Chapter 5ETHAN
CHAPTER 5
ETHAN
I stare at the old and mangled hedge trimmers in my hands, the blades stuck at an awkward angle as if they’ve just given up on life. Honestly, I don’t blame them. This whole “DIY homeowner” thing is turning out to be way harder than it looks on TV.
This is Riley’s fault.
Well, I didn’t figure it out. At all. The instructions might as well have been written in hieroglyphics, and the YouTube tutorial? Let’s just say it was less ‘how-to’ and more ‘what not to do.’ I thought I was doing okay until the trimmers started making that horrible grinding noise, and then just… died.
My frustration isn’t just about the trimmers. It’s everything about this place—slower, quieter, and way harder to navigate than I thought. Maybe I was na?ve to think moving here would magically fix everything.
With a sigh, I drop the tools onto my kitchen counter, next to my laptop, where an email from Sam sits open.
“When you’re ready, let’s discuss the next steps? Also, we need to catch up. How is Bardstown?”
Sam, even though he's currently on his honeymoon right now, and I have been bouncing ideas back and forth for weeks about starting a new business—something small, simple, and nothing like the high-stakes, luxury real estate empire back in New York. He’s throwing around ideas about some development project, and while I’m interested, I haven’t exactly been pulling my weight.
Instead of working on the pitch deck for Sam, I’m over here destroying perfectly good hedge trimmers. Real productive, Ethan.
I grab the useless tool and head for the door, muttering to myself. There’s no avoiding it now. I have to go back to Riley’s hardware store and swallow my pride.
The bell above the door jingles as I walk in, the smell of sawdust and metal hitting me like a wave of you don’t belong here . I spot Riley at the counter, scribbling something in a notebook. She doesn’t look up right away, so I take a moment to watch her.
Her hair is tied back in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face, and she’s chewing on the end of her pen with an expression that somehow manages to look both focused and annoyed. She’s so different from anyone I knew back in the city—completely unpolished, no-nonsense, and yet… there’s something about her that’s magnetic.
I clear my throat, and her eyes snap up to meet mine.
“You again?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “What is it this time? Need me to explain the difference between a wrench and a hammer?”
I force a smile, holding up the hedge trimmers like I’m surrendering a weapon. “Actually, I need help. Turns out I didn’t figure it out, after all.”
She sets down her pen, crosses her arms, and leans against the counter. “Oh, really? You mean my sage advice didn’t magically make you a DIY expert?”
“Shocking, right?” I reply, matching her sarcasm.
Riley sighs and motions for me to bring the trimmers over. “Let’s see the damage.”
I hand them over, and she inspects them with a critical eye, turning them over like a mechanic diagnosing a car. “Wow. These trimmers have seen better days. What’d you try to cut, a tree trunk?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying not to feel too embarrassed. “I might’ve used them on some branches that were… too big.”
She snorts. “Too big? These are hedge trimmers, Ethan. Not tree saws.”
“Okay, point taken,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m a hopeless city boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s why I came to you—the expert.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “You’re lucky I like fixing things.”
She pulls out a toolkit and starts working on the trimmers right there at the counter, her hands deft and confident. Watching her is… oddly fascinating. The way she works—focused, deliberate, like she’s done this a million times—makes me feel like a complete amateur. But it’s also… kind of incredible to watch. Not to mention that there’s something incredibly attractive about how capable she is.
“So,” she says after a moment, not looking up. “Why didn’t you just ask for help the first time? Too much pride?”
“Something like that,” I admit, leaning against the counter. “Figured I could handle it on my own. Guess I was wrong.”
She smirks, glancing up at me briefly. “You don’t say.”
There’s a pause, and I realize I actually don’t mind standing here with her, even if she’s giving me a hard time.
“Why are you really here, Ethan?” she asks, her tone softer now.
I shrug. “Honestly? Because I knew you’d fix it, and I kind of like watching you call me out. Keeps me humble.”
She laughs at that, shaking her head. “I suppose that’s a good enough answer.”
“Do you ever take it easy on anyone?” I ask, unable to keep the grin off my face .
“Not when they make it this easy,” she shoots back, handing me the now-functional trimmers. “Try not to kill these again, okay?”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
As I head for the door, I glance back at her one more time. There’s something about Riley that keeps catching me off guard. She’s sharp, she’s tough, and she’s absolutely nothing like the women I’ve known before.
And for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I might’ve met someone who can actually keep me on my toes.
I step back to admire the hedges, my hands on my hips. They’re a little uneven, sure, and one of them is noticeably lopsided, but they’re trimmed. Finally.
“Not bad for someone who didn’t know which end of the trimmers to use last week,” I mutter.
Just as I’m about to head inside to grab a drink, the crunch of gravel catches my attention. I glance over to see Riley climbing out of her red truck, parked in my driveway like she owns the place.
“What’s this? A surprise inspection?” I ask, smirking as she walks toward me.
Riley crosses her arms, giving the hedges a once-over. “I was curious. Thought I’d see if you managed to butcher anything else.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply, gesturing to the yard. “But as you can see, I’ve got it under control.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure you do.”
I fold my arms over my chest, mirroring her stance. “You came all the way over here just to check on my hedges? What happened to minding your own business?”
She rolls her eyes. “Ethan, we live right next door. I am minding my business.”
Touché.
“Well?” I ask, motioning toward the hedges. “What do you think?”
She tilts her head, clearly trying to decide how honest she wants to be. “Well, they’re standing upright, so that’s something. Not bad, city boy.”
I pretend to be offended. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
She smirks. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
We end up on the porch, both of us leaning against the railing. I offer her a bottle of water, and to my surprise, she takes it without a single sarcastic remark.
“So, what’s the real reason you’re here?” I ask after a moment.
Riley shrugs, twisting the bottle cap in her hands. “I wanted to see if you’d actually figure it out or if you’d just destroy half the yard.”
“Low expectations, huh?” I say, shaking my head .
“Based on how you handled that mower last week?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah.”
I laugh, but her words remind me of the pressure I left behind in New York. Back there, I was always trying to prove myself—not just to clients or coworkers but also to my parents. I gave everything to the family business, working long hours under my dad’s watchful eye and trying to live up to expectations that were impossible to meet.
But no matter how much I did, it was never enough.
“Why’d you come to Bardstown, Ethan?” Riley’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. Her tone is softer now, more curious than sarcastic.
I glance at her, then back at the yard, my jaw tightening for a moment. “Because I needed to get out. My family runs a huge real estate firm in New York—big, flashy, high-pressure. I worked there for years, climbing the ladder, managing projects, and doing everything my dad wanted. But it got to a point where I felt like I was suffocating. So I left. Bardstown seemed like a good place to start fresh.”
She nods, her expression unreadable. “And how’s that going for you?”
“Mixed results,” I admit with a grin. “Turns out, the quiet life is harder than it looks.”
She smiles faintly, taking a sip of her water. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the type to blend into a small town.”
“And what type am I?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of humor in her eyes. “The kind that doesn’t know how to use hedge trimmers until someone shows you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Fair enough. But I’m learning.”
She leans back against the railing, her gaze drifting to the yard. “I’ll give you that. You’re doing better than most of the city guys who come through here.”
“Wow,” I say, feigning shock. “Is that a compliment?”
“Don’t push it,” she replies, smirking.
I glance at her, and for the first time, I notice how the sunlight catches the loose strands of her hair and how the corners of her lips twitch when she’s holding back a smile. Riley’s sharp and sarcastic, sure, but there’s something else there—something I didn’t expect.
Back in New York, every conversation felt like a negotiation. Here, people like Riley say what they mean—no filters, no pretenses. It’s jarring, but also kind of refreshing.
“What about you?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much,” she says, fiddling with the bottle cap. “After my parents passed, Aunt Dotty took me in. She’s been everything to me—parent, mentor, occasional pain in the neck.”
Her voice softens when she talks about Dotty, and I feel a pang of something I can’t quite name.
“When I was a kid, Aunt Dotty would sit with me for hours, teaching me how to plant flowers in neat little rows. She made sure I always felt like I belonged, even when everything else felt upside down.”
“She seems like a good person,” I say.
“She is,” Riley replies, her gaze distant. “She’s the glue that holds everything together.”
There’s a pause, and I realize I’m seeing a different side of her—a quieter, more thoughtful Riley that she keeps carefully tucked away. Hearing her talk about Dotty, there’s a softness in her voice I haven’t heard before. It’s like she’s letting me peek through a crack in the armor she always wears.
“Well,” she says, standing up and brushing off her jeans, her sarcasm sliding back into place. “At least now I know you’re not completely helpless. Just… mostly.”
“Thanks,” I say, laughing. “I’ll take that as a win.”
She starts walking back toward her truck but pauses at the edge of the driveway.
“Don’t let it go to your head—or your hedges,” she calls over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
As I watch her leave, I can’t help but grin. This town, this life—it’s messy and unfamiliar. But maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what I needed.