by Olivia Miles
Because of you, he thought, but then shrugged instead. “Who knows. Everyone is getting along better. Maybe it’s because they’re not on my case about my wild ways.” He frowned at that. Last year he’d been on the outs with every member of the family; his aunts had looked at him with scorn, his mother with disappointment. And his sisters . . .
He grew quiet, watched a bird peck at the crumbs on the ground.
He didn’t like the person he’d become. The person his family saw him as. And this time around . . .Well, everything just felt right.
Claire stood up and deposited her paper bag into a nearby trash bin. “So, how should we spend our last day in Grey Harbor?”
Ethan hadn’t given it much thought, but now he knew exactly where he wanted to go. Somewhere he hadn’t been in too long. Somewhere he’d avoided. Like so much else in his life. The fishing dock was just at the border of town, on the northern edge of the harbor. They didn’t talk much as they walked, just took in the sights and sounds, the fresh air.
“Hailey called again,” Claire said, breaking the silence.
He raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You still haven’t called back.”
Claire shook her head. “I think this is a conversation that needs to happen in person, as tough as it will be. I just wish I could figure out what to do next. I can’t take shifts at the café forever.”
“I’ve always thought you should do something different with your background. Take a risk. When’s the last time you did that?”
He hesitated. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d taken a risk. It was easier somehow to choose the safe route, even if it left him bored and unfulfilled and sometimes even a little depressed.
“Yes, but what? My background is at an auction house. I’ve applied to all the museums. It’s probably time to start over.”
“What about opening your own shop?” he suggested.
“An antique shop?” She looked at him quizzically. “I love perusing them, but operating one . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t see how I could stand out.”
“What about vintage clothes? Or vintage jewelry? You have an eye for that type of thing. And I think a project would do you good.”
She smiled at him. “I like that. I like that a lot.” She licked her bottom lip as she mulled the idea, her lashes fluttering as she blinked. “Why didn’t I ever think of it myself?”
“Because you’ve been too clouded thinking about other things,” he pointed out. “I know what’s best for you, Claire.”
They locked eyes for a beat and Ethan glanced away. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he kept walking, hoping the sand beneath his feet would pound out the emotions that were building, the idea that was planted, that he couldn’t shake.
He’d kissed her, damn it. Tasted her. He’d always imagined what it might be like, the single mystery that he was yet to experience, and now he had. And it had been better than he could have imagined. Sweet and familiar and so damn sexy. He could still hear the gasp of her breath just before his lips found hers, felt her hesitation before she relaxed into the moment.
Ethan stayed quiet as the boats came into sight as well as the little shack where he and his dad would buy worms to tackle. There were many spots they could have settled, but he was here, and now that he was, it didn’t seem right to sit anywhere other than the spot near the rocks, where he and his dad would spend many quiet weekend mornings, waiting for a fish to bite.
“Looking forward to the wedding tonight?” Claire asked as she smoothed her blue cotton skirt over her thighs.
Ethan shifted his gaze, swallowing hard. “I just hope Amelia holds herself together tonight.” She’d cried through most of Leslie’s wedding last year, but given her recent broken heart, that had been forgiven. Ethan’s behavior, on the other hand . . .
“It can’t be easy for her,” Claire said. “Weddings are a tough reminder for the broken-hearted.”
“Not a source of hope?” he cajoled, even though he knew what she meant. And he understood. More than she knew.
“Oh, weddings, you know . . .I keep thinking of how I used to dream about my own wedding. Now the man I thought might be my husband is marrying someone else!” She laughed, but her emotions betrayed her and it came out more like a strangled sob.
He looked her square in the eye. “You know what I say? I say forget him. He’s not worth your time. He’s not worth your tears.”
“I know,” Claire said, nodding furiously. She wiped at her cheeks. “I know, but . . .”
“Can I tell you something, Claire? That guy was never right for you. Yeah, he was nice enough, and sort of fun to hang out with, but he didn’t care about you the way that he should have.” There. He’d said it. He’d been holding it in, keeping it bottled up for fear of ticking her off—or losing her. But he couldn’t sit here and watch her cry over someone so undeserving any longer.
“Why do you say that?” Claire asked.
“He broke your heart, Claire. What more needs to be said?” Only more did need to be said. There was no excuse for Matt to not send flowers, much less a card, when Claire’s mother had died, or to have gone along with pretending it had never happened. Ethan had seen the pain in her eyes firsthand, been there with her family, felt her anguish, felt it deep down, just like it had been when his own parent was lost.
“He might have ended things, but that didn’t mean he never deserved me. It doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real.” She was standing up, fumbling with her skirt, marching off down the dock, her sandals clutched in her fist.
“Claire!” he called after her, but it was useless. She was gone, running off along the path to the beach, the sand kicking up against her heels. He watched until she slowed her pace to a fast, determined walk, and then resumed her jog, with a little less energy.
He could catch her if he wanted to, run after her, grab her, and tell her he was sorry. But he wasn’t completely sorry. The truth was that he’d meant what he’d said. He wanted her to be over this man, done with it, finished. And not just because the guy had never deserved her, even if she’d excused his less than admirable behavior time and time again.
The truth was that he didn’t like Claire having feelings for someone else. Not when he was starting to realize that the only person he wanted her to have any feeling for was him.
***
Claire furiously brushed at a hot tear that dripped down her cheek and dropped onto the sand next to a lifeguard stand. She winced as she set a hand to her side; the stitch was fierce, and she was panting, sweating, too. She’d never been much of a runner. She’d barely made it two laps around the goalposts back in middle school, and poor Hailey, who could easily jog a mile without much effort, would hop along beside her, offering encouragement until Claire breathlessly urged her to go ahead, and then watched as her cousin’s ponytail bounced along her back.
Ethan knew that Claire couldn’t run. It was a joke of theirs. And she knew he could run. He’d finished two Chicago marathons, and he didn’t even wear them like a badge of honor or anything. It was just something he’d done for the heck of it, not to boast about. But then, Ethan didn’t boast.
She supposed it was one of his good qualities. Right up with telling the truth. Even when you didn’t want to hear it, even when he was breaking a heart, or letting someone down, or even inviting them home, she knew that he always told it straight, didn’t mislead, didn’t lie.
Well, he’d certainly told it to her straight just now, hadn’t he?
She pressed her fingers deeper into her side, wincing. The pain in her abdomen would go away soon, she knew, but the ache in her chest . . . Ethan had hit a nerve.
She followed the shore to where the clouds billowed in the deep blue sky. Oh, crap. He was coming.
She looked around for a place to run and hide, to get away, but the beach was bare aside from a young family building a sandcastle, and besides, there was no way around it. She was in Grey Harbor. And Ethan was her ride home.
And she didn’t like being mad at Ethan, truth be told. It rarely happened. It made her feel strangely, horribly alone.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he approached. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“But you meant what you said?”
His gaze was steady. “I always do.”
Her shoulders deflated a bit. “I know. And you were right, too. But the truth hurts sometimes.”
“Am I allowed to sit here?” He didn’t wait for an answer before dropping onto the sand next to her. “You know what I meant, Claire. You have too much life ahead of you to spend thinking about a man that didn’t deserve you. It didn’t mean it wasn’t right to care about him. But learn from it, and move on. You’ll be happier in the end. I know it.”
“You really believe that?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit.
He nodded, giving her a slow smile. His eyes were sincere. “I do.”
She looked out onto the water, finding hope in his conviction.
“You know that girl I mentioned . . .Kimberly. When I told you I thought about marrying her, I wasn’t entirely forthcoming.” Ethan paused. “We were engaged.”
Claire blinked in disbelief. She tried to wrap her head around it, but she couldn’t. The Ethan she knew was lighthearted and laid-back, with no thoughts to the future, no holds on the past. He’d never expressed emotional interest in a single woman he’d casually dated over the years. Certainly never discussed the desire to be married.
“So you called it off?” It made sense, she supposed, given his track record. She shook her head. Poor girl.
“Not exactly,” he said, giving a wry grin. “She did.”
She did? But that meant . . .“So all that talk about not wanting to settle down, wanting to enjoy your youth?”
He shrugged. “We do what we can to get through. We tell ourselves what we need to believe.”
She stared at him in wonder. All this time she’d thought that Ethan wasn’t capable of falling in love. But the truth was he was no different than her. Broken-hearted. Maybe a little lost.
“We’re quite a pair,” she chuckled. She looked up at him, watching his profile as he stared out onto the stretch of sand. She followed his gaze to the young family, watching as a boy of about three carried a bucket of water back from the lake. It sloshed and tipped and splashed against his feet, his parents laughed and told him to try again.
Because that’s what you did, she supposed. You tried again.
“Are you still . . .in love with her?” It felt weird to ask that, to talk about Ethan’s love life. So often they talked about hers, Ethan playing the cynic. She supposed that was what he had become.
“It was years ago,” he said. “But I’m no masochist.”
“So you don’t think you’ll ever find love again?” She felt sad at the thought of it, wondering if Ethan felt empty by his casual dating, or if instead he found it liberating.
He met her gaze, his expression earnest and unreadable and possibly even a little suggestive. Claire thought back to that kiss, to how natural it felt, how warm and exciting and tingling all at once.
More like an exercise in practice, she thought. She stopped herself. Now who sounded cynical?
“I want to believe I can find love again,” he surprised her by saying. “I want you to believe that, too.”
Chapter Ten
Claire hugged her arms around her waist and watched as the bride and groom made their way onto the dance floor, Meryl beaming as she held hands with her husband and he twirled her in front of the band, making the satin skirt of her dress swoosh.
The sun had faded over an hour ago, leaving the room dark and romantic, lit by strings of fairy lights wrapped in potted trees and candles flickering in their glass containers. Through the French doors that lined the east wall, Lake Michigan shimmered in the moonlight.
Even Amelia seemed to have a little smile on her face, Claire noted from across the room. Ethan’s younger sister seemed softer tonight; the little pinch between her eyebrows was gone. She was really quite pretty, Claire realized, but then she wasn’t so sure why she was surprised. Ethan’s family was beautiful—inside and out. Eddie, the groom, was a lucky man to be marrying into it.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ethan said, coming to stand beside her.
Claire felt her cheeks flush. In his dark suit and summery lavender tie he looked particularly handsome tonight. Not that every other eligible girl in the room hadn’t noticed, she thought, eyeing a passing waitress who slipped an appreciative smile his way.
“Oh, I was just thinking how pretty this reception is. The candles. The flowers.”
Ethan nodded. “Almost enough to make you want to plan your own wedding, isn’t it?”
Startled, Claire looked up at him, but he was staring out onto the lake. Marriage seemed to be something he disdained, or at least, hoped to delay. But maybe that was all bravado talking, the voice of a broken heart, trying to convince himself that he didn’t want the one thing he couldn’t have.
They stood in silence, watching as the bride and groom finished their first dance, and slowly other couples joined them in the center of the room as the music subtly shifted to the next song. If it was a faster beat, no doubt Ethan would have run out to join them—he loved a good party—but with the soft, slow tune, she supposed she may as well sample the dessert buffet. Someone had mentioned chocolate-covered strawberries, and those might go nicely with one last glass of champagne.
She was just about to suggest it to Ethan when she realized he was staring at her, his eyebrow cocked in invitation; her lips curved into a mischievous grin.
“What?” she asked, warily eyeing him.
He tipped his head ever so slightly to the dance floor, his expression unwavering, and Claire felt her stomach flip over. He was asking her to dance with him. Not a fast dance. A slow dance.
They didn’t need to, she knew. No one was watching them. For once, tonight, all attention was on the bride and groom, as it should be. Claire hesitated, waiting for her pulse to resume a normal speed, and then, because Ethan was impossible to resist, especially when he had his mind set on something, nodded. To turn him down seemed wrong, and she realized she didn’t want to. She wanted to feel his arms around her, enjoy this night, with its soft lighting and its promise of romance, and feel like she belonged to someone. Belonged to Ethan, maybe.
They stepped out onto the dance floor, and before she had even prepared herself, he set a firm arm around her waist, pulling her close as his other hand met hers. She swallowed hard, feeling the beat of his heart against her chest, looking over his shoulder at the other guests, chatting and swaying across the candlelit room.
“Remember those tango lessons we took that one time?” Ethan’s grin was wicked when she craned her neck to look up at him.
Claire laughed. She’d nearly forgotten. He’d won it in some raffle at work, all but begged her to come with him, and she had . . .only to discover that the partners were “random” so Ethan got to dance with the beautiful, and most likely single, instructor, while Claire toddled along with an eighty-year-old retired professor who couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall and kept letting his hand slip to her backside.
Without any warning, Ethan tightened his grip on her hand and led them sternly across the floor, weaving where needed between couples in an effortless way. Claire let out a whoop of delight as he reached the end of the dance floor and abruptly turned her, steering her in the opposite direction. The moves slowly came back to her, still a little muddled, and she did the best she could, amazed at how much he remembered. As the song came to end, Ethan expertly spun her around and then, to her complete astonishment, flung her dramatically into a dip.
She tossed her head back, laughing as he carefully brought her up. “You’ve been practicing,” she said, poking him in the chest.
He gave a bashful grin. “Maybe once or twice. It’s come in handy at time
s.”
Her heart sank a little. He was who he was, a man with well-practiced maneuvers and easy charm. She should know better than to be falling for them.
“I was always a little disappointed I got stuck with that dance instructor that night,” he confessed, and Claire frowned. She blinked at the ground, officially sobered. When she looked up at him, his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But it was worth it to see you getting groped by that dirty old man.”
“He wasn’t a dirty old man!” Claire protested, but she was laughing again. “His hand kept slipping. He was frail. Okay, he was a dirty old man.” She gave him a smile, but he didn’t return it. His eyes had shifted, somewhere in the distance, just over her shoulder. She turned, wondering what was there, but all she saw was a crowd of guests coming and going through the main doors to the hall.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he whispered, glancing at her for approval.
She held her breath, knowing what he meant in those few simple words. It was something he’d said before. It rolled of his tongue with ease. But it was the first time he’d suggested it to her. Of course, any other night she wouldn’t have read into it this way. She would have assumed he was ready to leave, get on with the night, not take her home. But something had shifted between them, there was something crackling under the surface, a new tension that needed release.
“I’d like that,” she said, feeling her heart skip a beat, and this time, she didn’t even stiffen when he reached down and took her hand and led her away from the crowd.
***
Ethan didn’t want to go back to the boathouse. It felt too stifling, too small, and too tempting, for that matter. If they went back to that little room, he wasn’t sure what would happen, and he needed to make sure anything that happened tonight was right. For both of them.
The hammock was swaying in the breeze when they climbed out of the car and took the stone path into the backyard. Ethan walked over to it and hopped on, holding out a hand to Claire. She grinned at him, even in the light from the moon he could see her face clearly, and took his hand. The hammock swayed under their weight, causing Claire to giggle as they settled their bodies, finally lying side by side to gaze up at the stars.
