6. Ethan
ETHAN
The hardware store always smelled like sawdust and something metallic—a smell I’d known long enough to stop noticing most days, except for the rare ones where I noticed everything. This was one of those days.
I was in the back doing inventory with a clipboard balanced against one forearm, counting through a box of carriage bolts and genuinely enjoying it, which probably said something about me.
The radio Miles kept tuned to the classic rock station played low enough that I only caught every third word, just enough noise to fill the space.
The bell chimed up front, and a customer asked for help in aisle three.
Miles answered before I could. “Give me a second.”
I kept counting. Somewhere in there, I caught myself humming along to a song I didn’t know the words to.
Miles came back a few minutes later, wiping his hands on his jeans. There was a receipt tucked behind his ear like he’d forgotten it was there. He leaned in the doorway of the back room and watched me for a second. “You look like you need prune juice.”
I didn’t look up from the bolts. “Astute commentary.”
“Prune juice solves most of life’s issues. I’ve said this before.”
“Your life needs more whimsy, Miles.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, hopping up onto the edge of the workbench. He watched me for a beat longer than was comfortable. “You know you do this every time.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestured at the bins, the clipboard, the whole back room. “Inventory. You actually hum, man, like a guy in a movie doing chores. You’ve been back here forty minutes, and you’re a completely different person than the one who walked in this morning.”
“It’s inventory. It’s not supposed to be dramatic.”
“I’m not saying it’s dramatic. I’m saying you’re lighter back here than you are basically anywhere else in your life, and I find that mildly inconvenient, given everything.” He paused just long enough to make it clear the next part wasn’t a tangent. “Did you ever call Maya back?”
I exhaled through my nose, more tired than annoyed. “I called her back.”
“And?”
“And nothing yet. There’s a walkthrough on the books.”
“Okay.” He shook his head slowly, more amused than annoyed. “I genuinely don’t get it. You have done amazing here and seem pretty happy, yet somehow the plan is still selling this place and going back to a law degree you haven’t touched in two years.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple. That’s what I keep telling you.”
I picked the clipboard back up, mostly for something to do with my hands.
“The estate’s basically settled now. There’s just some stuff left on the house.
Roof needs a look before winter, and depending on what Maya says about the market, I might need to redo part of the deck before it’ll even show well.
” I shrugged. “Once that’s handled, there’s nothing left holding me here. ”
“Holding you here?” Miles repeated. “I recall you being pretty miserable in school.”
“I’m going back to finish.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Okay. Sounds good.”
The bell chimed up front again. A guy near the counter turned a small box over in his hands, looking uncertain about it.
“Hey,” he said when he caught my eye. “You know if this’ll work for a Delta faucet? It’s leaking under the sink.”
I crossed to the counter. “Which model?”
He blinked. “Uh. Not sure. Older?”
“Two-handle or single?”
“Two.”
I set the box down and reached behind me for the right one without looking. “You want the 2127 kit. Not this.” I handed it over. “Grab plumber’s grease too while you’re here. Save yourself from doing this again in six months.”
He looked between the two boxes. “Thanks!”
“Yeah.”
He nodded and headed toward Paul at the register.
I turned back to the counter. Miles hadn’t moved, and he was watching me with a knowing expression.
“That,” he said, pointing after the guy, “is not law school brain. That’s not a guy with one foot already out the door. That’s a guy who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be and is too stubborn to admit it.”
“It’s just knowing where things are. I have been a part of this store since birth, really. ”
“Fine. I can see we are avoiding today.” He hopped down off the workbench, already smirking, already walking away.
“And shave that thing off,” I called after him and his newly grown mustache. “You look like a stock photo of a guy who owns a boat.”
“It looks awesome, and you’re jealous,” he said without turning around.
The worst part was that he did look awesome. He could be right about the rest of it, too, and I hated that most of all.