14. Ethan
Ethan
The rain still falls outside in heavy sheets as I sit cocooned in a fleece horseshoe pattern blanket, snuggled against Colt’s warm body.
The chill left long ago, but I wasn’t about to say no as I watched Colt rummage through unpacked boxes until he found the perfect blanket. He had an aura of determination, like it meant something more than I could understand for him to do this for me.
He wrapped the snuggly blanket around me while he walked around shirtless in a pair of lounge pants patterned with trout. Very Colt.
Right now, he’s sitting next to me on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table and flipping through TV channels.
“I don’t have full cable, and I don’t watch much TV,” he says, and I can’t say I’m surprised.
“That’s okay. Who even has cable these days? You can get an app and just stream most things.”
“Oh, of course,” he says, making me smile into the blanket.
“I’ll show you sometime, but right now I’m sort of hungry. I assume there’s no late-night pizza place or anything here?”
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, but I can make you something. What are you in the mood for?”
“That’s a loaded question, cowboy.” I laugh, and Colt elbows me.
“Come to the kitchen so we can decide.”
After plopping myself in my blanket at the table, I watch as Colt pokes around his fridge and cupboards before announcing he can make a cheese omelet, cheese nachos, or flatbread pizza. With extra cheese.
“If none of those appeal, I also have popcorn and cereal.”
“Pizza!” I laugh, and Colt sets the oven while he places all the items on the table in front of me. After passing me a cutting board and knife, we work together, chopping vegetables and grating cheese. It’s such a simple thing, us preparing a meal together like this, but it feels more than that.
“Um…I have to make a confession,” I begin, and Colt raises an eyebrow.
“Does this confession involve something illegal?”
“Not unless you consider not liking mushrooms on my pizza illegal.”
Colt mock gasps and slides the mushrooms toward him. “Not even with cheese?”
I shake my head. “It’s a texture thing. I’m not a fan.”
“That wasn’t as big a confession as I thought it would be. Do you mind if I put them on my half of the pizza?”
“No, go ahead.” We chop in silence for a beat, and I glance over as he spreads sauce on the flatbread.
He’s still shirtless, with his hair a little messy from drying after the shower.
A slight scruff of beard dusts his jaw, and he’s so completely comfortable in this domestic moment, my chest squeezes again when I think of leaving here.
When I think of how different it feels to be in these quiet moments with Colt than any of the time I spent with Trevor, it’s almost jarring in the contrast between them.
How did I ever think my life was full then?
“What?” His lips quirk as he tops the pizza and glances my way.
“I know you want me to stay over tonight, but would it be too much to ask if I could be here every night?”
Colt drops the stack of pepperoni on the pizza.
He clears his throat and slowly shakes his head.
“No. I wanted to ask you that, but I didn’t want to seem too eager.
” He huffs a breath as he stares at the pepperoni pile on the pizza.
“I’d really like to have you here every morning and watch the sunrise with you or make you coffee. I like you here in my space.”
“Okay.” I grin at him. Unable to contain the happiness of knowing he likes me here with him. “I don’t know about sunrise, but you can make me a coffee. I’ll never turn that down.”
Somehow, over a homemade pizza with mushrooms on his half, we talk for hours in his kitchen. He shares more about the town and what it was like to care for his uncle before he moved to a retirement home. I tell him about how I sometimes struggle with my parents being away so much.
“You’re close to your parents, though? You said you talk to your mom a lot.”
“I do. Since Mom was a journalist, we had that curious spark we shared. My dad is great, but as a military guy, he was sometimes more strict than I would’ve liked. We get along. Sometimes I wish…”
Colt, the man who never knew his father and lost his mother far too young, has endured more than I can pretend to understand. It seems rude for me to tell him how I long for a stable family.
“I wish they’d be around more for me. I know that’s selfish of me, but sometimes I wish I had that proverbial home to run to when I crash, you know?”
“I know.” He nods, and my gaze meets his. In that single fleeting moment, I feel safer with Colt than I have in my entire adult life.
“Do you think we could clean the kitchen in the morning? It’s been a long day.”
“Absolutely.” Colt doesn’t even hesitate as he pushes away from the table and holds out his hand to me. It’s such a perfectly gentlemanly thing to do as he leads me to his bedroom.
Random boxes litter the room, some open and some still taped up. His bed is a tangle of blankets with a single nightstand next to it, and in the corner, a hamper of dirty laundry is dangerously close to falling over.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a mess in here.”
“Sorry. I hate laundry, and I started unpacking but got distracted and never finished. So…yeah. Don’t mind the mess.”
I’ve already straightened the blankets on his bed and added the one he wrapped me in. Shucking off my boxers, I dive underneath the covers on the side without the nightstand and snuggle into the pillows.
“This is comfy. Are you joining me or what?”
Colt strips out of his sleep pants and slides under the covers, turning to face me. My feet find his, and I tangle them together while shamelessly pulling him closer to me.
“Heat thief,” he mutters into my hair as he arranges me against his naked body. There’s a smile in his words, and I laugh softly.
“Are you complaining?”
“Not a bit.”
Our breaths slow as we both begin drifting to sleep. It feels so right to be here with Colt in his apartment and messy bedroom. Everything about Colt feels right. From the warming-up shower to the pizza and conversation at dinner. Even the way he kissed me the first time when we went fishing.
What doesn’t feel right is saying goodbye in a few short months.
I’ve had my heart broken before, but this one will be the worst.
But as Colt said before, we need to take risks and live without regret. I’d regret it more if I didn’t enjoy this time with him.
And that’s the thought that finally shuts off my brain and allows me to drift off in his arms.
My eyes flutter open as light streams through a crack in the bedroom curtain. I guess I missed the sunrise, but at least the sun is shining and the rain has stopped.
After pulling out some clothes and dressing, I wander to the kitchen. Colt sits at his kitchen table with the paint supplies he set aside from last night. His reading glasses are a surprise, and when I enter the room, he sets them aside with a shy grin.
“Hey, you’re awake. Have a seat, and I’ll make the coffee I promised.”
Colt moves to the small coffee maker and quickly sets it up to brew a fresh pot.
“What are you painting?” Immediately, it hits me. “Shit. What time is it? This is Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s 9:15. Why?”
“Oh, thank god.” I pat my chest in relief that I didn’t miss it. “I, uh, I signed up for a paint thing at the library that day I ran into you.”
“After you tied the fly with Chris?” Colt’s lips twitch.
“Yeah. That day. I thought it would be fun to do something at the library, like most of the town seems to do, to see if I—” I snap my mouth shut. I can’t tell him I wanted to fit in here by joining a class. “I thought it might be a fun way to spend a few hours. Get me away from the laptop.”
Colt hums as he leans against the counter. “You thought you missed it?”
“Yeah. It’s not until—”
“11:30,” Colt finishes.
“Are you going too?”
He dips his head. “Oh, I’ll be there. Don’t expect special treatment from the teacher, though.”
“Wait. You’re teaching it?”
He nods as he reaches for a mug in the cupboard. “I ask for one Saturday off each month so I can volunteer in town. A paint day is always popular since a lot of the older folks don’t like to go to a paint evening.”
“Oh, lord,” I groan. “Will I be the youngest one there?”
Colt laughs as he pours me a coffee and adds cream and one sugar before handing it to me. “Probably not, but you’ll definitely have some of them asking you questions.”
“I can’t believe you’re the teacher.”
“It’s just watercolor, and I’m nothing special, but it’s a few hours working with my hands in a way I don’t usually. It’s soothing.”
“I can’t draw stick people, Colt. I don’t know about watercolor.”
“Good thing I’m an excellent teacher, then.” He winks, and it’s a direct line to my libido. How is my gentleman cowboy winking at me with so much promise in his kitchen right now? I feel like he’s been in disguise all along, and maybe he’s not so shy.
“You’re full of secrets, Colt Beckworth.”
His playful grin is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Not secrets. Just things you don’t know about me yet.
” He takes the mug from my hand and sets it on the counter before drawing me closer.
“Do you eat breakfast or just live on coffee?” He kisses me gently before pulling out a chair and placing my mug back in front of me.
My mind is still stuck on Colt teaching me to paint and what questions the people will ask me.
“Uh, cereal is fine.”
“Cheerios or Lucky Charms?”
“Eww…you eat Lucky Charms?”
With a booming laugh I’ve never heard from him, he sets the box of Cheerios on the table. “Occasionally I like a sugar rush.”
“Who are you, even?” I laugh.
“You have a few months to find out.”
I suck at painting.
My tree looks like a green glob of alien snot, and the water is unnaturally blue. The older woman next to me frowns when she glances over.
“You should ask Colt for help. He can tell you how to fix it.”
Right now, Colt is assisting an older gentleman with arthritis issues. Colt’s voice is soft as he speaks to the man about how he could tie the paintbrush to something bigger to help with his grip, and he’d be happy to help him.
When Colt left the house with a massive duffel bag, I assumed it was paint supplies.
It was, but not paints, brushes, and canvas.
Right now, he’s searching for something that the man feels at ease gripping, and they settle on a hairbrush.
I watch with rapt attention as Colt chatters with the man and secures a paintbrush to a hairbrush handle for him.
The man smiles and booms his approval while returning to his painting.
Colt moves to a young child next, who is despondent over her creation. Colt offers her a bag of googly eyes to make the rock into a face. She laughs and says it’s a space creation and not a shoreline.
I’m utterly fascinated with Colt and how he moves with ease from young to old, problem to problem. He is immensely good at this, and my chest bursts with pride.
When we arrived, I thought the painting class would be in a tiny room like the knitting ladies, but I was wrong. Colt filled the basement gathering area, and there are easily twenty people in here. Some paint on their own, and others simply wait for Colt because they want to.
“You’re new here,” the woman to my left says, and I nod.
“I am.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Uh…”
“My granddaughter is single if you need to get out.”
Ah. Can’t say I was expecting a grandmother to arrange a date for me on a paint day. Chance is full of new experiences, though. I also didn’t think I’d be dating the teacher of the class, either.
“Oh, thank you, but I’m gay.”
A collective gasp sounds, and now a couple in front of me turns around. “You’re gay? So is Colt,” the man says.
“He’s single, too,” the woman whisper-shouts, and Colt’s head turns our way.
Dear god, this is embarrassing. “Oh, thank you for letting me know.” I guess small towns don’t always have a rumor mill if nobody saw us out together and talked about it.
There’s a distinct note of playfulness in Colt’s gaze when our eyes meet as he walks toward my suddenly very chatty group. “Oh, he’s coming over. Ask him to help with your blob, dear.”
“You need some help, Ethan?”
While the audience has gone silent, I know they’re watching and listening as Colt drops his bag next to my chair and examines my poor excuse for a painting.
“Well, the uh, tree looks like a blob and the water isn’t right.”
He rummages in his bag and pulls out a pencil. “May I?” he asks as he brings it toward my paper.
“Yeah, knock yourself out.”
“If you take a dark green and make some lines here like this…” He makes light marks on my tree blob, “that will give it some shape to look more like a tree. As for the water, all you need to do is use a wet brush to take off some of the color like this.” He brushes a damp brush over my bright blue, and it fades to something more like water and less like an overripe blueberry.
“Huh. That’s cool.”
“He’s not seeing anyone, Colt,” supplies the woman in front of me, and Colt nods graciously.
“Thank you, Evelyn.” Colt winks again and mouths, told you.
Colt moves off to help a teenager, and I focus on my changes. Which is hard because everyone around me adores Colt. The older man with the modified paintbrush speaks a bit too loudly, and he mentions how much he enjoys coming to paint days just because of Colt.
Looking around the room, my attention no longer on my project, it’s clear to me everyone in this room is here for personal time with Colt.
They might like to paint and needed the day out, but Colt could have offered time reading from the phone book, and they’d still show up for him.
Is he even aware of how much the people in this room adore him?
Including me.
He announces we have ten more minutes before cleanup has to start, and that’s when the lady next to me pokes her head over again.
“He’s good, right?”
I don’t think she’s talking about the painting lesson, and neither am I.
“He’s the best.”
Somewhere in between a late-night talk over homemade pizza and a somewhat unsuccessful paint lesson, one thing is more obvious than my lack of painting skill.
I’m falling for Colt Beckworth.