by Olivia Miles
“It’s warm in here,” he said, walking over to stand in the opening to the patio. He slid his gaze up and down her, looking at her as if she were crazy. “You didn’t overheat in that granny wear?”
Granny wear! Claire rolled her eyes. More like appropriate attire for hotel air-conditioning, and sharing a bed with your super hot best friend. “Oh, you know me. I’m always cold.” Her face felt flush, and for some reason she had the sinking feeling that it had nothing to do with the extra-thick flannel that covered ninety percent of her body. In the early sunlight, Ethan’s eyes shone bright, and his chin bore a fresh layer of stubble. He smelled like musk and sleep and—
She rubbed her nose. Certainly no point in going there. The man was practically like a brother to her. Not that she had a brother to compare. Okay, he was like a cousin. Yes, she was as close to him as she was to Hailey.
Except Ethan wasn’t a blood relative. But he was still very much off-limits.
“I packed for the hotel. You know how those places can be, always cranking up the AC,” she said, pushing past him into the room to select her outfit from the closet. “I assumed I’d freeze all night.”
“Oh, I’d never let you freeze,” Ethan said roughly, and her breath caught as she snatched a sundress from its hanger. She turned, heart pounding, to see where he was going with this, but there was a twinkle in his eye when she finally looked his way.
She pursed her lips as he burst out laughing, and despite herself, she joined in. She never could resist that laugh.
It was Ethan’s suggestion to cycle into town before the members of the main house awoke, claiming he needed to ease into the day and all it held, and Claire happily agreed. She was eager to see the town and visit some of the shops his mother had mentioned.
They found a pair of old bicycles in the detached garage and set off on the gravel path, Claire trailing Ethan by a few yards, her legs wobbly until she finally got her bearing. Before long, they were approaching the stretch of downtown that Claire had admired when they’d driven through yesterday afternoon. The smells of lilacs and roses filled the air, and birds chirped as they flew from tree to tree. Claire smiled to herself. These were the little things she hadn’t appreciated in far too long. She’d been too wrapped up in taxi cabs and subway stops and ambulances flying by. And thinking of Matt, of course.
“I wasn’t sure you knew how to ride a bike,” he said, when they finally pulled to a stop in front of a small diner in town.
“Who doesn’t know how to ride a bike?” she asked quizzically, tapping at her kickstand. “Just because you’ve never seen me ride a bike doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”
He shrugged. “True enough. But if you must know, I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was thirteen.” He held up a finger, his expression grave.“And if you tell anyone, I will murder you in your sleep with one of those damned towels. I mean that.”
Claire stifled her laughter at the ominous lift of his eyebrows and allowed Ethan to hold the restaurant’s door open for her. She’d assumed they’d be one of the first customers of the day, but the small establishment was nearly full, leaving them with only a spot at the counter.
“And why is it exactly that you didn’t learn to . . .you know,” she lowered her voice.
Ethan picked up his menu, studied it, and set it back down again decisively. He stared straight ahead, not looking at her. “My dad was supposed to teach me to ride a bike. After he died, I didn’t want to bother my mom with it, and I think she just assumed I knew how. She was so preoccupied with caring for three young kids all on her own. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I figured if I didn’t teach myself, I could forget any kind of normal social life until I finally got a driver’s license.” He tapped his chin. “See that scar? Split my chin wide open the first day out.”
“Ouch.” Claire frowned a little. “But you kept going.”
He shrugged. “What other choice is there?”
Never much of a breakfast eater, Claire ordered a coffee and a blueberry muffin, saying nothing when Ethan opted for the four-egg omelet with extra hash browns and a side of bacon.
“I’m hungry,” he said edgily, when the waitress finished pouring their coffee.
“I didn’t say anything,” she replied. “It’s just not like you.”
“Yeah, well, being back in the town where you grew up will do that to you. Especially a town like this.”
Claire wasn’t buying it. “A town with cobblestone streets and iron lampposts and bicycle paths leading back to your lakefront home?”
But Ethan just rubbed at his jaw, his eyes hardening before he looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”
It was the first time he’d ever accused her of such a thing, and shame flooded her cheeks with heat. She set her hand on his arm, feeling uneasy at how comfortable it felt there. “Eth, I’m sorry. I was just focused on how tranquil this town is, how beautiful, and quaint. But it’s different for you. It holds other meaning. I understand. As much as it hurt when my dad sold my childhood home, the other part of me was relieved.” She frowned. It would have been hard, going back, walking from room to room, looking for her mother and never finding her, always being reminded of her absence like that. But at the same time . . . Her chest tightened. She shook her head clear. No use thinking of things that could never be.
He patted her hand, and Claire tensed, wanting to snatch it back, to shift her stool, but as luck would have it they seemed to be bolted to the floor. She fumbled to reach for her coffee mug instead, nearly spilling it all over the Formica surface.
Okay, this had to stop. When had she reacted so strongly to Ethan simply touching her before?
She wasn’t so sure she wanted to explore the reason just now. “So what’s on the schedule for the day?” she asked, happy to change the subject.
“Oh, I figured we could visit some of the shops this morning, maybe ride around town a bit, grab some lunch. Tonight is party night.” His eyelids drooped.“Girls at the house. Men at a pub. You don’t have to go, you know.”
Claire stirred sugar into her coffee. “Why not? It sounds fun. Besides, a night with the girls is exactly what I need right now, no offense. If I sit alone in that cottage, my mind will just end up wandering.”
Ethan frowned. “Still thinking about Matt, then?” His tone was a little harsher than she’d expected, and Claire blinked at him in confusion, wondering where the sudden burst of emotion was coming from.
Ethan raked a hand through his hair, dragging out a sigh. “Sorry. I just . . .I wish you’d get over that jerk.”
Claire considered that the same words were probably spoken of him, by friends of the girls whose hearts he had broken, but said nothing. Their food was up, and as she bit into the streusel topped muffin, Claire decided that Ethan was right. There was no reason to be thinking of Matt.
At least not for today.
***
“Mind if we stop in here?” Claire asked, pointing to a women’s clothing boutique that Ethan hadn’t noticed before.
He eyed her. “Don’t you think you brought enough for a long weekend?”
“It’s the pajamas,” she admitted, blushing. In the morning sunlight, the hint of pink brought out the blueness of her eyes, giving her a softer, more youthful appearance.
His mouth twitched, but he pushed on the door just the same, telling himself to rein it in. It was fun to mess with Claire, but he needed to be sure it didn’t border on flirting. It came easily, maybe even naturally at this point, but with Claire there had to be boundaries.
The sales assistant was busy chatting with other customers, and Ethan followed Claire through the shop, pausing when she did, amused by the way she stopped to admire a red sundress that was hanging on display. She touched the hem, considering the material between her fingers, and then stood back to eye it properly. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she jumped, turning to face him, her expression the picture of guilt.
“Pajamas,” he ordered. “That
suitcase will pop if you add anything more to it.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I was just thinking . . .” She shook her head. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He leaned against a nearby side table, growing curious. “Go on. Tell me.”
“Well, it’s just . . .” She blushed again, and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head.
“Tell me,” he urged, now more curious than ever. It wasn’t like Claire to hold anything back from him.
“You won’t like it,” she warned, and then huffed when he stood patiently waiting. “I was remembering that Matt always liked it when I wore that shade of red. It’s very hard to find, and, well . . .”
“You were thinking that if you bought it and somehow ran into him again wearing it that he’d realized he had made a huge mistake and give you the diamond instead of this other woman?”
Claire grimaced. “That obvious?”
He cursed under his breath and moved toward her, setting his hand on her shoulder as he looked her in her eyes. “You’re better than this, Claire. And I know you don’t believe me, but you will be happier without him. Once you let yourself.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and he squeezed her shoulder, resisting the urge to pull her in for a hug, to hold her close, smooth her hair, take away the pain. It tore at him to see her like this, over someone so undeserving, someone so . . .wrong. It was just like—
“Ethan? Ethan Parker?”
Ethan dropped his hand and turned to see Marcy McMullen standing at the counter, her brown eyes lit with something he could only call intrigue.
He swept his eyes over the room, and then, breathing a little easier, back to her. “Well, Marcy McMullen. Fancy seeing you here.” He flashed her one of his easy grins, but it felt stiff and wary.
“I should be saying the same. Back in town for your cousin’s wedding?” She gave him the once-over and skirted her eyes to Claire with noticeable interest.
Suddenly remembering that Claire was standing beside him, he reached over and lightly touched her back. “This is Claire Wells. Claire, Marcy McMullen.”
“I recognize your picture from Ethan’s yearbook,” Claire said pleasantly, reaching out to extend her hand. “You were on the debate team. Or at least in the photo.”
Now Marcy’s eyes popped with interest, and she looked at him for an explanation. Ethan did his best not to show his impatience. Half the town would get wind of this conversation before noon, no doubt. His pulse kicked at the thought.
“Claire and I were going down memory lane last night. I’m afraid I couldn’t hide my past from her forever.”
As much as he tried to.
He swallowed uneasily, bracing himself for Marcy’s next words, for the question that was on the tip of his tongue, for the name they had in common. The person he didn’t like to speak of. The girl he didn’t want to discuss.
“Well, it was good seeing you, but I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a rush,” he explained, hoping that would be the end of that.
“Just here to pick up some pajamas,” Claire explained. “I’m afraid the ones I packed weren’t appropriate for such warm nights.”
Ethan was relieved to see Marcy’s demeanor change, and she squared her shoulders and strode purposefully to the back of the room, saying, “We have a wonderful lingerie selection.” She picked up something lacy and black, and Ethan felt Claire freeze beside him. Nearly tripping over her heels, he pushed her forward, sensing the resistance of her body against his fingertips that pressed deeper into her lower back.
“Well, actually, I was thinking . . .” Claire’s hand extended in the direction of a matronly white cotton pajama set that may as well have had a turtleneck. Ethan’s hand shot up and snatched the nearest item off a hanger, thrusting it into her palm.
“Of this?” He grinned, catching the horror in her eyes. “But remember, red is your color, darling.”
Her cheeks turned the same shade as the lacy object he was clutching in his hand.
“But remember, sweetheart, we’re staying at your mother’s house.” With that, Claire wrestled the flimsy material from his hand and slid it back onto its hanger.
“Oh, well, I suppose that puts a cramp in things.” Marcy nodded sagely. “If it’s something you can be seen in at the breakfast table that you’re looking for, then you’ll probably stick with these.” She motioned to a rack of cotton pajama pants and shorts and matching T-shirts.
“Why didn’t you just pack something like this for the trip?” Ethan wondered aloud, but Claire just shot him a look.
“I told you, I get cold in air-conditioning, and I thought we were staying in a hotel. Besides, the ones I brought certainly came in handy last night, well, aside from the ninety-degree temperature.”
Ethan pretended to have serious input on the color and print selections, hoping that Marcy would catch the drift and walk away, but instead she lingered, just in his periphery, making his hands sweat and his heart speed up. Don’t ask. Don’t mention anything. Just let it go.
They managed to get to the counter with only some banal pleasantries about the shop’s offerings, and the weather, and the upcoming wedding, of course. The door was so close, it would only take two long strides to get through it, to be back on the street, to be free.
“My own cousin is getting married this weekend, too,” Marcy said, smiling. “Should be quite a weekend for us both.”
Ethan nodded, muttering something under his breath that showed he had heard, and turned to look out the window. The shops were opening, one by one, and people filled the sidewalks, sipping coffee in paper cups, wearing straw hats to block the sun. Weekends were always a busy time in Grey Harbor, with the tourists flocking from May through August. He supposed he was one of them himself now. There had been so much turnover since he’d last been here, and even more the time before. Life was changing, moving forward, so why was it that when he came back here, he always felt stuck in the past?
The women were talking about clothes and wedding reception dresses now, a safe subject, Ethan was pleased to note, but as Marcy handed over the paper bag containing Claire’s new, boring pajamas, she met his eye, and Ethan just knew, the way he always knew when the subject would be broached, because his sensitivity was on high, always on alert, the few times he dared to return.
“You’ll never guess who else is in town this weekend!” Marcy had a distinctive glint in her eyes.
His gritted his teeth, willing her to stop, but it was too late, the seed was planted, the notion formed, and the realization a cold grip on his heart.
Of all the dumb luck.
“Kimberly Listner.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction, and Ethan was careful to give none.
“What a coincidence,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out for her then.” He’d do no such thing. “Claire,” he said, already moving toward the door, hoping she didn’t see the strain in his face and question him about it. “Shall we?”
Claire thanked Marcy and followed him to the door, and it wasn’t until the door was firmly closed behind them that Ethan felt his shoulders relax.
“Was that an old school friend?” Claire asked mildly, as they walked down the street.
Ethan kept his eyes straight ahead, afraid of what he would see if he looked anywhere else. “Something like that.”
Chapter Seven
“Do I smell a cigarette?” Barbara sniffed the air, frowning. “I told Amelia not to smoke within twenty feet of this house.” She put more force into whipping the cream. Claire frowned as the liquid turned to soft peaks, remembering the way she and her mother would do the same thing each Christmas, when they made their annual trifle dessert.
She blinked and looked away before the tears could form. She missed her mother, but she was ashamed to realize she didn’t think of her as often as she should anymore. Not daily, at least, and not with the same pain that seemed to linger forever in those early months. Now, being here, in a family ho
me, with so much love and laughter and even arguing, she couldn’t help but think of the old days, and a little part of her tore open again when she realized they were over.
Still, she thought, watching Ethan’s mother whip and stir and refer to her list of hors d’oeuvres, it was nice to remember those days, too. Nice to be reminded.
And nice to be here, she realized, feeling that twinge of guilt resurface. Ethan’s family may have their quirks, but there was something warm and familiar about that. Much like Ethan himself.
Barbara set down her whisk and sniffed again. She walked over to the window above the sink and clucked her tongue. “Yep. Thought so. Cigarettes. She knows how I feel about that.”
“I thought she quit,” remarked Milly, who had stopped into the kitchen to refill her glass of Chardonnay.
“Oh, she did, and I’m sure she will again, but you know how these things can be.” She gave Claire a wince as she moved the bowl to the side of the counter. “Weddings. They’re difficult for the broken-hearted.”
You could say that again, thought Claire. She finished slicing one of the baguettes Barbara had warmed in the oven and arranged it on a cheese board, trying not to let herself think of Matt, or the woman he’d left her for. Was the ring still hidden away, in a coat pocket, or in a drawer? Or had he already proposed, already promised himself to some lucky, faceless woman by the vaguely referenced name of Heather, who Claire could never compare to?
She swallowed the lump in her throat and moved onto the second baguette.
She’d started dating Matt just before her mother had died. He hadn’t come to her funeral; Ethan had instead. It didn’t seem right, bringing Matt, when he was still a new and exciting and uncertain feature in her life. Ethan had driven her the six hours to her childhood home, with Hailey in the backseat, brought her cups of tea, and picked up dinner for her father and aunt each night. Hailey had stayed close, sharing her double bed the way they had when they were little, enjoying “princess sleepovers” where they giggled in the dark long after they were supposed to be asleep. Ethan slept on a pull-out couch in the basement’s rec room, but somehow, knowing he was there, two levels below, brought her some sense of peace.