Chapter 21
ETHAN
When we arrived at the seaside hotel, Claire opened the balcony door first, then stepped back inside to pull me out into the wind with her.
The March sea was still cold, but the sunlight was bright. Holding the railing, she leaned forward a little to get a better look at the path down to the beach. Her hair immediately blew across her face. I reached to brush it aside, and she looked up at me, already smiling.
“You might want to feel your own hair.”
I caught my reflection in the glass door.
A tuft of the hair I’d carefully arranged before we left stood straight up, as if signaling for help out at sea.
I tried to flatten it, but it sprang up again as soon as I let go.
Claire bent over the railing laughing. I pulled her close and lowered my head to nuzzle her forehead.
“Now we match.”
She pushed me away to feel her hair, laughing as she called me childish.
We’d kept the weekend free, with Nora spending two nights at Mia’s. Her only request was that any shells we brought home have no gold glitter.
Claire had chosen this hotel from three we’d considered. We both liked the little balcony and the path below, winding toward the headland. There was no need to hurry anywhere else.
She draped her scarf over my arm and looked down into her bag for her sunglasses. I picked up my coat and asked whether she wanted lunch first or a walk by the sea.
“A walk first. That cookie in the car was too big.”
“You said you’d only eat half.”
“The other half was to keep you from getting distracted while you drove.”
I nodded. “I was just about to thank you.”
Looking very pleased, she took my arm.
The beach was colder than the balcony. We hadn’t gone far before we both put on our coats.
The sea left fine white foam across the flat sand.
A few seabirds ran forward several steps, then retreated together as the water came in.
Holding her hand, I steered her away from a channel of water, carefully choosing a narrow spot for her to cross.
Once across, she stood on the other side and watched me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. I want to see how you plan to get yourself across.”
I looked down at the channel, only a shoe’s width across, and stepped straight over it. The next wash of water came in just then, rising to the edge of my shoe. Claire trying not to laugh was worse than Claire laughing.
“The survey work may have been slightly lacking,” she said.
I bent to scoop up a little seawater. She jumped back at once, still holding my hand. I didn’t splash her, just pressed my wet fingers to the back of her hand. She let out a cry and tapped my arm, laughing.
“Ethan!”
Hearing her say my name like that here made me want to kiss her again. She guessed it and lifted her chin to wait, but just as I reached her, she turned her face away, letting my lips land on her hair.
“Your punishment.”
“For how long?”
“Depends how you behave at lunch.”
We passed the restaurant with white tablecloths and found a warm little place where she could eat a fish sandwich with her hands. She shared it with me in exchange for shrimp. After soup and fries, we were warm enough to explore the uphill street.
At the end of the street was a shop selling shells. She chose two unpainted ones for Nora and spread them on her palm to show me. One was very pale pink inside. I paid, had the shop assistant wrap them, and put them in my coat pocket.
Outside the shop, the path to the headland still lay ahead. Claire looked that way for a while, then turned to take my hand.
“I want to go back to the hotel.”
“Tired?”
“A little.” She stepped closer. “I also want to be alone with you.”
I looked down at her and tightened my hold on her hand. The path we hadn’t finished that morning wasn’t far away, and we still had tomorrow. Right now, going back with her was what I wanted most too.
In the room, I took the paper bag of shells from my coat pocket and set it on the table. Claire slipped off her shoes, draped her scarf over the chair, and closed the balcony door. I took a quick shower. When I came out, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off her earrings.
I was drying my hair, water still dripping behind my ears. She put her earrings in the small dish on the nightstand, came over, and took the towel from me. She dried the ends of my hair, then pressed it against the back of my neck. Her fingertips were warm.
I put my hands at her waist and bent to kiss her. She pulled me closer, still clutching the towel, which brushed my face and left a wet streak along my jaw. She pulled the towel away with a small, frustrated laugh and tossed it over the chair.
“Does that mean I’ve behaved well now?” I asked.
She looked at the towel as if it might answer first. “It means you’ve stopped dripping.”
Then she kissed me. I remembered the kiss that had landed on her hair at the beach and couldn’t help smiling.
The smile softened when her mouth opened under mine, and the easy joke turned into something I felt all the way down my spine.
Afternoon light still lay across the curtains.
I could see the faint salt on her cheekbone and the flush rising along her throat.
I sat on the edge of the bed and drew her between my knees.
Her sweater came off first. I kissed the warm skin just above her bra, then unhooked it and let it fall.
Her breasts filled my hands, familiar and not a thing I was willing to rush past. I licked one nipple until it tightened, then the other, and felt her fingers tighten in my damp hair.
“Ethan.”
“Mm.”
“If you’re going to take half the afternoon, at least do it properly.”
I laughed against her skin and stood long enough to help her out of her jeans.
She kicked them aside, and then she was in front of me in only her underwear, sea light on her shoulders.
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and looked up.
She nodded, rested one hand on my shoulder, and stepped out of them.
I eased her onto the mattress and knelt between her knees, kissing her stomach, then lower. When my mouth reached her, she gripped my damp hair.
“A little harder. Use your fingers too.”
I followed her lead, keeping the rhythm as her stomach tightened. When she came, her hand caught my wrist to keep me there. I stayed until her grip eased, then kissed her thigh and looked up, grinning.
She pulled me up by the arms and kissed me, messy, smiling a little into it. “Your turn to lose the towel.”
I had wrapped it around my waist out of habit. It hit the floor. My cock was already hard; seeing her look at it in full daylight did nothing to help. She wrapped her hand around me and stroked, unhurried, watching my face the way I had watched hers.
“Condom,” she said, nodding toward my bag.
I got one, tore it open, and rolled it on while she scooted back against the pillows. I thought she would pull me down over her. Instead she turned onto her side and reached back for my hip.
“Like this,” she said. “I want to see the window.”
I lay behind her and lifted her thigh over mine.
When I pushed into her, the angle made both of us go still.
She was tight, slick, and so warm I had to rest my mouth against her shoulder and count a breath.
Then I began to move, slow enough that I could feel every inch.
The afternoon light caught the curve of her waist. I slid my hand down and found her clit again, rubbing in time with my hips.
“That’s good,” she said. “Stay with that.”
I did. A boat’s horn sounded a long note outside.
She lifted her eyes but didn’t turn to look.
I kissed the back of her neck and kept the pace she had asked for, not because I was being careful, but because I wanted her to come again before I did.
Her hand covered mine over her clit and pressed harder, showing me.
I followed. When she started to shake, I held her tighter and worked that same small circle until she clenched around my cock and spilled another broken sound into the pillow.
Only then did I let myself go faster. The wet sound of us filled the quiet room.
I came with my face in her hair, buried deep, one arm locked around her ribs, the afternoon still bright enough that I could see her fingers curl in the sheet.
For a few seconds I could not hear the sea at all, only my own pulse.
I stayed inside her until the last of it passed. Then I withdrew, dealt with the condom, and pulled the sheet over our hips. She turned in my arms and put her hand on my shoulder, fingers already slackening. I lay down with her. Through the glass, the surf was hard to hear.
We woke in the early evening. Claire asked if we could still get dinner, checked the time on my phone, and settled against me for a few more minutes.
In the restaurant, she spotted me studying an old hotel photograph and asked for its history. A booklet revealed our table stood where the kitchen used to be. We laughed over it, then set it aside when dinner arrived.
The next morning, over breakfast on the balcony, Claire set half an orange on my plate.
“I’ve started thinking about what it would be like to live together.”
I looked up.
“I want to stay in my neighborhood,” she said. “I like being able to walk to work and meet friends afterward.”
“Shall we look at a few places?”
“Yes. We need to see what you like too.”
I smiled and reached for her hand. “Then we’ll look together.”
On the drive home, as we passed through her neighborhood, she put the paper bag of shells at her feet and pointed toward the intersection ahead.
“I really like the streets to the right here. There’s a path behind them that goes straight to the library.”
I slowed, waiting for someone walking a dog to cross before looking in the direction she pointed.
The trees along the street were just beginning to bud.
A few pale steps led to a porch. She began telling me which street caught the afternoon sun and which window always had a pot of flowers growing crookedly in front of it.
I drove slowly, listening carefully to her.