Chapter 8
He’d said too much.
He felt it in his bones. The stunned look she’d given him, the way the silence had turned leaden and awkward as they continued to tour the house.
He didn’t know why he had made that comment about trusting her, why he had admitted to her the truth about his presence now, the feelings he still had inside him that he couldn’t shake.
Ethan knew that he’d been the one to fuck up all those years ago. She had been vulnerable and had given him a part of herself, and he’d all but thrown it away. Dismissed it.
And then run.
It was unforgivable. It was something he couldn’t even dwell on in therapy, his last-ditch attempt to foil the intrusive thoughts and feelings of spiraling anxiety that seemed to have consumed him the last few years.
And sure, maybe talking to someone had helped him sleep better at night, but it hadn’t addressed the core issue that was plaguing him.
The loss of his friendship with Julia.
He could talk about work until he was blue in the face. About the pressures of his job, the expectations he had placed on himself, his existence as a single male in his thirties in New York City. All those topics, while stressful, felt safe in a way that talking about Julia didn’t.
Because bringing up Julia would be dredging up all the old memories and feelings and mistakes that he simply could not afford to address.
He could do his CBT and take his CBD and present himself as a fully functioning adult who was moderately successful.
But if he had to really take a deep look at himself, at the mistakes he’d made and where they had led him, he was worried it would be an avalanche that would bury him deep in a hole he couldn’t dig out of.
And now, seeing her again, referencing his feelings about her, talking to her…it was a slippery slope. It was too easy to fall into old habits and old comforts. He needed to check himself. He couldn’t do anything to alienate her further.
It was clear she had buried whatever had happened between them and was ready to move on.
For her sake, and as his final act of penance, he should simply let her.
It was bad enough he was here, that he knew.
At the very least, he could let the week pass by seamlessly and then go without leaving a mark this time.
“You don’t get more nondescript than this place,” she said, breaking him out of his reverie as she took him through the main floor of the house again and out the front door.
“As you know,” she added, almost unnecessarily, before continuing.
“It all just screams one of those picturesque Hallmark villages.”
“Anywheretown, USA,” Ethan supplied, falling in stride with both her walk and her casual tone, which dismissed any earlier awkwardness by refusing to acknowledge it.
“Basically.” Stepping out onto the wraparound porch, she took a bracing breath of fresh air.
“I love when the weather is like this.” The comment was soft, softer than most of the things she’d said to him since his arrival.
It was almost as if she had forgotten she was talking to him and instead had said aloud the thought she was having in the moment.
That feeling was verified when she looked over at him quickly as he joined her on the porch before looking away again.
The front porch had always been one of his favorite parts of the cottage.
A contrasting white to the clay-red-shingled exterior, gleaming as though freshly painted, by the looks of it.
He could still remember when the corners used to flake beneath his fingertips when he was a kid, worn out after so many seasons of sun and heat, cold and rain.
The air smelled faintly of pine needles and lake water and the cool, crisp aura that only autumn could bring.
It was the kind of scent that evoked memories of the past that he had taken for granted, a strange mixture of comfort and ache for a time he could never get back.
There was something about this porch, this view, that made it feel like the years were collapsing in on themselves—as if time hadn’t passed so much as folded.
He took it in now, the land dipping into a sweep of green and gold, the grass fading toward the rockier shores of the lake and into the line of trees already tipped with amber.
He could hear the soft lapping of the waves, the birds busying themselves in the trees, the distant whirring of a boat cutting across the lake farther and faster than his eyes could catch.
Julia was silent now, too, leaning on the railing, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
For a moment he couldn’t tell if she was taking it all in or if her mind was elsewhere, self-preservation against a convenient backdrop.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the scent of pine and something faintly sweet—apples, maple, or woodsmoke from the chimney.
“Me, too,” he said in response to her earlier comment, putting his hands in his pockets and taking his own deep breath. He searched for something else to say, something to move them along, get them out of their own heads. “You, uh, you can really smell fall.”
“Yeah.” She looked like she was going to end the conversation there, and then whatever war she’d been having within herself got the better of her and she begrudgingly added, “It’s my favorite time of year here.”
I know. He wanted to say it, but didn’t, knowing that it would take them back to that awkward place of heaviness and silence. Too much familiarity for where they stood now.
But it was true. He remembered. Even those crisp, cooler August days on the lake were like magic to Julia.
A reprieve from the heat and a beckoning of the cool weather to come.
She would drag him inside and make him something from scratch, chocolate chip cookies or a banana loaf, adding just enough cinnamon to make him think of September or October and not the fact that the next day was probably going to feel closer to eighty-five degrees than sixty-five.
He started to say something else, to hold on to those memories, maybe even evoke them in some way, when Julia spoke first.
“Oh, hi, Norman!”
Looking over in the direction Julia was waving at, Ethan spotted an older man ambling around the corner of the house with a shovel in hand. He raised a hand back and nodded at Julia before zeroing in on Ethan.
Moving at a pace that was more tortoise-like than human, he approached the two of them standing on the porch.
Julia waited patiently, a small smile on her lips, while Ethan found himself glancing at her a couple of times over the course of the man’s slow trip to them just to ensure that this wasn’t, in fact, a joke.
Finally making his way to the base of the stairs, Norman put the blade of the shovel into the dirt, leaning on the handle as he regarded the two of them.
“Hi there, Julie.”
Even his pace of speaking was slow, like he had a mouthful of molasses and was trying to get the words out around it.
It was so distracting, Ethan almost didn’t notice how he’d called her Julie instead of Julia.
Yet when he turned to check if Julia had caught it, all he saw was that same patient, gentle smile, which she didn’t seem to reserve for anyone else.
“How goes things?” he continued in that same steady, slow tone.
“Things are good!” Julia answered brightly, as friendly as Ethan had ever heard her, at least since his arrival this afternoon.
She continued to appear entirely unfazed by the man’s unhurried demeanor.
“I’m not sure if Maggie reminded you, but this is going to be a bit of a strange week.
” She turned to gesture to Ethan. “Ethan is here representing a public relations firm and has requested that two of his clients spend a few days at the inn to bolster their careers.”
Norman’s brow slowly furrowed, and Ethan suppressed the urge to overexplain his presence.
“But what about the other guests?” Norman asked eventually.
“Well, we’ve had to reschedule two bookings, but luckily Ethan and his company have been generous enough to comp the original visits and allow our inconvenienced guests’ next stay to be for free.
And then, of course, his firm has compensated us enough to justify an entire week’s stay for every room. ”
They did? Ethan hadn’t been overly involved in the logistics of booking the place—he’d let Gayle handle that—but if that was the case, then Fordham PR had been very generous indeed.
Admittedly, he also hadn’t considered the thought of potentially putting out any current guests, so he was glad that he wasn’t entirely the villain of this whole escapade, at least.
“Oh my!” Norman exclaimed, a hand slowly making its way to his bucket hat. “Why, that will certainly be helpful for us, won’t it, Julie?”
There it was again. Julie. For someone who had never accepted any sort of nickname or riff on her name—barring Ethan’s allowance to call her Gem—she was unblinkingly accepting of this man calling her the wrong name entirely.
Sure, it wasn’t as though he’d called her Jessica or Jennifer, but still.
She wasn’t a Julie. She was a Julia. (Or a Gem.)
He was so focused on hearing her called the wrong name, he almost didn’t notice her stiffen beside him.
When he happened to glance over, her look of serene placidity had been replaced by something a bit more desperate, narrowed eyes and a jutting jaw seemingly directed toward Norman for some perceived slight.
Maybe she had finally heard him say Julie?
But no, it was something else, a message she was trying to convey in the subtle gesture she made with her hand, almost like the motion a person makes when they’re trying to tell someone to cut it out—or that they’re going to kill them. A swift lancing gesture close to the throat.
Norman’s own brow furrowed before his face cleared and his mouth opened in an O shape, realization evidently dawning.
“No, it won’t,” he said suddenly. “Be helpful, that is.”