15. Ethan
ETHAN
Salem had left a little before close.
She’d said something about an early morning at the shop, pulling on her jacket while the last group was filtering out.
Alba had walked out with her, the two of them pausing near the doors with their heads together.
Salem laughed before she turned to wave at me and disappeared into the dark parking lot.
Alba had taken the car—early start, she’d said—which meant Miles needed a ride home.
I was stuck with him and his opinions for at least another twenty minutes.
He knew it too. I could tell by the way he said nothing and just waited by the door with his arms, with an expression I couldn’t read and likely wouldn’t want to understand anyway.
Paul’s truck was backed up against the far edge of the lot, tailgate already down. He was pulling a six-pack from behind the seat when we arrived, like he’d been planning for this.
Miles and I sat on the tailgate. Paul leaned against the side panel. He looked restless.
The ocean waves lapped against the shore.
The salt air was still there—cold and steady, coming in off the water in long, quiet swells.
Down past the tree line, the tide kept going, low and consistent, doing what it always did, regardless of what was happening on shore.
The parking lot lights washed everything amber. The Den sat dark behind us.
Paul took a long pull of his beer. “So.”
I didn’t look over.
“I was thinking about asking Rowan out again.”
Miles didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Paul frowned. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t need the rest of the sentence.”
“I could approach it differently this time.”
“Differently how?” I said. “Like not acting like a complete ass on your date?”
“I took bad advice from the internet.”
“You need to leave that woman alone,” Miles said, taking a slow sip.
Paul considered this. “I think she liked me, though.”
“You think everyone likes you.”
“That’s because they usually do. I’m a likable guy.”
“Rowan doesn’t,” I said. “And from everything I’ve heard about her, she’s spunky. You already repainted one apartment this season.”
Paul went very still. “…okay. So maybe not a second date situation.”
“Correct.”
He nodded once, turning his beer in his hands. “Still feels like I should try.”
“That’s because you are a glutton for punishment,” I said.
“That’s fair. I’m probably going to call her anyway.”
“Your funeral,” Miles said.
Paul grinned as if that were encouragement and took another pull of his beer.
Miles stretched his legs out and looked out at the lot. The fog moved slowly across the asphalt, drifting in from the water in long, quiet laps. Somewhere down the road, a car passed, headlights sweeping briefly across the lot. The tide kept going underneath all of it, steady and indifferent.
Neither of us said anything for a minute.
“You know why that won’t work, right?” Miles said, finally.
“With Rowan?”
“You know how Alba and I met?”
“Roller rink,” Paul said. “You’ve told this story.”
“She demolished me coming around a corner. Took both of us out.”
“Both broke your arms,” I said.
“Same collision, different arms.” He said it the same way he always did—like it was still funny after all these years.
“Couldn’t do much of anything that whole summer.
So, we just talked. Every day. For three months.
One minute, she wasn’t there. Then she was.
Everything before her just felt like I’d been standing around waiting for something to happen without knowing what. ”
Paul looked at his beer. I looked at mine. I’d heard the story before, but it landed differently tonight.
“I tried to slow it down at first,” he said. “Thought there was no way I met the love of my life as a teenager. It caused a lot of friction.”
“What did?”
He looked at me, brief and direct. “Resisting. But that is how real love happens. It’s not forced. I had to stop fighting it.”
Paul watched him, then pointed his beer at the mustache. “That thing is getting out of hand.”
“Leave it alone,” Miles said.
“It’s got its own zip code at this point.”
“You’re jealous,” I said.
Paul turned to me. “I am not jealous of the mustache.”
“You absolutely are.”
“HA,” Miles said, pointing at me. “You like it. You are defending the ‘stache.”
“I never said I liked it,” I said. “I said Paul’s jealous.”
Miles looked pleased with himself and said nothing further.
Paul set his beer down on the tailgate beside him and was quiet for a moment. “I’m tired of the revolving door.”
Miles and I both looked at him.
“The speed dating. All of it.” He shrugged, but it wasn’t quite casual. “I want the thing. You know. The actual thing.” He glanced at Miles.
Nobody said anything for a second.
“That’s surprisingly self-aware,” I said.
“I have my moments.” He picked his beer back up. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re sitting here talking about wanting the actual thing, and meanwhile”—Miles nodded at me—“he has a non-dating policy like some frat boy”.
“It’s not a policy,” I said.
“What do you call it?” Paul said. “You don’t date. Everyone knows you don’t date. It’s like a fact about you. Like how I don’t eat cilantro.”
“I am reasonable, and you are weird for not eating cilantro.”
“Tastes like soap. You’re both missing out on something great.”
“It’s not fair to date anyone if I’m leaving,” I said.
Miles tipped his beer at me, unimpressed. “Cool theory. Except that doesn’t cancel out someone coming with you, or a long-distance relationship, and this theory sure as hell didn’t keep Lucy at arm’s length. So, I’m not totally sure what the rule’s actually been protecting you from.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Paul finished his beer, tossed it in the bed of his vehicle, and hopped off the tailgate. “Night,” he said, like that was the end of it, and got in.
Miles and I walked to my truck without talking. The gravel was wet under our boots, the salt air heavy now. Above the tree line, the sky had gone dark, that which meant the fog had won for the night. So dark it seemed endless.
I unlocked my truck. Miles got in, and I stood there for one more second, looking back at the Den. The worst part wasn’t that I didn’t know what I was doing. The worst part was that I was starting to think I might want to figure it out.
I got in the truck and drove him home.