward conversation.
“Is what for my place?”
He flashes me the paper.
“Oh, that. Yeah. It’s just an idea I had, but I’m probably not going to do it. I need a new espresso machine, and that’s pretty pricey.”
He slurps his coffee, splashing a little on the edge of the page. “This is just like a pergola, right?”
“Yeah.” Except way cooler, thank you very much.
“Wouldn’t cost much,” he says. “I could do it for you, so all you’d have to pay for is the materials.” More slurping ensues.
Hold on. Is he offering to actually help? “Really?”
“Yeah. I could get started right away. Gotta earn my keep somehow.” He sets the page on the kitchen table, then fishes his glasses from his shirt pocket to examine my drawings more in depth.
I can’t believe he seems to be taking this seriously. When he offered to paint the house, it was an off-hand remark. He’s actually settling down at the kitchen table, still poring over my drawing.
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” I ask, wanting to give him an easy out just in case.
“Not at all.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “Thanks, Rick.” All going well, he might even have it finished by Memorial Day. This is bound to be the best season yet.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
I step to stand behind him, watching as he scribbles a list on the corner of the page. Screws. Braces. 8x8 posts. Ready-mix concrete.
“You need picnic tables too, right?” he murmurs, still jotting things down.
“Yeah. Just a few to start. I can always add more later.” Especially if they’re expensive.
“Are you going to want them painted?”
“Sure. I think that’d be nice.”
He nods in agreement. “Let me guess: Yellow?”
“Is there any other color?”
“Not in your world.” Chuckling, he adds yellow paint to the list along with brushes and paint thinner.
Making this list is further than he’s ever gotten on any of our projects. My mom is going to keel over when she finds out.
“How much do you think you’ll need for all of this?” I ask. I could get a loan from the bank, but would really rather not.
The pencil rolls across the table, landing on the linoleum floor. “Let me bring my truck down to the hardware store and get some prices,” he replies. “Maybe we can talk about it over dinner tonight? I can pick up Grandma’s Crabs?”
He’s going to pick up dinner?
Rick hasn’t paid for dinner in years. “That sounds amazing.”
With a smile and a nod, he pushes back from the table, folds up the list, and stuffs it into his pocket. I watch in complete shock as he snags his keys from the hook along with his worn-out baseball cap, and heads out into the sunny day.
My whole body feels lighter. I swear the sun is brighter too. And the water? It’s not completely freezing.
This is going to be a good day.
With my hair plastered to my face and salt coating my skin, I trudge through the sand on my way back home.
When I see Ethan sitting on my stairs, my stomach dips, but I quickly tamp down the little thrill of excitement.
He stands, adjusts the top of his low-slung jeans, and gives me a downright friendly, “Hey.”
“Um… hi?” Not sure why he’s here. Doesn’t he have more important things to do?
I prop my board against the railing and notice three new stairs in place of the broken, grayed ones.
Did Ethan replace them… or did Rick?
Last night, my dad said ten thousand should cover the cost of the renovations, which is kismet because after the cost of the espresso machine, that’s exactly what I have left. Today he’s securing the permits, so by the end of the week, he should be ready to start.
“You need something?” I ask Ethan, dragging down the zipper on my wetsuit. The breeze paints my skin in goosebumps.
His eyes track the movement, his throat clenching as he clears it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked like he’d swallowed a piece of glass. Maybe that’s why he’s here—he needs a ride to the hospital.
“Yeah. I need to apologize to you,” he says.
I go still. Talk about unexpected. First, Rick being genuinely helpful, and now Ethan apologizing? Am I dying or something? Have the ferry gods come through for me after all?
“Apologize for what?” I ask.
“For the other day. I feel like I offended you by saying our kiss was a mistake. That wasn’t my intention.”
The only thing he’s done to offend me is leave me alone in that shower—not that I’m going to come right out and say it. After a few drinks, maybe, but not standing here with the morning sun beating down on my face.
I lift a shoulder as I peel off one neoprene sleeve, then the other, letting my wetsuit hang half off. “There’s no need to apologize. You told me how you feel, and I’m respecting that.”
Ethan swipes a hand down his jaw, his rough palm meeting his stubble, making the most delicious rasping sound.
“And what if I said I don’t want you to respect it?
” he asks, sounding a little winded. “If I said I wanted you to knock on my door at the crack of dawn, drag me outside, and force me to try to surf? If I said I wanted you to make me stay out too late, drink too much, and share a sunset?”
My heart starts to pound harder, rattling the shell he gave me, which is still hanging around my neck. “I’d say you’re only feeling guilty for turning me down. And there’s no need.” I’m a freaking catch, and if he doesn’t see that, then it’s his loss.
He steps closer and leans in until we’re eye-level.
His gaze locks with mine, burning through me like green wildfire.
“I don’t feel guilty. I fucking regret it,” he says.
“I’ve always worked my ass off, but only now am I starting to realize how much life I’ve missed out on because of it.
” He slips a finger under my chin, tilting my face up.
“If I could go back to the other day and do it all over again, I’d do things differently.
” He swallows hard. “I’d make it worth every second. ”
The air escapes my lungs, leaving space to breathe him in... sawdust and pine.
Why now? I want to ask. Why not any of the other times I’ve suggested getting together?
But does it even matter? I’ve been attracted to this man since the moment his scowl came into my life. He’s only here for a little longer, and then he’ll be gone. If he wants another chance, I guess I’ll give him one more.
It’s his last, so he better make it “worth every second.”
I drift past Ethan, my pulse racing as I reach for the door to my outdoor shower. When I glance over my shoulder, I find him watching me, his eyes ablaze.
I step inside the shower and turn on the water, holding my breath to see if he’s ready to make good on his promise.