20. Ethan
ETHAN
She fled.
Not far but enough that the crowd swallowed her up, and she was gone.
I watched her go for about three seconds. Lucy was still talking, her voice bright, not missing a beat. No acknowledgment that Salem had just left. I nodded at what felt like the right intervals. I couldn’t have told you a single word she said.
“Ethan, are you even listening?”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping back from the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
“But the funnel cakes—”
“You can have them.”
She said something else. I was already gone.
I found Salem just past the edge of the fair, where the crowd thinned out.
She’d stopped in a patch of open space between the last tent and the tree line, her back to me, her arms crossed with her weight on one hip.
The noise of the fair carried out here but softly—music and voices blurred together into something that felt distant, like another life happening just out of reach.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t falling apart. Good. That made one of us. I didn’t think I could stomach Salem being upset.
“Running away doesn’t really feel like your vibe,” I said, calling to her.
She didn’t turn right away. When she did, her expression was composed.
“I didn’t run, but for the record, it is.”
“You left in a hurry.”
“Maybe I had somewhere to be.”
I looked at the empty stretch of space around us. Back at her. “Is this some sort of geocaching checkpoint I’m not aware of?”
The corner of her mouth moved. Just barely. “Shut up.”
“There’s nothing out here.”
“I needed air.”
“There’s air at the funnel cake stand.”
She unfolded her arms, which I took as progress.
The thing was, I had wanted this. Wanted her.
More than anything in that contract, more than the photos and the hashtags and the carefully managed appearances.
I had gotten one perfect unscripted moment—her hand in mine, the sun on both of us, everything exactly right—and then I had yanked it away the second Lucy appeared because I knew how Lucy operated and I didn’t want those claws anywhere near Salem before I had figured out what I was doing.
I was supposed to be leaving. That made this complicated.
Which was, in retrospect, the worst possible way to handle it.
From where Salem was standing, I had dropped her hand and left her there. She had no reason to read it any other way. That was on me.
“You’re reading into something,” I said, because I was apparently also bad at starting conversations.
She held my gaze without flinching. “I don’t think I am. I think you dropped my hand the second she showed up.”
“You’re not wrong about what it looked like. You’re wrong about why.”
She crossed her arms slightly tighter. “Then explain it.”
“I know Lucy. She sees things, and she doesn’t leave them alone. I didn’t want you to be the target of her next mission.”
Salem was quiet. The breeze came through the trees at the edge of the lot, lifting the hem of her dress, and she reached up to push her hair back without looking away from me. Three black red hearts on her cheekbone. Still there. Seemed symbolic.
“Ethan.”
“Yeah.”
“We signed a contract.” She tilted her head, patient in the way of someone making a very obvious point. “A PR contract. Hiding me is literally the opposite of the job.” She raised her eyebrows.
“That’s—”
“Counterproductive?”
“Accurate,” I said.
Then, quieter, she said, “I’m not mad about the hand. I mean, I am a little, but I just don’t love standing there wondering what I missed.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
She stepped forward, closing the space without any hesitation. “Next time, don’t leave me guessing.”
I brushed my fingers against her wrist, giving her room. She didn’t move away. Her fingers shifted just slightly toward mine, and that was enough. My hand slid into hers. This time, I didn’t drop it.
She held my gaze for a moment. Something shifted in her face.
“I’m not hiding you,” I added. “I left twelve-dollar funnel cakes for you. That should say something.”
The smile broke through before she could stop it. “That’s your declaration?”
“Those things are really good.”
“Wow. So romantic.”
“I thought so.”
Her fingers settled more firmly in mine.
I stepped closer. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned in, her shoulder warm against mine, her face tipped up just enough that the afternoon light caught in her eyes and made them do the thing they always did—that brilliant shade of green that I couldn’t stop staring at.
“I’m serious, I am sorry that it looked like that,” I said, my voice dropping slightly.
“I know,” she said. Softer. “I know you are.”
She was close. The October air grew warm.
When I leaned in this time, she was already there.
The fair kept going behind us, loud and golden and indifferent. The music, the voices, someone’s dog barking. None of it touched us out here past the last tent with the tree line at our backs and her hand still in mine.
I pulled back enough to look at her.
She had her eyes open. That small smile still there, unhurried, like she had nowhere else to be.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
We stayed right where we were.
Somewhere back at the funnel cake stand, Lucy was either enjoying her twelve-dollar funnel cake or she wasn’t.
Not my problem anymore.