Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHLOE
The warm mug in my hand never makes it to my lips. They’re too busy wearing what feels like a permanent smile, one full of secrets and thoroughly kissed.
Willow clears her throat, the front of her apron splattered with foam from where she stuck the wand too deep into the milk. “You okay, Clo?”
What I want to say is, “Ethan freaking Davis rocked my world so hard I can still feel him between my thighs.”
But since we’re in the middle of the coffee shop, and the barnacles are so close that I can hear them slurping from their mugs, I go with, “I’m great.”
So, so great.
Ethan was… I don’t even have words to describe him.
This morning was completely unexpected, especially when I’d convinced myself he and I were never going to happen.
Now I feel vindicated, and a little silly for doubting myself.
But also—holy cow. Can we talk about how that man dominated every inch of my body?
I knew he was strong; I’ve spent the better part of the last few weeks obsessing over those arms of his.
But to pick me up like I weighed no more than the foam on a cappuccino and blow my mind? That was no mean feat.
Call me a glutton, but I am absolutely craving more, more, more.
The door swings wide and my obsession walks through like he owns the place, thick shoulders high and proud, and a smirk on his lips when our eyes catch. Before he makes it to the counter, I have his coffee just the way he likes it, in my favorite pug mug.
Willow snorts, muttering under her breath, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this story.”
I sidle closer so that only she can hear. “It’s a pretty good one, with a really happy ending.”
Her laughter follows me to the counter, where Ethan waits, scanning the menu like he hasn’t come in enough times to have it memorized.
I slide the mug across the counter without a word, waiting to see how he’s going to play this.
Ethan hooks his fingers through the handle and raises the drink to his lips, the steam curling around his brow as he stares at me, his gaze slowly sliding down my body, like he can see right through my yellow shirt and jean shorts. “Hey.”
The deep rumble of his voice wreaks havoc on my lady parts. “Hey. You here for lunch?”
His tongue, which assaulted my body only a few hours ago, rolls along the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Worked up quite the appetite this morning.” He pats his stomach, but of course my horny eyes glide right past, down to the front of his jeans.
I rest my elbows on the counter. Thank goodness it’s separating us, otherwise, there’s no telling what I’d do. “Really? Been doing a lot of hammering?” I tease, keeping my voice low.
The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkles, and his lips twitch as he eases forward to whisper back. “Not as much as I’d like.”
I burst out laughing. How can I not?
The barnacles glance up from their mugs, brows raised as they cast wary looks between me and my new favorite customer.
Right. We should probably keep the innuendos to a minimum in case anyone overhears.
I snag a notepad from beneath the counter and click the top of the pen I keep in my apron, ready to take his order.
“You want a Reuben to go?”
“I’ll have it here, if that’s okay?”
It’s more than okay. It’s fantastic and wonderful and amazing. “Yeah, no problem.” I jot down the order and slip it through the window for our cook to add it to the other tickets hanging over the grill. Ethan waits by the picture of the lighthouse, his arms folded as he takes in the café.
Between Tilly and me, we make short work of the line. My mother comes in for her cup of decaf, but she breezes back out just as quickly on her way to the hairdresser for a blowout, saving me from having to introduce her to Ethan.
Him meeting Rick was bad enough.
Boone from the surf shop stops by, which is perfect because I still haven’t returned the wetsuit I rented for Ethan. He tells me there’s no rush, throws a five into the tip jar, then saunters over to the barnacles for a quick chat.
By the time Ethan’s order is up, the tables are full and there’s only Young Tom milling around, trying to decide between a club and a hot ham and cheese.
Willow tells me she can handle him, and I love her even more.
I do not feel like enduring his flirting or having to turn him down again.
The poor man really needs to find someone new to pine over.
Before I bring out Ethan’s sandwich, I grab the bottle of hot sauce that I may or may not have purchased solely for my grumpiest customer.
When I hand Ethan his plate, he glances around the cafe with a furrowed brow. The only seat available is beside Mrs. McVittie and, unless he wants to talk about her whale mug and her visit to Alaska where she bought said whale mug, he’s outta luck.
Considering how cool yesterday was, it’s pretty nice today. Low humidity, only a slight breeze. One of those spring days that surprise you this close to summer. “Take this outside and I’ll meet you by the fence,” I say.
His lips purse, but he asks no questions as he weaves his way through the tables to the exit.
I tell Willow I’ll be right back, then hurry through the kitchen to my office, stacking and dragging the two chairs out the back door and around to where Ethan studies our gutters with a little too much interest.
When he sees me lugging the chairs, he makes a grumpy sound in his throat that shouldn’t do it for me but does, and then sets his plate and mug right on the gravel to carry the chairs for me.
“Right there is good,” I tell him, indicating where he should put them.
He looks like a giant on a child’s chair when he sits down, and for some reason, it’s the cutest thing. He must’ve knocked my brain loose this morning.
Ethan grips his sandwich with both hands.
“Wait! I almost forgot I have a present for you,” I say. I whip the hot sauce from my back pocket and his whole face lights up. He practically throws his sandwich back on the plate, and then motions for the bottle, like I’m going to let him get his greasy fingers all over it.
With a roll of my eyes, I flip open the top piece of bread and twist the lid free, tilting the bottle so the red juice can dribble out. “Say when.”
He sits there with a smirk as I dump more and more onto his sandwich—the bottle is halfway gone—and then I decide enough is enough.
“It’s like you don’t even want to taste it,” I tease. The corned beef and Swiss cheese would be impossible to distinguish if your mouth were on fire.
“I think I’ve already proven that I enjoy tasting it.”
This man is dangerous when he’s inappropriate, as evidenced by the way my thighs press together automatically.
My smile widens as I slip the hot sauce back into my pocket, and Ethan tucks into his sandwich.
The man’s appreciative groan makes me think of some other sounds he made today, and I feel my face flush.
“It’s nice out here,” he says after a particularly large bite, trading what remains of his sandwich for his mug.
“I know. That’s why I want an outdoor space for days like today, when being inside feels like a crime against mother nature.”
He takes a few quiet sips, swallowing thoughtfully. “A pergola with a surfboard roof. I remember.”
And I thought I couldn’t like him more. “That’s right. My dad is at the hardware store as we speak, grabbing everything he needs to complete the project.”
His brows shoot up. “Your dad is doing the work?”
“Yep. Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are, but it’s true.
I’m also getting picnic tables, so people can kick off their shoes while they’re enjoying the best coffee on the island.
” Man, I’d kill for a beachfront lot, but that’s not going to happen unless I win the lottery.
Which won’t happen unless I start playing the lottery.
Ethan drags the napkin stuck between his plate and thigh, cleaning his hands. “It sounds like a really great plan.”
“Thanks.” I think so too.
As if on cue, my dad’s truck whips into the parking lot, bypassing all the empty spaces to stop nearly on top of us.
A second truck follows, pulling up just behind him.
My dad climbs out with a grin on his face, his Quick Fix hat slightly askew as he walks around to the bed of the truck, where two picnic tables have been stacked and tied down with ratchet straps.
“Hey, Clo.” He bobs his head in greeting.
I push off the chair, crossing the gravel to meet him, my heart so full it feels as if it’s about to burst. “Where did you get these tables?”
“The old diner. Talked Verna Tillman into parting with them for real cheap, too.” He slaps the graying wooden bench seat. “They might not look like much now, but a little elbow grease and TLC and they’ll be good as new.”
“They’re great. Thanks, Dad.”
He jerks his chin toward where Ethan is standing with his arms crossed. “Care to use those muscles of yours for good?” he calls.
I give his arm a playful whap. “Don’t bother customers while they’re having lunch. I can help you.” I’m stronger than I look.
Ethan stomps toward Rick, his jaw tight, insisting he doesn’t mind. He helps Rick heft the tables from the backs of the two trucks.
Now I have an actual picnic area.
It’ll be too hot in the summer as-is, but once my pergola is finished, it’s going to be perfect.
The crunch of gravel beneath tires cuts my celebration time before it can even begin. Two minivans pull in next to Old Tom’s truck.
Looks like break time is over. “I should get back to work.”
I grab Ethan’s plate and empty mug. He trails behind me with the chairs, throwing glances at my dad from over his shoulder.
I tell him to leave the chairs in the kitchen. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you…” Do I say later? Do I say tomorrow? Do I say nothing at all and leave it like that?
“Tonight,” he finishes with a spark in his eyes.
“Tonight,” I agree with a bob of my head and a jittery warmth in my stomach.
After work, I head in the direction of home, passing up Willow’s invite for dinner and drinks at the Sand Dollar.
There’s no food in my house, so I swing by the Italian place on the way and order the largest pizza they have.
I’m sweaty and need a shower, but instead of going inside, I carry the takeout straight to Ethan’s.
He answers on my second knock, looking like dessert in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He nods down at the cardboard box. “Is that for us?”
I love that he asked if it’s for us, not just for him. “Sure is. You hungry?”
“Ravenous.” His phone lets out a shrill ring from where it sits on the counter. He rushes over, but it’s not a call. I peek over his shoulder. It’s an alarm that he has literally labeled “Eat dinner.”
“You need an alarm to remind you to eat?”
“Sometimes I get busy and forget.” With a shrug, he throws open the box. “What kind of pizza is this?”
“A quarter Hawaiian and three-quarters meat lovers with extra jalapenos.”
“I’m too hungry to give you shit about eating pineapple on pizza.” He grabs two plates from the cupboard and, to my surprise, breaks off a slice of Hawaiian and sets it on the plate for me.
We stand at the island eating, and he takes out two bottles of beer, handing me one. I could so get used to this—
No. Nope. Dangerous thoughts. I could get used to coming home to someone, sharing a beer, sitting on the porch and watching the sunset, but that someone isn’t Ethan Davis.
He’s leaving.
Don’t get attached.
Kat decides to make her appearance, her tail flicking in the air behind her as she trots into the room and wraps herself around Ethan’s ankle like she’d climb him if she could. You and me both, girl.
Ethan scoops her up, letting the little furball tuck herself into his chest.
“She seems to be settling in pretty well,” I say, a little jealous at how close she nuzzles.
“Yeah. It’s nice having someone happy to see me when I finish up for the day.”
It’s so funny how our thoughts are so similar, like he might be as lonely as I am. Don’t get me wrong—there’s no shortage of people I love in this town, my two girls being top of the list. But it’s not the same as having someone to cuddle under the covers with at night and wake up next to.
“How did the work go with the pergola today?” he asks, pulling back my thoughts.
“There wasn’t a lot of pergola work done,” I admit, “but Dad did get all the tables sanded and the first coat of paint on.” All in all, a successful first day.
“I wish I could help you out, but without a license and the right insurance in North Carolina—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He has enough on his plate without me adding to it. “Rick is actually helping me.” For once. “He ordered all the lumber, and my friend over at the surf shop has the boards ready to go. You might even get to see it finished before you head back north.”
My stomach churns at the thought of him leaving.
The joys and sorrows of a fling.
I stick around until Ethan starts to yawn. Usually I’m the first one to tap out, but he looks like he’s hanging on by a thread. It doesn’t help that he has a mini hot water bottle curled in his arms, purring away.
I push off the counter and bring both our plates to the sink. “I should get home.”
“Or you could stay here.”
I could, except… “I really need a shower.”
“If only I had one of those,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Okay, smartass. Let me run home to grab something to throw on later.”
“There’s no need. I’m only going to strip you out of it.”
Ethan makes good on his promise, and when we fall asleep on his bed, my body aches in the best way.
The next morning, at exactly five o’clock, my alarm goes off. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel like getting out of bed to surf. Technically, I had an intense workout last night, so I should probably give myself time to recuperate.
Ethan doesn’t budge, not even when his own alarm goes off thirty minutes later. I turn the thing off, only to find seven more alarms set between now and noon—all of them labeled.
Oh my God. The poor guy deserves one day to sleep in without having to—Does that say “shave at 8:15?”
Yeah. That can wait.
With a few click, click, clicks, all the alarms are turned off. I slip out of bed and pad downstairs to a symphony of mewing coming from the laundry room.
Kat scratches the door with her tiny claws. I let her out, fill up her food bowl, and give her enough belly rubs to placate her, then I head over to my place to get ready for work.