29. Twenty-nine
With sprigs of lavender, lemon, and a bottle of local honey, once again I make myself at home behind Ethan’s bar.
“Hey!” I say, shielding the ingredients from his eyes with my hands. “No peeking!”
He pulls a loaf of bread and a block of cheese out of a bag across from me.
“I was at the same market you were. I have no idea how you found something so secretive.”
“It’s not like that.” I cut a lemon into wedges. “For me, it’s about taking one ingredient that’s common yet special, figuring out a way to plug it into a drink, and making it a different experience.
“Take the blueberry gin and tonic I made last night. Blueberries aren’t inherently special, right? But they are very Maine, and they do make you feel like you’ve had something magical when you’ve had them in a cocktail.”
“Blueberries aren’t special?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Watch what you say in Maine, Penelope.” He waves a loaf of bread at me. “That’s grounds for some serious punishment.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. My point is, don’t expect some exotic item you’ve never heard of.”
He starts cutting the bread, and I can’t help but watch him. Study him. His good looks are obvious but also nuanced in the way random strands of silver hide throughout his dark hair, the soft scruff on his jaw covers the sharpness of it, and eyes that sometimes look blue, sometimes green always seem to be plotting something. I could look at him for hours and still not learn every detail that makes him him.
“You’re staring at me,” he hums.
My gaze drops back to the counter I’m working at. “You’re easy to stare at,” I admit, laughing at my honesty, before trying again. “It’s just, everyone stares at you, and it’s kind of a lot to wrap my brain around.”
“What is?” He drops the bread on the plate and squares his shoulders to me across the bar.
“You know, you have girls that deep throat straws like Brooke and show up for 11:30 dates like Zoey. I don’t know why it’s possible you would want to spend a night at a market with me. I feel like I might ruin your image or something.” I put the lid on the stainless-steel shaker, shaking it over my shoulder.
“And don’t say anything. When I make embarrassing confessions, it’s just easier on my ego for us to not talk about it.”
I pour the drink into two rocks glasses with ice then top them with club soda and a sprig of lavender before sprinkling purple powder over top.
“Nel, it’s not—” I hold up my hand.
“No. Talking. Now close your eyes.”
I clap my hands together as he does as I say and slide the drink in front of him.
The glass is mostly filled with a pale-yellow mixture, but it gives way to a deep purple layer that swirls around the ice at the top. A sprig of lavender nestles lightly against the rim as little bubbles race toward the top.
“Open!” I smile as I slip onto the stool next to him with my drink. “Taste it. Tell me what you think.”
I want it to be good. I want him to think it’s good.
He opens his eyes, lips tugging to one side as he looks from the drink to me, then takes a sip and smacks his lips together.
“Mmm!” He brings a hand to his chest. “Gin, lavender… Lemonade?” He takes another sip and laughs under his breath. “Damn, Nel. That’s a good drink.”
My heart skips at the compliment. “Really?”
I take a sip. The tang of the lemon mixes with the sweet honey, the lavender’s floral notes, and the gin’s gentle pine sing like a choir on my tastebuds as the carbonated bubbles pop on my tongue.
“But how did you get this purple? Is that… not food coloring?”
“Food coloring?” I act offended. “No.” I wiggle a finger at him. “One of the vendors was selling tea, and she had butterfly pea pollen. It’s from a flower that grows in Asia and one of the properties is this beautiful color. I added a little at the end for dramatic effect.”
He takes another sip and rests his hand on his chest. “Damn good.”
I hum, pleased, as I look around the restaurant and notice all the things I hadn’t before.
One wall is fully covered with ends of raw logs, adding rustic texture to an otherwise modern space. The remaining walls are white and tastefully lined with black-and-white photos of what I assume are local landscapes. A huge antler chandelier hangs perfectly in the middle of the exposed beamed ceilings.
It’s stunning.
“It’s kind of impressive you own a restaurant this beautiful, and you make the worst drink I’ve ever had,” I tease.
“Here we go again,” he groans. “How about this—we finish this round, and you teach me how to make the next one?”
I grin. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
***
“Gently, Ethan. You’re taking out some serious rage on that thing.”
He’s smashing the lavender petals and leaves to death, and I cringe, laying my own hand on his to soften his force.
“Better,” I say, “now, instead of traditional lemonade, I used fresh lemon juice from two lemons.” I juice them and add them to a glass. “And a simple syrup made with local honey.”
He adds the gin, shakes the contents, pours it into two glasses, and then tops both with club soda. I sprinkle the pea pollen that makes the purple color, and we tuck a sprig of lavender in each.
I sip mine first. “Perfect!” I nudge him. “Maybe you aren’t such a lost cause after all.”
“Maybe I just needed the right teacher.”
The low, serious tone of his voice makes something warm and gooey happen in my belly at the same time the gravity of the situation pulls down on me.
We are in a dark bar with music, drinking cocktails. Alone. My wedding band suddenly burns into my chest like a branding iron. Travis’ face flashes in my mind and guilt floods over me like an unexpected tidal wave.
I’m with Ethan because Travis is gone. The thought almost takes me down to my knees.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks it softly, his face etched in concern as he sets his drink down and looks at me.
His eyes flicker between mine.
“I’m sorry.” I trace my fingers down the side of my neck. “I haven’t been with a man since… you know… and it still feels… like I’m doing something wrong. Not that I’m with you, with you, or anything.” I laugh despite my warring emotions. “I’m so bad at this.” I drop my head with a groan.
“You aren’t bad at this,” he says, lifting my chin with his thumb and forefinger. Then, “Choosing to be with someone and promise forever only to realize forever isn’t that long is hard to swallow for anyone. It takes time to figure out how to keep living in a life that doesn’t feel like yours.”
I nod slightly. He’s right—righter than he knows.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me you were coming here? Because you feel guilty?” he asks, eyes searching mine.
“Maybe.” An unexpected laugh passes through my lips. “But also because it was kind of a sporadic decision. And I wasn’t sure if I’d come across as being… psychotic.” I shake my head. “It felt like you were flirting with me, but now that I’ve seen you in person, I can see that’s just how you are. I’m glad I’m here either way.” I pause. “For the mountains.”
He puffs out a soft laugh. “For the mountains.” His gaze holds mine, and the only sound is the music playing. “You know, Nel,” he finally says, playfulness returning to his voice. “It really isn’t a date without dancing.”
He sighs like he has absolutely no choice in the matter as my stomach plummets to the ground like a broken elevator.
Dance?
The thought of all that full-body contact with him is enough to make me self-combust.
“Are you kidding me? Here? No.” I face my palms toward him. “No dancing. That’s… that’s…” My voice is a high-pitched stuttery sound and the music that’s playing has turned to something upbeat, which makes me add, “and who dances to this kind of music?”
“We do,” he takes my hand. “Marin was adamant you have fun, and this be a date,” his pause is sly—methodical—and accompanied with a smug look. “Maybe even a walk of shame.”
I try to argue but my mouth doesn’t comply. I stay silent, and he pulls me close.
There, behind Ethan’s bar, I don’t resist. When the full line of his body presses up against mine, warmth shoots a path down the length of me.
What is wrong with me?
One of his hands finds the small of my back while the other takes my hand in his. I slide my other hand up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. Our hips sway and against every smart thing I should do, I lean into him.
Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips to hips.
The beat of the music is fast but the way we sway is slow—somehow it feels like it’s the only way to dance to this song even though it makes zero rhythmic sense.
The deep voice of a man croons into the quiet space over the speaker, and I’m not sure if I’m even breathing. I need to leave, but as if he can hear my skittish thoughts, Ethan pulls me closer.
I feel every hard line of his body.
Especially the one against my low belly that shoots a wanting panic firing through me.
His breath skims across my ear and shivers ripple down my spine. He’s so warm. The slight scruff of his jaw scrapes against me again, and all I can think about is touching his face with my fingers. It’s as though my fingertips have no use because they haven’t traced the lines of him.
I lift my chin with a shallow breath and search his face. His eyes drop to my lips, and on instinct, I lick them. The way my body physically reacts to this man is abnormal.
I need a doctor, a diagnosis, and more drugs than one pharmacy can legally provide.
I move a hand and place it on his chest—his heart galloping like a racehorse.
Thank God.
“Your heart is pounding.”
It’s a grateful whisper and laugh.
He mirrors my position. The only thing between his palm and my skin is the wedding band that suddenly weighs three hundred pounds.
“So is yours.”
His voice is as deep as the bottom of the ocean. The heated tension suffocating.
We stop moving and just stand in the low light.
He leans closer.
My breath hitches.
His parted lips skim mine, and I have to grip my hand around his neck to keep from physically collapsing.
His lips hover over mine, not in a kiss, but in something that’s so much more intimate I might die from the severity of it.
I could move one more millimeter and taste him. One. He waits. His pause tells me volumes about who Ethan Mills is.
It’s my decision.
I start to lean in and the bubble of amnesia I’m living in pops. All I can think is: Travis.
TravisTravisTravisTravis.
His name scrolls through my mind like the credits of a movie.
“I should go,” I whisper, hating the words as soon as they’re out but push away from his chest anyway.
His eyes close, shoulders drop, grip around me loosens.
I gather my things in silence as the room closes in around me. It’s too much for me to process.
He’s too much for me to process.
I’m at the door, fumbling with my painting like a clown trying to get into one of those ridiculous little cars. Except I’m a full-grown woman at a full-sized door, too damn flustered to see straight.
“Spend tomorrow with me,” he says.
I stop, mid-struggle at the door. “Excuse me?”
“You, your kids. I’ll be with the boys. My house is on enough land for your RV, and we can see the fireworks from the back porch. I was going to take them fly fishing during the day. You could join us.”
“You want me to stay the night with you?” I scoff. “Are you insane?”
He leans on the bar casually, crosses his arms over his chest, and licks his lips slowly. Deviously.
“First, you would be in your own bed in my yard. I hardly consider that staying the night… unless that’s what you want.” His lips curl. “Second, you’re leaving the next day, and then that’s it. And the kids like each other.”
He shrugs casually. As if to say, what’s so insane about this?
My brain bounces back and forth like a tennis match. It’s either the best idea I’ve ever heard or the worst thing that could possibly happen.
He uses the time I consider to close the space between us until he’s standing next to me at the door.
“Please, Nel,” he coos.
“Ugh!” I sigh. “Okay, you know what?” I hold my hand up. “Maybe. I’ll talk to Finn and Marin tomorrow and see what they think about sleeping in the yard of a stranger.”
He grins triumphantly. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“I said maybe, Ethan. May. Be.”
I shove the door open.
“Maybe means yes,” he says, leaning against the door like he knows he has me.
“I’m leaving now.”
And before he can say one more thing or make me change my mind or rip my clothes off, I slip through the door, hurry to the inn, and go right into a cold shower.