41. Forty-one
“I know that looked bad.”
Ethan is still wearing his bib when he finds me wandering the docks of the marina, and it would have been funny if I wasn’t plotting his death.
“Oh, do ya now?” I pick up my pace only for him to match it. “Look. I have no reason to be mad at you. We are friends, and I know you’re a walking stick.” My laugh is self-deprecating and unamused. “I know we’re nothing, not really. It’s just that she was perfect, like a thirty-five-year-old Barbie, and I’m… I’m… like Tom Hanks in that movie where he’s been stranded on an island with a soccer ball.”
“Volleyball,” he says, correcting me like it’s funny.
“You know what I mean.”
“Nel, listen to me.” He grabs my arm and stops me. “Rachel and I went on a few dates last summer. That’s all she was. My excuse for ending it was that the season was over, and it was, but I also just wasn’t interested. If you weren’t standing here with me, nobody would be, got it?”
He rounds his back and bends his knees so his eyes are level with mine.
I look away like a scolded child.
“Nel, I need you to tell me you believe me.”
I want to slap him and then push him in the water so a boat motor can chop some of the perfect off his face, but dammit, I believe him. Maybe I’m a fool, but I trust him.
“Fine.” I cross my arms and face him. “I believe you.”
He grabs my hands and tugs them gently.
“I have something to show you while you think of all the ways I’ll be punished.” The smile on his face is contagious and tramples my best efforts to stay mad.
He drags me up and down a series of docks until we finally stop.
A houseboat?
The exterior is a deep hunter-green with black trim and a set of steep steps that lead to a railing-wrapped rooftop. Facing the dock is a small porch with two chairs and a small table in front of a sliding glass door.
It’s modern, sleek, and nicer than any I’ve seen.
I look at him. “A houseboat?”
He leans against a piling, casual as ever, nodding.
My eyes narrow. “And?”
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“What kind of question is that? Sure. It looks nice. New. I’ve never been on one actually. The ones I’ve seen in marinas in the Keys give off more of that on the run from the law vibe, but I’m sure this one is great. It doesn’t look like bricks of cocaine are being smuggled on it.” I hold up my hands as if to say, why do I care?
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He grabs my hand, steps off the dock and onto the boat, pulling me behind him.
“What—” I pause as understanding clicks. “Of course. It’s yours.” I blink, irritated, and his smile only widens.
“Why can’t you just say that like a normal person? Nel, I have a houseboat. Do you want to see it?” I lower my voice to mock his. “And I would have said, sure, Ethan, let’s go. Then it wouldn’t be this whole annoying thing you do.”
“It’s more fun this way,” he says.
He slides open the door, and we move from the small porch into the surprisingly spacious living area. There’s a couch, TV, kitchen area with a few cabinets, and a table with four chairs. Like his house, it’s creamy white with expensive leather and wood finishings and a few landscape photos on the wall.
He leads me through the space in slow yet deliberate strides.
“Back here is the bathroom.”
He pushes open a door, revealing a toilet, shower stall, and vanity, all larger than what we had in the Avion.
“And my bedroom.”
I walk in behind him. He leans against the wall, puts his arms over his chest, and crosses his ankles. He says every word he doesn’t speak with the way his head tilts toward me and tracks my movements.
I wander around his room, touching every surface I walk by. When my hand moves from the smoothness of his nightstand to the softness of his white cotton comforter, my cheeks burn. When I get to the window, I can see the other boats in the marina as the thick, textured dark blue material of the curtains scrapes through my fingers before I turn to look back at him.
The churning sound of an engine from a passing boat hums by before the room gently rocks from its wake.
It’s hard to swallow through the tightness of my throat.
Between the effect he has on me and my lack of experience in these situations, every thought in my head is probably written all over me as clearly as the words scrolling across a news ticker.
He pushes off the wall and takes a step my way, triggering something between sheer terror and primordial need to bounce through me.
I can’t handle it.
“I feel hot,” I say, clearing my throat. “Are you hot? You know, it’s probably from earlier. I just want to go see the outside again—for air.”
I rub my palm against my forehead as I try to squeeze past him without touching him.
He grabs my wrist and anchors me to a halt as his mouth moves close to my ear, and his voice lowers. “Stay with me tonight.”
I can’t breathe and I definitely can’t look at him. My nod is so subtle, so slight, he might have missed it if he wasn’t paying such close attention.
I yank away from him and rush toward the open door, where the coastal breeze is a welcome relief. My first breath of air is a gasp.
Ethan, relaxed and unaffected, appears with two beers and lifts his chin.
“Up?” he asks.
“Up,” I say, feeling my nerves settle just slightly.
The view from the roof is stunning—the bay to one side and the picturesque town to the other. The sun, low in the sky, coats everything with gold.
“Well, this is amazing,” I say.
He hums in agreement.
“So, what’s the story here? How did you end up with a houseboat?” I take a sip of the beer he hands me.
“It’s not that interesting. I had a place here for a while, but as the kids got older, they didn’t want to spend their summers away from friends, so they stopped coming. It seemed silly to keep a big house for just me, so I sold it. I’m only here a few months a year. This seemed like a great solution. It’s big enough for me, and if the boys come, I’ll put them in a room at the hotel.” He points his beer toward the largest building in town.
A sailboat cuts across the horizon.
“This view is incredible. Better than most people will have in a whole lifetime.” My eyes move to the boats around us—nearly identical to his. “Do people live in all of these?”
He nods.
“A cop.” He points to the one closest to us before moving on to the other. “A plumber, a retired doctor, and I’m pretty sure that guy does something illegal.”
I laugh softly with a shake of my head as I lean against the railing.
“How do you think Finn and Marin are doing in Acadia?” he asks, mirroring my position.
My cheeks puff up with air before deflating.
“Gosh, I don’t know. Finn is probably loving every second, but Marin shocked me with this. I kept reading about the bathroom situation, but she insisted.” My lips lift in the slightest of smiles. “But I guess this is part of it, right? Holding onto them tightly just to ultimately let go.”
Another boat goes by, and again, we bob gently in the wake.
“The first summer the boys didn’t want to spend on the coast with me, I was shocked. It took some getting used to, not having their trail of clothes or dirty dishes to clean up and the days off to spend fishing with them. Eventually, I figured it out and accepted they were growing up. They usually come for at least one weekend now, and I go home for at least one. It’s a wild thing, seeing it happen. The change of watching kids grow is slow until you notice it, then it happens all at once, like a lightning strike.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.
“What’s that for?” I point at a half-eaten loaf of bread in a bag tucked in a corner.
His eyes slide in my direction with a playful glint as he picks up the bag. He pulls out a slice of bread, balls up a small piece, and says, “A game,” with a small smile.
Leaning over the railing, he whistles before he tosses the bread ball over the water. Within seconds a seagull swoops down to grab it out of the air in its beak.
His small smile morphs into something bright and full blown as he hands me a piece of bread that I refuse.
“Too grown up to play with the birds, Nel?” he asks, tossing another bread ball into the air, another bird swooping to catch it.
“No, this is just stupid,” I say, only half meaning it.
“Really? Too stupid for someone who wears squeaky rubber boots around?” he mocks.
I cross my arms, nostrils flaring. “My luggage is a trash bag. Give the wardrobe a break.”
His smile doesn’t leave his face and his voice is an annoying sing-song sound when he responds with, “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”
He tosses another piece of bread, a bird swoops in to catch it, and dammit if it doesn’t feel like a little bit of a privilege to watch this man play like an overgrown child.
I hesitate only a second longer before relenting and taking a piece, tossing it the same way he does. A bird dives across the sky and catches it. I bite my cheek to hide my smile.
“Told ya,” he hums, tossing another one.
It’s stupid really, laughing this hard throwing bread to birds, yet somehow, it feels like I’ve been missing out. Like it should be part of every day. Like a day where I don’t do this just can’t possibly be as good.
When the loaf is gone, dark clouds roll in and mushroom across the sky. I smell the rain just before the first drop lands on my arm. The once clear horizon looks almost black as thunder rumbles in the distance.
“Storm’s coming,” he says.
“Looks like it.”
The only place to go is in.