30. Thirty
“Wait, what?” My ears deceive me, along with my firstborn.
“I said I think it’s a great idea. I’ve always wanted to try fly fishing in a river like that.”
Finn lifts his hands over his head, doing a mock cast through the air with sound effects.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“But we don’t know them. Isn’t that a little… weird?”
“Mom.” Marin laughs as she sips her tea. “We spent hours with them on the river, and you spent two nights with the man. And you’ve been emailing him for months! Is he giving off serial killer vibes or something?”
“Okay, I did not spend the night with him. And no, it just doesn’t feel responsible. Plus, it’s the Fourth of July. Don’t you want to do something festive?”
As much as I hope they agree, I don’t want them to, which confuses me.
Finn scoffs. “We aren’t ten-year-olds that need a fair, Mom. I think this sounds amazing.” He pours syrup over his pancakes.
I groan.
“Fine. But if this goes terribly wrong and we all end up in coolers somewhere, I’m blaming both of you.”
We take our last bites of breakfast as my phone pings with a text, What time will you be here?
Sonofabitch.
Me:How did you get this number?
Ethan:I know the owner of the inn. What time will you be here?
I rub a hand on my forehead. He’s just so arrogant.
Me:What time would you like us to get there?
Ethan:Now.
Bastard.
Me:I’ll see you in a couple of hours.
Me: And wipe that stupid grin off your face by then.
Ethan:No promises.
***
When we arrive at the address he sends a couple hours later, I mentally give him the middle finger. He lives in the cedar house on the river.
Of course.
“This is the house on the river,” I say to the windshield more than anyone else.
Marin chuckles as she cranes her neck from the back.
“Duh, Mom. Derek pointed it out to us as we floated by.”
“Well, Ethan left that detail out,” I say dryly.
Derek meets us outside in what seems to be his tie-dyed t-shirt and swim short uniform, flicking us a wave before guiding us into a flat space to park.
“Hey, man,” Finn says as he opens his door, giving him a very teenage handshake that involves too many steps. Marin gives him a hug and tugs at his t-shirt, saying something that makes them laugh.
Austin wanders off the back porch slowly, looking like the stereotypical college student who has slept until noon wearing athletic shorts, t-shirt, and a sleepy face. The kids laugh as they drag the cord from the Avion to plug us in and unroll the awning before wandering down to the river’s edge.
I stand, leaning on the side of the cab, taking in the view. The river flows by like a keeper of secrets as the midday light dances off its ripples. In the distance, green rolling mountains stretch out as far as the eye can see. The way the summer breeze slithers across my neck and the smell of clean air hangs in my nostrils is both a feeling and a place.
Marin’s loud laugh pulls me back to my body at the same time Ethan steps down from the porch.
He strolls toward me casually, like his only destination is his next step, and there’s a smirk angled across his face that irks me.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawls as he leans against the cab to face me.
I roll my eyes.
“Nice house,” I deadpan.
He shrugs casually. “You think?”
I pin him with an unamused look. “Well, it’s just as beautiful as it was yesterday,” I say, looking towards the kids instead of him.
“So, this is the home on wheels.” He nods at the Avion. “Do I get a tour?”
He doesn’t wait for the answer, walking toward the door.
“Umm, sure. I mean, it’s not much to see,” I say, swallowing too many times.
I walk up the steps first, he follows. Closely.
“The tour is really long,” I say with mock seriousness. “Kitchen, dining room, my bed, kids” beds, bathroom.” I point in rapid succession. “The end.” I smile despite the fact his presence feels like death by strangulation.
He looks around, studying the details as he makes a slow circle in place. He stops when he faces the loft, walking to the small curtain that separates my bed from everything else and pauses, looking over his shoulder with a feral grin.
“Looks big enough for two,” he says, pulling back the curtain back.
“It’s not.” My mouth goes bone dry at the notion. “Now get out! I feel like I can’t breathe.” I put my hands on his back and bulldoze him out as he laughs.
“You’re blushing,” he says once we’re outside.
“It’s an allergic reaction.” The lie makes my skin burn hotter. “Anyway, what’s the plan here? Are we fishing, or did you just lie about that to lure us out here so you could do God knows what?”
He laughs louder this time.
“I’ve had you alone for two nights in a row. Luring is a stretch. But let’s fish. I have the gear set up in the garage. You want to see the inside of the house, or is that too dangerous for you?”
“Yes.” I say quickly. “I mean, no. I mean—” I let out a long exhale. “Fine.”
The man turns the ground beneath me to quicksand and makes it impossible to find solid footing anywhere.
“Tour it is,” he says with a smile.
We walk toward the back of the house to the porch that faces the river. The beautiful wood siding exterior is even more gorgeous up close. It’s rough and grainy as I rub my fingers across it.
The porch is spacious, with several chairs and a large table. It’s just a deck—boards and simple furniture—but it feels like a place you sit while life slowly unfurls like the leaves of a fern.
Marin waves up at me from the shore, and I wiggle my fingers back with a smile as Ethan pushes the sliding glass doors open. I turn and follow him inside. We step into a great room that absolutely lives up to the name. It’s big, open, and smells like fresh-cut wood and spices.
A large river rock-covered fireplace fills one wall while the others are painted in a creamy shade of white. A few mounted animal heads and fish hang on the walls along with black and white photos like he has in his restaurant. The chairs and sofa are a masculine light brown leather with dark wooden details.
Connected to this room is a kitchen that looks like it came right off the set of a cooking show. Huge stainless-steel appliances and black stone countertops are framed by rich walnut cabinets.
I walk around, silently running my hand over every surface available, using my fingers to learn the space.
It’s stunning.
I circle back around to where he leans against the large island in the kitchen.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s awful.” I say, unable to hide the smile that tugs at my lips.
He snorts. “Upstairs,” he points to a railing above us. “Is a loft space with a TV and a ping-pong table. It’s where the boys usually hang out. Their bedrooms are up there as well. Mine is down here, down the hall.”
He gestures down the hall and looks at me with a kind of intensity that makes my insides leap into one another.
In my mind, walking down that hall is the equivalent of walking off a cliff and absolutely not happening.
With every second we stand in his house, my body feels more and more like a rubber band being pulled too tightly. I need water. And a therapist. And to get the hell out of here.
He must see my struggle, because the next thing he says is, “Let’s get the kids and fish.”
***
It turns out, Marin and I are terrible at fly fishing, and we have absolutely no shame as we stand in the river in our oversized hip waders.
“Okay, let your lines out, ladies,” Ethan says, standing knee deep in the water next to us.
Surprisingly, we manage this step and the neon-colored string floats down the river with the current.
“Good, now tip the rod down. No, not in the water, Marin—” He wades over to her and gently guides her hands to the correct position. “Like this.”
I mirror what he shows her before he moves onto the next step.
“Ready? Now comes the magic. Lift up, pull back, pause, snap forward.” He demonstrates the motion, making his line dance through the sky with a graceful loop. “Just back and forth, not too much movement of the shoulder. It should be in the elbow and wrist. See that?”
He does it again.
We both try—repeatedly—but God, we’re awful. We lose every fly Ethan ties on and can’t stop laughing about it.
“Ethan, I promise we’re trying.” Between the snort I let out and the way Marin cackles like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever said, it’s hard for him to believe us.
He scrubs a hand over his jaw.
“Got a trout!” Austin calls as he holds up a fish from farther down the river.
“I wanna see!” Marin shouts back, reeling in her line, and wading down to them.
I turn to Ethan and shrug hopelessly, fishing rod in hand, feeling ridiculous in the oversized waders.
“You go down there with them. I’m a lost cause,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you off that easy. Try again.”
He wades over behind me and guides my casting movements with his arms locked around mine. He smells like sandalwood and pine trees, which are apparently my new favorite scents because I can’t stop inhaling.
I stand, caged in his arms as he controls the movements, and I can’t help myself—I lean into him. His arm rubs against me every time he casts the line and warms me by degrees. It’s a slow form of torture.
“Ethan, you work the rod like it’s part of your body. I have no idea what I’m doing,” I say as the line flies through the air.
“If working a rod that’s part of my body is what you want help with, I assure you I have better ideas than fishing, Penelope.”
Between his warm breath on my ear and the meaning behind his words, I stagger back into his chest as he vibrates with a chuckle.
“Okay, you know what? That is not what I meant. Don’t say things like that when you’re all cagey around me and smelling like you do. Let me out of here.”
I duck under his arm and gasp for air as he grins, clearly enjoying how he gets to me.
“You just look like you belong here. Fishing. It suits you.”
I plop down on the grassy shore and watch as he sends the line soaring through the air, making another beautiful arch.
Then another.
“I’ve spent a lot of time out in this river. I’ve learned a thing or two,” he says over his shoulder.
Even in ridiculous fishing gear, he’s a treat to watch.
I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. The sounds of the water flowing, the birds singing, and the leaves rustling stitch together like scraps of fabric that form a mismatched quilt of the memory that’s forming. A memory I desperately want to be a tangible thing I carry with me.
Ethan plops down beside me in the grass. “What are you thinking about?”
“Hmm. That’s a loaded question.” My head tilts toward him. “I’m thinking about how I can understand why you live here. I’m thinking I wish moments like this lasted hours instead of seconds.”
If my words scare him, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and looks out at the same river I do, neither of us moving closer to the other.
Our reality doesn’t allow for it.
I live 1,723 miles away from this house, and a dead man’s ring hangs around my neck. I’m leaving tomorrow—never seeing him again. It’s a fact that dents my heart enough to make my chest ache.
He snaps a blade of grass in his fingers. “So, Bar Harbor, huh? Any big plans?”
“Of course! Hiking the national park, lobsters, whales, puffins, sailing, more lobster.” I tick the items off on my fingers. “I know I sound like a stupid tourist, but I’ve always wanted to see the coast of Maine.”
I hug my wader covered knees to my chest and look at him.
“Do you ever leave your mountain and go to the coast, or are you bound here by some kind of magic?”
“I do leave the mountain, thank you very much.” He tosses the grass he’s holding at me. “I get a lot of seafood from the fisherman in Bar Harbor, actually.”
I hold his gaze. I want to tell him to make a trip there next week. I want to say, let’s go meet the fisherman together. But hope is a sweet con, and I know there’s no use. The words that linger on the tip of my tongue die without ever being said.
“Your porch come with wine?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his.
He laughs. “Actually, it does.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up.
I don’t let go as we start to walk to his house.
Neither does he.