Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHLOE
Needless to say, I did not forget to lock my door when I left home this morning. What happened to Ethan’s brother was awful, and the last thing I want is for him to worry about my safety. He’s probably right to warn me; you never know who might be in town during tourist season.
That said, it’s a bit disappointing to know I won’t come home and have Ethan surprise me in my living room again. Good thing he’s outside Mugs, watching Rick work on the pergola, otherwise I’d have no one to stare at on my break.
If Dad keeps this pace, he’ll be finished by the end of the week. And with the way Ethan is scowling at him, that might just happen.
Two women in matching floppy hats push through the front door, removing their glasses in tandem like a pair of synchronized swimmers. Their giggles reach my ears despite the loud conversations around me.
They’re both drooling in the direction of the window, and I have a feeling I know what has them in a tizzy. Spoiler: it’s not my dad.
“I wonder if he’s single,” the one with tangerine-colored curls and a smear of white sunscreen on her nose says to the other.
“You should give him your number,” the other one replies, bobbing her head.
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Sure. Go ahead and give him your number. Then I’ll find it and burn it.
My cheeks ache from my forced smile as they step up to the register. “Welcome to Mugs. What can I get you?”
“I don’t suppose he’s on the menu,” Tangerine says to the sound of her friend’s snort. Through the window, Ethan’s biceps flex as he helps move a picnic table so that Dad can get started on the roof.
“If he is,” her friend chimes in, “I’ll take one as well.”
Cue more giggles.
“How about an Americano instead?” I offer once I manage to unclench my jaw.
Tangerine shakes her head, tapping her glossy lips as she scans the menu. “No. I’ll have a chai latte. And can you add two shots of vanilla? Not one. Two.”
I heard you the first time, lady. “Two. Got it. Are these together or separate?”
“Separate, please.” She sets her purse on the counter and whips out a credit card. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”
I key in her order, then unclip the pen from my apron and hand it over. She taps the card reader, stuffs her card back into her purse, and steals one of our new branded napkins to scribble on.
Oh, would you look at that? She wrote down her phone number.
“Can I get a name for the order?” I ask.
“It’s Melanie, dear.” With a flick of her ponytail, Melanie dear marches back outside, then reappears through the side window, where she wiggles her fingers at Ethan until he steps around the cement mixer to where she waits.
A bell chimes, and I turn to find the other woman with her palm flat on the service bell. “Um… hello? Aren’t you going to take my order?”
Days like today make me wish that the customer wasn’t always right. “What can I get you?”
She orders the same thing as her friend, then proceeds to pay me with exact change, down to the penny.
Willow drifts over to where we stock the syrups and returns with two mugs—the beloved poop emoji and a black one covered with skulls.
Both excellent choices. Although if I’d been the one to pick, Melanie dear would’ve gotten the rooster-flipping-the-middle-finger mug we save for the most special occasions.
The second woman stares down at them like she’s never seen cups before. “We wanted these to go.”
Probably should have said that before you ordered instead of ogling my man. “Then you’ll have to purchase a reusable cup.” I gesture to the collection on display along the back shelf.
“Seriously?”
Yes, seriously. “I’m afraid the island banned single-use cups. If you want it to go, that’s your only option.”
I assume she changes her mind about wanting them to go because she loops her fingers through the mug handles and carries them out to where her friend is still chatting with Ethan.
I almost break my neck trying not to gawk at them. What could they possibly be talking about? From here, his scowl doesn’t even look that deep. Surely, he isn’t enjoying her company.
Willow comes up to me, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Careful with that frown. You’re scaring the regulars.”
Sure enough, the barnacles are watching me from over their coffee cups, their wrinkled faces shifting from me to where Ethan has finally gotten rid of his fan club.
Of course, the women don’t come back inside. Oh, no. They’ve settled on one of my new picnic tables, watching him while he goes back to helping my dad. For the love of…
Harry’s chair screeches as he pushes back from the table, taking his cane and mug outside to where the work is happening. The other two shuffle along after him.
Bless those men. They stop right in front of the women, blocking their view.
I love my girls more than anything and, until this evening, I was looking forward to a night of junk food, giggles, and gossip.
Then the unthinkable happened.
I came home from work the same as any other day, went into my bathroom, and stripped down for my shower. While I was waiting for the water to get nice and steamy, I caught sight of something on my arm that ruined the whole night.
Hell, maybe the entire summer.
I’ve tried keeping my panic at bay until after the first bottle of wine is empty, but I’m only two glasses in and the whole world feels as if it’s imploding.
When I can’t take it anymore, I thrust my arm toward Willow and Lola, showing them my worst fear.
“Does this mole look funny to you?” I blurt, my heart racing too fast.
Lola leans over her box of lo mein, a bunch of noodles hanging from her mouth as she chews like a heathen. “No.”
Why am I asking her? She won’t know.
I swivel right, showing the suspicious spot to Willow. She has an intuition about these things—a sort of sixth sense. Another point in the “witch” column.
Her lips purse. “I don’t think so. But if you’re worried, you should get it checked out.”
I swallow hard. Here’s the thing about surviving cancer: you never know if it’s well and truly gone, or if one day you’re going to walk into the doctor’s office for a routine checkup and find out your entire body is silently plotting to murder you.
“I am,” I say. “Tomorrow.” My next skin check wasn’t supposed to be for another three months, but Dr. Rhea told me to get in touch if anything looked unusual. I called his office the moment I found it, and his secretary moved some things around so I could come in first thing in the morning.
The weird part is, I need to know if the mole is cancerous so I can deal with it in a timely manner, but I also don’t want to know. Part of me would rather stay blissfully unaware, in case the cancer is back and untreatable. To pretend everything is okay, even if it might not be.
“I can go with you,” Willow offers with a gentle squeeze of my shoulder.
“Thanks, but there’s no need. I’m sure it’s probably nothing.” Fingers crossed. “But if you wouldn’t mind opening Mugs, I’d be grateful. Tilly is supposed to be there, but you know how nervous she gets.”
“Of course.”
Conversation ebbs and flows over the next hour. Lola tells us about a new pair of designer shoes she ordered for her birthday. Willow points out that her birthday isn’t until August, which Lola claims is irrelevant.
I have to agree. You need to do all the things while you’re able. You never know if your life is going to be cut short.
“Clo?”
Willow and Lola blink at me from the couch, their brows furrowing.
I give my head a little flick, realizing I missed what they just said. Nothing like getting depressed in the middle of girls’ night.
Willow’s eyes soften behind her round glasses. I secretly love it when she doesn’t wear her contacts. “We were just asking when your neighbor is heading back to Philadelphia,” she says with a small smile, setting her empty wine glass beside the equally empty bottle.
That’s the last thing I want to think about at a time like this. “I don’t know.” If Ethan set a date, he hasn’t mentioned it. “Why?”
“No reason.” Lola drops her chopsticks into the box of cashew chicken. “The house next door looks perfect, so I assumed he was finished with all the work he was doing.”
He can’t be finished already… can he? No. He would’ve told me if he was ready to head home. Right?
“At least you have Steve to look forward to,” she adds, unaware of my internal panic spiral.
“Who?”
“New York Steve,” Willow says with a laugh.
“You know, the guy you hook up with every July,” Lola chimes in.
Oh, yeah. I completely forgot New York Steve.
Usually, I’m counting down the days until his family arrives, but since Ethan and I became a thing, I forgot he even existed. “That’s right. Definitely looking forward to Steve.” Except that’s a big fat lie. I wouldn’t care if his family never came to the island again.
Steve is great, but he’s no Ethan Davis.
Lola stretches her arms toward the ceiling with a groan. “On that note, I’d better get going.”
“Really? It’s only nine o’clock.” Normally she’s the one sneaking into the kitchen to open the next bottle of wine.
Lola collects the empty containers, stacking them inside each other. “I told David I’d be over later.”
Willow rises to her feet and returns the pillow she was sitting on to my couch. “I should go too. Sebastian was cranky earlier, and I don’t want him to get lonely.”
“Fine. Love me and leave me.” Rick will be home soon, so I can’t be too upset. The girls usually stay the night, but with him taking up the spare room, there isn’t really enough space.
Selfishly, I don’t want to be left alone, but that’s my problem, not theirs. They have things to do, loved ones to see.
I’m a grown-ass woman and can handle my own existential crises by myself.
I push off the couch, my head swimming from too much wine. In hindsight, drinking was probably not the best idea, considering what’s in store tomorrow.
Willow gives my arm a squeeze. “Let us know what the doctor says, won’t you?”
“Sure.”
Lola wraps me up in a brief but tight hug. “If you change your mind about wanting company, call me.”
“And disturb your sleep? Not likely.”
“I promise not to be mean, but only this once.”
I’ll believe it when I see it.
With them gone, the house feels too quiet, and my thoughts are too loud.
Luckily, there’s a light on in my neighbor’s kitchen. What is Ethan up to?
I throw on my chunky cable-knit sweater and head over there.
He answers the door looking delightfully rumpled and deliciously grumpy.
“Girls’ night over already?” he asks, peering over my head toward the house.
“Unfortunately. Hey, do you need Wilma tomorrow morning?” I could ride my bike, but given where I’m headed, I might be too distracted to pedal.
“Wilma?”
“My car.”
“Right. Wilma.” He runs a hand up the back of his hair. “Not that I know of.”
“Sweet. I um… need to go to the grocery store, and going on my bike isn’t very practical.”
I’m not sure why I just lied. Probably because we’re not officially dating. You don’t spring random doctor’s appointments and potentially tragic diagnoses on your casual fling. That’s boyfriend territory.
“Chloe, it’s your car. You can take it any time you want.”
“Yeah, but I said you could borrow it.”
He reaches around to the counter beside the door, where my car key is sitting. “Here.”
I take the key from him and grip it in my fist, not wanting to leave, but hyper-aware of not being invited inside. “Thanks.”
He shifts his weight from one bare foot to the other, his green eyes brushing over my face. “Do you want to come in?”
“Oh, no. That’s fine. I’m sure you have plenty of things to do.”
He takes my hand, laces his fingers through mine, and tugs me into the kitchen.
I’m thankful for the distraction his hungry mouth provides. For the chance to take my mind off what the morning could bring.