Starting Over – By Christine Ashworth #4
“And who’s this?” She reached down to give the dog’s head pats and was rewarded with several long licks along her fingers. She laughed. “Maybe I still have some sugar on my hands.”
“That’s Posey. She’s seven.”
“Aw. She’s so sweet. So you’re a dog person. I like that.” Skye slid to her knees on the floor and gave Posey a belly rub. “There you go, sweet girl, sweet puppers.”
Posey stretched out, her tongue hanging out to one side, and wiggled under Skye’s hands.
“She’ll let you do that forever, you know.”
Skye just grinned up at him. “I haven’t had a dog since mine died, just before I left for New York. I don’t mind spreading some love to this sweet girl.”
Content to have her there with Posey, Ethan went to the fridge. “Wine? We’re having seared scallops in a light lemon and caper sauce over orzo pasta, with a green salad and the rolls you brought.”
“Sounds delish.”
He set the two glasses on the counter and watched her with his dog. His heart went all squishy; Posey was normally shy with strangers. “Want a hand up, or does Posey have you wrapped around her shaggy paw?”
“Hand up, please.”
He pulled her up easily and for a breath, they stood close enough to kiss. He took a step back from her anticipation and ignored the question that slid into her eyes. He handed her the glass, turned away from her, unsteady. “So how was your day?”
Skye slid onto the stool and sipped the crisp white wine. “Good. Busy. Always is before a day off. I didn’t see you in the café this morning.”
“No. I’ve been remarkably productive the last couple of days.”
“You know, that’s something I don’t know about you. What kind of writing do you do? I mean, this is a pretty swank place you’re renting, so you must be doing well, yeah? Novels, I think you said. Have I read anything you’ve written?”
“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that. Hang on a minute.”
Ethan disappeared into another room and Skye sat and sipped, loving the feel of Posey’s head on the top of her foot.
She glanced around the place. It was welcoming.
The living room flowed into the kitchen area, a modified open design that worked well.
Warm woods, saturated pops of color against cream walls.
Understated luxury in the deep couches in shades of forest green and maroon, in the honey oak bookshelves lining one wall.
The kitchen was mostly white, with dark blue and white subway tiles serving as the backsplash. White cabinets above, dark blue below, with stainless appliances. Red accents in the tea kettle on the stove, and the hand towels, were a nice touch.
Ethan came back, holding a couple of books in his hands. “Here.” He held out the books to her.
“A Pretty Way to Die, by Alaric Alexander, and Death Walks This Way, also by Alaric Alexander. Nice. I’ve actually read his stuff. Made a big splash a few years ago. Didn’t one of his books get picked up for a series?” She set the books down on the breakfast bar.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his neck. “Death for a Cause. It was a Netflix series, ran fourteen episodes.”
“Oh that’s right. I never seem to have time to watch TV anymore. So, what did you want to tell me?”
“I’m Alaric Alexander. Or rather, he is me. It’s my pen name. I’m going to start dinner now.” Obviously uncomfortable, Ethan wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“A pen name? You wrote the Alaric Alexander books? That’s wonderful! Does everyone know?”
“I haven’t told anyone here.” He wore dark jeans and a white button-down, sleeves rolled up onto his forearms. His movements in the kitchen were brisk and sure, and it was a pleasure to watch someone else cook for a change.
“Why not? You could do a book signing at The Book Stack, across from the Busy B. They’d love to have you.”
He shrugged, uneasy. “I’m not one for the limelight. My mother was an author, too, and she loved being in the press.”
“Would I know her?” She leaned forward, fascinated.
“Annabel Wright, romance author.”
“Oh sure, I’ve read her. She’s a wonderful writer.” Skye stopped abruptly. “Oh. Oh Ethan, I’m so sorry. Of course I read about it. A bizarre boating accident, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Their first vacation in a few years. It was a horrific time. The funeral was private, but is anything really private anymore?” He shook his head as he spooned the lemon butter sauce over the perfectly cooked scallops.
“They died before my first book came out. I didn’t get to put it in their hands. I will forever regret that.”
“I’m so sorry, Ethan.” Skye wanted, more than anything at that moment, to go to him, to wrap him in her arms, but they weren’t there yet. A handful of kisses on two coasts didn’t automatically lead to emotional intimacy, no matter how much she wished it would.
He cleared his throat. “There’s a small dining room at the other end of the kitchen, if you’d like to head that way?”
“Of course.” Skye took her glass with her to an intimate round room that had two tall windows, now covered in gold drapes.
The room itself was painted a cool blue.
A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, shedding sparkling light over a round table set for two with blue linens and crystal glasses.
One wall held a curved sideboard that held crystal in the glass shelves above.
The salad bowl was already on the table, along with the rolls she’d made, tucked into a wicker basket. The wine sat in an ice bucket.
Ethan came in behind her, carrying their plates. “Here you go.”
“This feels very fancy. Thank you so much. I was half-expecting burgers on the grill,” she teased.
“I’m good at that, too.” He grinned at her and lifted his glass. “To our history.”
Her eyebrows rose as they tapped glasses. “Our history?”
“New York, for one. You’ve read both my work and my mother’s work, for two and three.”
“True and oh my gods the scallops are orgasmic.” She licked her lips. “So, was you being Alaric Alexander what you wanted to talk to me about, that couldn’t be discussed in public?”
“Kind of. I really don’t want to shine that light on my life. I’d appreciate it if you would keep that to yourself.”
She set her fork down and lifted her right hand. “I solemnly swear, on these amazing scallops, that I won’t tell a soul. You know what, let’s just enjoy this delicious meal and save the rest for after. Deal?”
“Deal.” He seemed to relax then and sent her a smile. “What’s new in your life?”
“Aside from moving back here and seeing you again? I might have an apprentice. Jenny, Donna’s daughter? She wants to be a baker. Wants to learn from me.”
“So would you train her to take over your spot at the café, when you start your bakery? Or would you take her with you to the bakery?”
Skye sat back, picked up her glass. “Well. Good question. She’s young. I don’t know. I’d have to see how well she took to training. What would you do if you couldn’t be a writer? I mean, that’s a pretty exotic profession.”
“Considering I grew up with my mom being a full time writer, it doesn’t feel exotic. Being an actor, like my sister Lissa wanted, now that’s exotic. I’m not one for big crowds and lots of people.”
“But if you had to?”
“I’d be a teacher. High school literature. I have my master’s in literature, just in case the writing gig didn’t work out.”
“Backup plan, I like it. But teaching is kind of like acting, if you think about it. Standing in front of the classroom, being the center of attention and all that. You know?”
Ethan frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe not such a good backup plan. Hang on, I’ll get the cake.” He bussed their plates.
Skye sat back. He was just as interesting as she remembered. Longing fluttered in her belly even as she knew they needed to go slowly. It’s not like they didn’t have time.
He returned with two plates. “Here you go.” After topping up their wine, he sat.
“Thank you. So you aren’t renting, are you? I feel stupid for having assumed.”
“No. And it’s fine, really.”
“I’m having a lovely time. I’d like to do this again, but I’d like to cook for you next time.”
“You know, your directness was what first attracted me to you. That and your smile. I really like your smile. And the cake is amazing.” He took a second bite.
Underneath his words ran a thread of sad that she didn’t understand, at all. The atmosphere between them, comfortable up to that point, became strained and the why of it eluded her.
Posey came by and laid her head on Skye’s leg.
“Yes, you’re a sweet puppers.” She rubbed the dog’s head. “How long have you had her? She looks like a shelter dog, a bit of every kind of breed.”
“She is.” Ethan took a breath. “That’s Lissa’s dog. My sister. We were born ten years apart; she was the oops baby my parents had hoped for. She was just twenty-five.”
Shye shut her eyes for a brief moment as a shiver went down her spine. “Was? What happened? Wait. I’m not going to like this, am I.”
“Lissa was at this party on New Year’s. Saw a guy she really liked, but he was there with another girl.
She overdrank, which was unusual. She called me, left several message.s Decided to leave just after midnight.
Other friends of hers were at an all-night diner, so she headed there.
Called me to let me know, but I didn’t pick up.
Left another message.” He took a breath and continued.
“Lissa sent me a few rapid-fire text messages, one with the address, one with how cold she was, and one that told me she was lost. Turns out, she also wasn’t exactly steady on her feet.
You know how crazy the streets in the city are on New Year’s.
She was hit by a car, thrown into some bushes along a sidewalk.
The driver didn’t stop. Skye.” He set his fork down and looked into her eyes. “No one stopped.”
Skye’s skin chilled as horror washed through her. “No. Oh no.”