by Olivia Miles
Ethan frowned and set both hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “Promise me, Claire. Promise me you will not turn into Amelia. Promise me you will move on, live your life.”
Claire nodded in amusement, deciding that Ethan had definitely enjoyed a few beers this evening. She held up two fingers and sniffed. “Scout’s honor.”
“I mean it, Claire,” Ethan said, his face serious, his eyes earnest. He lifted one hand from her shoulder to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his gaze unwavering. “You have too much to offer. Too much going for you. I want to see you happy again.”
“I am happy,” she assured him. She blinked, struggling to maintain eye contact. His gaze was too intense, and his thumb, it was still lingering on her skin, caressing her cheek.
His eyes drifted lower, to her mouth, and Claire felt her breath catch as the silence between them stretched. She shivered.
“Cold?” He arched an eyebrow; a look he did well.
She nodded, seizing her chance to pull away, to create some distance between herself and . . .whatever this was. She closed the kitchen door, but only a little. She would go back to the boathouse, take a shower, or go to bed.
“I might need those flannel pajamas after all,” she joked, and then stiffened, realizing the truth in her words.
Ethan was still standing near the counter, his expression pensive, his smile a little wan. “I think I’ll stick around here for a bit until I get tired.”
Claire nodded. “Great,” she said, even as she registered that little tug of disappointment in her chest. She smiled tightly as she slipped through the door, wondering what had just happened back there, and what might have happened if she’d stayed.
Chapter Eight
Ethan wasn’t in bed when Claire woke up the next morning, her skin cool and her head a little foggy. She blinked into the sunshine that filtered through the French doors, and then startled all at once when she remembered last night, the strange impasse between them, the way Ethan had held her gaze a little too long, his eyes drifting dangerously to her lips.
He’d had too much to drink at the bachelor party, she decided. That explained it. Except that he didn’t seem all that drunk, really, and she’d been out with him for drinks hundreds of times before and never, ever had he looked at her that way before.
She pulled in a breath and blew it out quickly. She was overthinking this, imagining things that weren’t there. After all, nothing had happened. He hadn’t made a move on her. He’d respectfully stayed on his side of the rolled up towels.
Except . . .She frowned, staring at the perfectly smooth pillow and sheets on his side of the bed. On second look, Ethan hadn’t come to bed at all.
She studied the empty space where his body should have been, and then, for reasons she couldn’t explain and certainly couldn’t justify, bent down to sniff his pillow. She closed her eyes, locking in the musky scent, and then, just as quickly, snapped her eyes open and jumped out of bed. She was lonely. Clearly, very, very lonely, and very, very desperate.
She was better than this, as Ethan would say. After all, if she described a man exactly like him, to him, he would instruct her to run for the hills.
Or maybe to relax and have a little fun.
But he never, ever, ever would have told her to fall for him. She frowned at herself. Of course not! He was her friend—her dearest, closest friend. The man who wiped away tears and made her laugh and was always there, her rock. Ethan may be loyal to her, but he was hardly that way with the women he saw in a . . .sexual light. She couldn’t start thinking of him in that way. That would . . .Well, that would just ruin everything.
She showered and changed quickly, ready for another day exploring Ethan’s quaint hometown. Today he had said they would have lunch on the pier, and from the looks of the still waters sparkling under the morning sun, it was the perfect weather for it.
She had barely pushed through the front door of the cottage when she spotted Ethan lying in the hammock, his feet crossed, his arms resting on his stomach. She stopped walking, eyeing him suspiciously, and, curious, ventured closer across the cool green lawn, still damp with dew.
He roused as she approached, the twig she accidentally broke under her sandaled feet snapping him from his slumber. Claire took in last night’s clothes and the dazed look in his eyes and started laughing. “You slept out here?”
He rubbed a hand over his face and looked around. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Although last time I wasn’t alone.” He gave a wolfish grin, and Claire rolled her eyes.
See, Claire? Cute, dependable. And all wrong.
“I just assumed you’d crashed in the house,” she said, stepping back to give him room to slide off the hammock.
“And give them reason to speculate?” Ethan cocked an eyebrow. “I should probably go freshen up before they see me. If they haven’t already,” he added darkly. He glanced warily toward the house, cupping a hand over his eyes to shield the sun.
“I’ll wait outside for you,” Claire said, deciding she might like the chance to sit on one of those Adirondack chairs and look out at the water for a bit. They went back into the cottage, Ethan turning toward the bathroom while Claire walked around the structure to the small patio, stopping to admire the rose bushes Barbara was so proud of. The water was so close, she could almost hear it lapping gently at the shore, and seagulls swooped down, casting shadows on the blue surface.
She settled onto a chair and rested her head back. They had a beach in Chicago, of course, but it was crowded, full of people sunbathing and playing volleyball; it was nothing like this. Here she could think, clear her head, think about the future.
But for some reason, right now, all she wanted to do was to focus on the present. She had all the time in the world to worry about tomorrow, and she was rather looking forward to today.
She snorted to herself. When was the last time she’d thought that?
The day she and Matt had been planning to move to California, that’s when. She’d been so full of hope then, so full of anticipation. But she’d also been so full of another thing. Something she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself at the time. Something she’d tried not to think about, something she’d told herself was silly and out of place.
Something that felt an awful lot like doubt.
She could still pinpoint the exact moment she’d felt it. It wasn’t when she’d told Hailey; no, her cousin had been too busy popping the champagne and squealing for all the details. It hadn’t been when she’d given notice at the auction house, either; though she loved her job, she’d been there since she was twenty-two and was ready for a new challenge.
It had been when she’d told Ethan. She’d assumed he’d have the same reaction as Hailey, that he’d buy a round of drinks, talk about annual visits to Wine Country, or, that, being Ethan, he’d roll his eyes and say she was too young to settle down, but, of course, if one must, a fabulous West Coast lifestyle was the way to go.
Instead, he’d said nothing at all. He’d just looked at her strangely, and finally, after what felt like the longest silence of their friendship, had simply said, “If that’s what you want, then I’m happy for you.”
Only he didn’t seem happy. She told herself it couldn’t have been about Matt—they got along just fine. But that night, after she went back to her apartment, the apartment she would soon be leaving, even though she loved that apartment, with its tall windows and its short walk to the “L” station, she felt as if someone had come along and popped the dream she’d been building up all week. She’d imagined it all—she and Matt on the beach, taking tours of the vineyards, sitting on a patio, the sunshine in their faces, eating fresh vegetables and buying a juicer. She saw open windows, curtains billowing, white furniture and sea blue walls. But those images became harder to cling to as the doubt crept in. And soon she found herself shopping for her new lifestyle, focusing on the petty necessitates like rugs and color schemes, anything to maintain the joy she had felt at the first
promise of this next step.
It was change. A good change. But something else had changed, too. She and Ethan were inseparable; even when they were dating other people, they still made time for each other, and she still laughed harder with Ethan than she ever had with Matt. And that, she knew, was troubling.
And when she went to California, there would be no hours-long chats over a shared bottle of wine, no last-minute excursions to see the latest Woody Allen movie, no lazy nights watching crappy reality television. There would just be Matt. And for some reason, that didn’t feel like enough.
Claire bent down and picked up a rock, rubbing her thumb against the smooth grain before tossing it into the lake. She’d forgotten to flick her wrist, and the stone dropped heavily into the water, sinking to the bottom in a hopeless way, as if it had had a chance of making more of its situation and now that opportunity was gone.
Claire thought back to last night, wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t stepped back from Ethan’s gaze, hadn’t listened so firmly to her head and kept him just out of reach. Would Ethan have kissed her last night?
And would she have let him?
She hadn’t dared to think of it, to imagine what it might be like, not just to kiss him, but to make this something real, something permanent, to finish what they’d started. A foundation. A relationship. A bond.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a deep voice behind her rumbled, and Claire jumped, turning to flash Ethan a guilty smile.
He was dressed, but his hair was still damp and tousled and anything she’d seen in his eyes last night had vanished, replaced with the Ethan she knew back in Chicago, with a hint of a smirk on his mouth and a slightly amused glint to his eyes. He came out onto the patio, walking as casually as always, and picked up a stone. It skipped effortlessly across the water, making at least four stops before disappearing into the dark water. Ethan looked at her, his expression deadpan. “Last one to the bike shed buys lunch.”
And he was off, running ahead of her at full speed, not willing to let her win, or maybe, not willing to let her ever catch him.
She couldn’t be sure anymore.
***
Ethan pushed his toes into the sand and looked out onto the water, where sail masts caught the wind, moving like small white dots across the horizon. Claire was standing at the edge, gingerly dipping her feet in what he knew to be icy water. She glanced over her shoulder, tossing him a grin.
“I was hoping it would be warmer up here,” she said.
“In Wisconsin? We’re farther north, not south. Same lake. Same water.”
“Wishful thinking.” She shrugged, then turned back to the water. Her long blonde hair billowed in the breeze, and the hem of her dress bounced against the back of her knees, dragging his attention to her long, smooth legs.
He sucked in a breath, counted to five, told himself to quit it, to cool down, to stop getting caught up in the moment. Claire was pretty, but lots of girls were. Didn’t mean he had to go there.
He bent his legs, roping his arms over his knees, his eyes trained on the sand. He was getting sentimental, emotional. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He never did when he was back here. There were too many memories that muddled his head.
Everything would be back to normal when he was back in Chicago. If he could, he’d get in the car and leave right now.
He looked up at Claire as she came walking toward him now, her stride slow as she maneuvered through the thick sand. His jaw tensed. For a moment, the distractions of the city were the last thing on his mind. And this . . .the beach, the sand, the soft sounds of the water, and that smile . . . It was enough to keep him here forever.
“I like this little beach,” Claire said as she dropped onto the sand beside him, her hair skimming his arm, sending a rush of heat through his blood. “It’s quiet. Doesn’t seem like many people come here.”
“A group of us used to come here back on college breaks,” he mused, remembering the bonfires that started long before sunset, the way the sun turned from blue to orange and then faded to black, making it impossible to know where the sand ended and the water began.
“Your mom implied that you never come back to Grey Harbor anymore,” Claire remarked. “And when I think about it, your sister’s wedding last summer was the only time I could think of that you’ve been here in the three years since we’ve known each other.”
“It’s not the same coming here anymore,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes me think about the past. You know I don’t like thinking about the past.”
“It’s one thing to dwell on the past,” Claire pointed out. “But I suppose I’m guilty of it, too. Last night when I was hanging out with your mom in the kitchen, it made me think of these desserts my mother and I would always make for the holidays. I’d nearly forgotten that memory. It shook me up.”
“You’ll never forget your mother,” Ethan said firmly.
Her head was down and she was drawing a pattern in the sand with a stick, tracing loops and then smoothing it out with her palm. She shrugged. “I’ll never forget her, but all those little things that felt so ordinary at the time; I don’t want to lose that. I want to remember. Even if it hurts to think of her, to know she’s gone, I want to hold on.”
Ethan looked back at the water. “I guess it’s easy sometimes not to think about the past.”
Claire grew quiet for a moment. “Matt was a good distraction for me. We had just met, and . . .you know how it is. That first flush when you meet someone new. Everything feels exciting.”
Oh, he knew how it was. He’d built his life around that rush, never lingering long enough for it to fade. “Don’t beat yourself up. You were coping.”
“I was hiding,” she corrected. She shook her head. “I didn’t talk about my mom with Matt. I guess I got caught up in the escape instead. Sometimes I wonder what was real with Matt and what wasn’t anymore.”
“Sometimes avoidance helps. When I’m away from here, it’s easier.”
“You miss your father,” Claire observed. Her eyes drifted over his face. A strand of hair caught her cheek and she pushed it back before he could reach for it.
“He used to take me fishing, over at that pond in the park we were at yesterday.” Ethan smiled sadly. “They stock the pond. I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew that every time we went out we always caught something. Always threw it back.” His gut hurt when he thought of the way his dad had feigned surprise every time Ethan triumphantly reeled one in.
“You know I never brought anyone to that pond before.” He frowned, wondering why he’d stayed away so long. Why he suddenly felt okay going back. He could have brought Kimberly, a hundred times. But he hadn’t wanted to share that with her. It had been easier to get lost in her, in what they shared.
Like Claire and Matt, he supposed.
“Your mother is so happy to have you home. I’m sure it helps her, too, having you back.” Claire’s tone was gentle, but he understood what she was saying. He needed to set his feelings aside, needed to remind himself that he wasn’t the only one that had lost someone. She was right.
“Grey Harbor holds a lot of memories, not just of my dad. I dated a girl from here for a while. Guess I started staying away after that.”
Claire blinked at him, her eyes going wide. “You dated a girl? As in, more than one date? You. Lothario. Don Juan. Confirmed bachelor.”
Despite himself, he grinned. “Kimberly.” He didn’t like saying her name.“We met in high school, went to the same college. Came back here together for every holiday, every summer. I even thought about marrying her.” He shook his head. Seemed like a million years ago, and yet, in many ways it felt like yesterday.
“What happened?” Claire asked, her eyes sharp on his.
He shrugged, looked out onto the water. “It ended. We were young. We wanted different things, I suppose.”
“You loved her,” Claire commented, her voice filled with wonder. When he said nothing, s
he swatted his arm. “You loved her,” she said again, her tone one of both surprise and accusation. “Ethan Parker. I knew you had it in you.” She chuckled, and Ethan jabbed her lightly with his elbow.
“I never said I didn’t have it in me.” His gaze held hers for a beat, and she finally looked away. “Come on,” he said, standing to hold out a hand. “We have that rehearsal dinner to get to. And if my prediction is accurate, we might be taking center stage instead of the bride and groom.”
“Don’t let the bride hear you say that,” Claire laughed, taking his hand to let him pull her up. It felt small in his palm, warm and feminine and . . .right. She stumbled on an uneven patch of sand, and Ethan tightened his grip on her and reached out with the other hand to square her at the hip. “Thanks,” she said, fumbling to right herself.
She looked up into his eyes, her gaze questioning. He knew he should release her, step back, fall into their well-established pattern. The one that was so comforting. So easy. So reliable.
Her lips parted slightly, and his chest tightened. It would be so simple to lean in, brush his mouth to hers, press her body against his chest, and make her his.
He blinked, thinking of Kimberly, of how natural that had once felt, and how empty his life had been when she was no longer a part of it. He couldn’t stand to think of that happening with Claire. And since they were only friends, he wouldn’t have to.
Technically.
He’d come close to losing her once before, when she’d found Matt and started talking about moving to California. Who was to say the same thing wouldn’t happen again? A girl like Claire, so sweet, so pretty, so . . .perfect really, wouldn’t stay single for long, even if she feared so.
His breath was hard and sharp and he realized he was considering it, kissing her, for the second time in two days. He had the chance to try, to take their friendship to a new level. But he could throw away everything they had in the process.
He pulled back sharply, managing a casual grin. “Don’t go doing that with heels on tonight,” he warned, and even though she shook her head and tossed him a smile, and even though things were already fading back to normal as they climbed the dunes and padded barefoot onto the wooden path that would lead them back to their bikes, he couldn’t stop thinking that the moment was lost, and that if he didn’t act fast, didn’t stand up and do something, he might lose her forever.
