Chapter 19 #2
I could feel his eyes flick toward me, waiting for more, so I pivoted fast. “What about you? Have you ever left Willowbrook?”
That earned a quiet huff. “Yeah. For a while.”
I turned in my seat, curious. “College?”
He nodded. “UC. Four years in Cincinnati. Felt like another world compared to here. Bigger. Louder. Endless possibilities.” His mouth curved slightly, showing a hint of pride. “I majored in business, and when I graduated, I landed a great job in Cleveland doing all the things I thought I’d enjoy.”
“What happened?”
His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features. “It was fast-paced and challenging, but it felt unfulfilling. I missed the connection of a small town, the warmth of a community. When Dad got sick, I came home to help.”
I rested my elbow on the open window, studying his profile. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“No.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “But it was the right thing to do.”
I let the quiet settle before I spoke. “You know, most people would’ve walked away. Said it wasn’t their problem. The fact that you didn’t—that you stayed, kept your dad’s legacy alive… that says more about you than any fancy job title ever could.”
His jaw flexed, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Finally, he murmured, “Maybe. But sometimes it just feels like I’m… stuck.”
I reached over and gave his arm a light squeeze, the warmth lingering on my fingertips before I pulled back. “You’re not stuck, Ethan. You’re steady. There’s a difference. And maybe what feels small to you—this town, that bookstore—might be the biggest thing in someone else’s world.”
We rolled up to a stop light. For the first time since we’d pulled out of town, he glanced over—really glanced—his eyes softening for a brief, unguarded moment. Then the light shifted on the dash as he eased his foot back onto the gas, eyes returning to the road ahead.
Gravel popped under the tires as the truck turned off the county road and down a long, shaded lane.
The trees opened up to a wide stretch of land that seemed to go on forever.
Acres of pasture, cornfields rolling out toward the horizon, and in the middle of it all, a white country house with a wraparound porch.
My eyes widened as we pulled past the house. Beyond it, a glint of water appeared, and then suddenly there it was: a huge pond, still and shining like glass under the morning sun. Willow trees crowded its edges, their branches trailing the surface.
“This is beautiful,” I breathed, twisting in my seat to take it all in. “What are we doing here? Picnic? Hike? Please tell me there’s a lemonade stand hidden somewhere.”
Ethan just pulled to a stop near the porch and slid out of the truck without a word. Suspicious.
I climbed out after him, sandals crunching on the gravel, and that’s when I saw it—the tailgate down, and Ethan hauling out two long fishing poles.
My jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He smirked, setting the rods against the truck. “Nope. Everyone in Willowbrook learns to fish at Ray Mitchell’s pond. Consider it part of your crash course.”
I paused, eyebrows raised. “Ray Mitchell? Like Ben’s dad?”
Ethan nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. “Yup, this is his place.”
I pointed at the poles, then at him. “Just so we’re clear, I have never done this before. Not once. And you have to swear, on your bookstore or whatever you hold sacred, that I will not have to touch anything slimy or disgusting.”
His grin widened, annoyingly amused. “Guess we’ll see.”
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “Why do I feel like I just signed up for humiliation?”
He chuckled as he picked up the tackle box.
I was still staring down the fishing poles like they might bite me when the porch screen creaked. A tall man in overalls came down the steps, wiping his hands on a rag. His hair was more gray than brown, his face tanned and lined like someone who’d worked this land his whole life.
“Well, I’ll be,” he called, his voice carrying easily across the yard. “Ethan Calloway, I didn’t expect to see you out here before noon on a Saturday. Thought you town folks needed your beauty sleep.”
Ethan’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Morning, Ray.”
Ray’s gaze shifted to me, sharp but kind, sizing me up in one sweep. “And who’s this you’ve roped into your mischief?”
“Lily Harper,” I said brightly, stepping forward with my hand out. “I’m in charge of Summerfest this year. And I guess Ethan thinks fishing is an essential part of my training.”
Ray barked out a laugh and shook my hand. “That so? Well, he’s not wrong. Half this town learned to fish off that dock right there.” He pointed to a weathered wooden pier jutting out into the pond. “Including Ethan. Though, if I remember right, his first time ended with him falling in headfirst.”
I turned to Ethan, eyebrows raised. “Really?”
Ethan scowled, hefting the tackle box. “I was eight.”
Ray just grinned wider. “Old enough to know you shouldn’t lean out too far. His daddy had to fish him out, dripping like a drowned cat. Poor kid wouldn’t go near the water again till I bribed him with a whole bag of root beer barrels.”
I laughed, delighted, and tucked that little gem away for later use. “That’s adorable. I’ll keep some candy on hand just in case we need a repeat rescue.”
Ray chuckled, clearly charmed. “Smart girl. You’ll do just fine in Willowbrook, Miss Harper.”
His words warmed me more than I expected, a quiet validation I hadn’t even known I was hungry for.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “That means a lot.”
Ray tipped his cap. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t let him talk you into cleaning the fish your first day.”
I widened my eyes at Ethan. “Wait—cleaning?”
Ethan gave me that infuriating half-smile, the one that said he knew exactly how squeamish I felt. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Ethan hefted the tackle box, the poles balanced over one shoulder as we started toward the dock. The grass brushed against my calves, the air thick with the smell of clover and pond water warming in the sun.
I trailed a step behind, still grinning from Ray’s story, but also…
thinking. Fishing. Of all things. Not something I’d ever pictured myself doing, not in my best outfit and wedge sandals.
But here I was, following Ethan Calloway down a worn path to a place that seemed woven into the very fabric of his childhood.
And maybe that was the point. Every stop on this crash course wasn’t just about the town. It was about him. About the people and places that shaped him, that kept Willowbrook alive in ways I was only beginning to understand.
I glanced at his back, broad and steady, the morning sun catching the edge of his jaw, making him look almost heroic.
He carried the weight of this place like it was second nature, even when he thought he was just standing still.
I could feel my pulse quicken, a flutter of anticipation at the thought of being so close to someone who felt so deeply rooted in this community.
I tucked that thought away as we reached the water’s edge, the pond rippling under a soft May breeze.
I could feel the warmth radiating off Ethan beside me, an electric charge that made my heart race.
Whatever today held, I’d decided one thing already.
I was absolutely, one-hundred percent going to make Ethan handle every slimy, scaly, wriggling part of this so-called lesson.