Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHLOE
Walking into the Sand Dollar to find Steve talking to Ethan was not on my list of things I wanted to do tonight. The plan was to get here, order copious amounts of alcohol, and drown my sorrows until they didn’t feel as dark and gloomy.
Now it looks like I’ll be facing them head-on.
Ethan is strolling out the door, so it would make sense to spend the evening reconnecting with Steve.
Safe, reliable, Steve.
With him, things are simple. I know what he wants and neither of us gets caught up in our feelings, like the way a summer fling is supposed to go.
But with Ethan…
When I glance at the swinging door, the feelings I swore I wouldn’t catch snag in my chest like tangled fishing wire.
I know this was always the way we were meant to end, but I thought I’d have more time to prepare.
I thought I’d be ready, but I’m not.
Not even close.
I glance from Steve to Willow, realizing what I need to do. Although I say I’ll be right back, I have no intention of keeping that promise.
Steve will get over it. It’s not as if he’s invested in whatever this thing is we’ve shared.
The guy doesn’t even text me whenever he leaves Inner Shores.
His bruised ego feels like the least of my worries as I hurry through the bar and out into the balmy evening, scanning the parking lot for Ethan’s truck.
There’s no sign of him.
Dammit.
Maybe Willow will let me borrow her car.
I turn on my heel and head back inside. My stomach sinks when I see Steve clutching a freshly made gin and tonic.
“I wasn’t sure if your order had changed since last year, but I went ahead and got you the usual,” he says, handing me the bulbous glass.
“Thank you,” I reply stiffly.
My usual drink has alcohol, and therefore, will get the job done. It won’t excite or challenge me, but it’ll leave me sufficiently drunk, which is the only option for salvaging this night.
My gaze drifts back to the closed door as I take a sip, only for the flavor to fall flat on my tongue.
Ferry gods, help me. I think my order has changed.
I take another swallow, just to be sure.
Yep. I’d prefer a new drink.
As a matter of fact, I’m afraid that I might actually love one.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass as I take another sip, forcing myself to think about what this actually means.
Ethan is leaving. He has a job and a life in Philadelphia.
What good would it do for either of us to cling on to a sinking ship?
Wouldn’t it be better to have a clean break?
The ice cubes bump my teeth as I drink a little more.
Is a clean break even possible?
Right now, nothing about Ethan going away feels clean.
Willow knocks my hip with hers. “You good?” In her hand is a glass of seltzer water with lime—her go-to whenever she’s the designated driver. Her drink of choice doesn’t really go along with her “birthday” ruse, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice.
“What sort of question is that?” Steve says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Of course she’s good. She’s with me.”
Am I good?
Not really.
But maybe I could be.
Don’t I owe it to myself to be sure about Ethan before I go running after him? Maybe it’s the proximity that makes us work. That’s what happens in romance novels, right? The couple is stuck together, so of course they’re going to catch feelings for each other.
Who’s to say that’s not what happened in our situation?
Maybe I’ll end up feeling the exact same way about Steve by the time the night is over.
Lola comes over to us, a tray tucked beneath her arm and a smirk curving her red lips. “Can I get you guys something to eat?”
“I’ll have another gin and tonic,” I hear myself say.
Steve also orders himself another drink, as well as some spinach and artichoke dip for us to share. He turns to Willow and me. “Come on, ladies, a table just opened up.”
Together, the three of us make our way to a high-top that sits half-inside, half-outside the bar.
In a couple of weeks, there will be live music pouring from the nearby stage on the lawn. Tonight, eighties rock blares through the speakers. David mustn’t be working; he despises eighties music. Calls it a “trash decade.”
Needless to say, Lola and everyone else with a modicum of taste disagree.
Steve pulls out a stool and gestures for me to sit.
That’s gentlemanly of him, isn’t it? So why isn’t my stomach fluttering?
I fix my smile and sink onto the chair with a murmur of thanks. Steve settles in across from me, grinning as if all is right in the world. Instead of joining us, Willow waves at someone from across the lawn and says she’ll be back in a minute.
Steve stretches a hand across the table, capturing mine. “I’m so glad you changed your mind about meeting me.”
What is he talking about? Was he listening at all earlier?
Lola drops off our drinks and says our appetizer will be out shortly. I grip the glass like a lifeline and take a fortifying drink. Shouldn’t Willow be back by now?
Leaning back in his chair, Steve stabs the ice cubes in his glass with the paper straw. “So tell me about that Ethan guy.”
I choke on my drink, spitting gin all over myself. How am I supposed to move past Ethan if we sit around talking about him all night? Still, I have to tell Steve something, so I go with: “He’s staying at the house next door.”
“That sucks. He seems like a dick.”
Funny. Ethan said the same thing about Steve back at Mugs. At least the feeling is mutual. “You think so?”
“Oh, yeah. Big dick vibes there.”
I deserve an award for not spitting my drink all over the table a second time.
Big dick vibes.
He has no idea…
“Ethan isn’t really a people person,” I say, which is putting it mildly. He doesn’t seem to like anyone.
He liked you, Chloe.
I liked him too. So much.
Too much, really, given the circumstances. I should’ve held back more. Protected my heart.
Lola serves us our dip, and although the conversation picks up, we don’t discuss anything particularly interesting or memorable.
Three gins later, I can’t recall a word of our conversation—which has nothing to do with the alcohol I’ve consumed, by the way. I could name at least fifteen of the songs we’ve heard and tell you exactly how many drinks Steve has had (four) and the number of times he’s gotten up to pee (three).
I can also say with enormous certainty that whatever spark there used to be between Steve and me has gone cold.
Come to think of it, was there ever a spark?
Steve’s weeks in Inner Shores were always mindless fun, but forgettable.
I don’t want forgettable.
I want mind-blowing passion, adorably grumpy scowls that hide a heart of gold, and rare smiles that have to be earned. I want deep conversations and strong arms holding me tight when the wind and rain batter a swaying house.
I want to ride this sinking ship all the way to the bottom of the Mariana Trench.
Steve’s hand falls over mine, his thumb stroking my wrist. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.
Fine isn’t good. Fine doesn’t make my heart race. Fine is settling, and settling isn’t fair to either of us.
“Actually, I think I’m ready to head home,” I add. I slide my hand from beneath his and slip off my stool. My legs wobble, unsteady beneath me.
He glances from my half-empty gin to his nearly full glass. “Already? Damn. Okay. Let me settle the tab, and I’ll meet you outside.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
Steve and I are done. Once and for all.
My smile feels slow and heavy. Three gins is way too many gins. “Why don’t you stay? Willow can give me a ride home.”
“Can’t she give me a ride too? Seems stupid to call a ride share when we’re going to the same place.”
How is he not getting this? “We’re not going to the same place.” He’s going his way, and I’m going mine.
He blinks at me, my words slowly registering as his eyes grow wider. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You sat here all night, letting me pay for your drinks and eating my food, and you’re not asking me to come over?”
I didn’t realize the offer of those things came with expectations.
I try to smile, to play this off as some sort of joke, but the truth is, I don’t feel like it.
I’ve had a shitty day, and Steve’s entitled attitude is just icing on the crap cake.
Say it with a smile, Clo…
My dad’s words that would usually bolster me through disappointment fade into nothing, replaced by a deeper, more clipped tone.
You deserve better.
I don’t owe this guy anything.
Not an excuse, or an apology, or a smile.
Not a damn thing.
“Do you know what I find funny?” I prop my hands on my hips, ready to go full supervillain on this jackass.
“You’re sitting here calling Ethan a dick, yet you’re the one thinking you deserve to hop straight into my bed simply because you’re here or because you bought me a few drinks.
Well, guess what? It’s not happening tonight or ever again. ”
I turn to find Lola standing behind me, Willow at her side, both of them staring with wide eyes and huge grins.
I snatch the black checkbook from Lola’s hand, drag a wad of cash from my purse, and stuff it inside. Then I tuck it into Lola’s apron, give her a smack on the ass, and tell her to keep the change.
“You’re my new hero,” Willow says for the fourth time, laughing and shaking her head as she peels out of the parking lot and onto the road.
I think I might be my new hero too.
“I thought you’d be all sad after finding out about Ethan leaving,” she goes on, “but instead you’re on fire.”
I am on fire. It feels good to say exactly what I mean and to mean exactly what I say.
“You good if I swing by my place to check on Sebastian?” she asks.
“Only if you’re good with me using your bathroom.” I really, really have to pee.
She turns onto a small road and the car bobbles over the uneven pavement, rattling my teeth.
I sink deeper into the upholstered seat, letting my head fall back with a sigh. “I really like him, Wills.”
“Who, Steve?” she scoffs.
“God, no. Ew. What did I ever see in that guy?”
She pulls into the driveway of her tiny cottage and shifts the car into park. When she pulls her key from the ignition, the light above us flicks on, making me squint. “Loneliness makes us do stupid things sometimes,” she says, sympathy in her eyes.
I never considered myself a lonely person, but I think maybe I have been.
And I think maybe Ethan has been lonely too.
“I like Ethan Davis,” I say for the record. “Scowls and all.”
“I know you do, babe.” Willow reaches across the center console and squeezes my knee.
“I think I have feelings for him. Real feelings.”
“I know you do,” she murmurs.
Gosh, have I really been that obvious? “I wish he wasn’t leaving.”
“But he is.”
“Yeah.”
She glances at me. “So what are you going to do about it?”
The million-dollar question, one I don’t have an answer to.
What can I do?
He doesn’t seem to have a choice about leaving—he said something about work on Monday—and I have a business to run and a life here in Inner Shores.
With slumped shoulders, I trail Willow into her cottage, tiptoeing past a sleeping Sebastian to go use the bathroom. On my way out, I accidentally jab my hip against the crystal toilet paper holder.
Rubbing the sore spot, I come back out to find Willow rummaging through the kitchen, setting out fresh hummus, sliced avocado, and homemade pickled beets. She peers at me from behind the fridge door. “You need to eat something so you’re not hungover tomorrow.”
I would love to eat something. Just not this. “Do you have anything greasy?”
She purses her lips. “There might be some crackers in the pantry.”
Crackers aren’t greasy. And if they are, she should probably check the expiration date.
My head starts to swim, so I drop onto the couch. Sebastian opens one angry blue eye, judging me with his glare.
Willow carries over a plate filled with food I don’t want and sets it on the coffee table. I snag a cracker, taking a bite. Tastes like sawdust.
Ethan smells like sawdust…
My chest caves in. I don’t want him to go. Not now. Not ever.
“Have you ever been to Philadelphia?” I ask.
Willow picks up Sebastian and sets the angry cat onto her lap. He curls up against her stomach, purring away like a revving engine. “Can’t say I have.”
“Ethan lives in Philadelphia.”
Her lips tilt into a small smile. “I remember.”
Maybe the cracker will taste better with the avocado.
Nope. It’s somehow worse.
Where is a big ole cheeseburger when you need it?
Ethan would have gotten me a cheeseburger. Or Lucky Charms. They’re not greasy, but God, are they good. “I like him a lot.”
“So you’ve said.”
Maybe too much. Is there such a thing? Or do I like him just the right amount? The perfect amount for, say, something more than a fling. Something more serious.
“So what if he has to leave?” I think aloud. “People do long-distance relationships all the time. Why can’t we be one of them?”
Philly has an airport, doesn’t it? And once my new employees feel comfortable, I should be able to take a little more time off than usual. Ethan isn’t the only one who’s fallen into a routine or needs a little adventure in their life.
Maybe down the line, he’d even consider moving here permanently.
He seems close to his parents, and they’ll be here, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility.
“A great question,” Willow says. “It sounds like the two of you need to have a conversation before he leaves.”
We really do.
As a matter of fact, I’m going to ask her to drive me over there right now so we can figure things out.
All I have to do is get myself off this couch.
Simple. Easy.
What are these cushions made of? Quicksand? Every time I try to move, I sink a little deeper. “Why is your couch so comfy?”
I let my eyes fall closed, and Willow’s laughter slowly fades.
Too many gins. Curse the ferry gods. Not enough time. So, so tired.