“Thanks.” She picked at the edge of the bag with the serrated edge. “Really, thanks.”
He leaned closer, not super close, but just enough for her to notice the scent of expensive tea leaves and mornings at the beach. “You’re welcome.”
She held out a cookie for him.
He took it from her and slid it right on his tongue in a move that made her squirm.
In a good, non-blending way.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “Water? Soda? Beer?”
He nodded. “Water.”
Phew, because she didn’t actually have the others, but it seemed like she probably should’ve had something more than water and boxed wine.
She poured him a glass, sliding it across the countertop like a bartending pro, which she wasn’t.
He took this invitation and moved to one barstool—counter-height chunky squares she’d found at a yard sale right after they moved in. She’d refinished them to just the right shade of gray, and loved the way they worked to help distinguish the space between the living room and kitchen.
Things got quiet then. Neither of them speaking.
Not a comfortable silence either. This was one of those silences that reached right under the skin and itched.
“Even though this isn’t real, I liked that—” he said at the same time she spoke, “I left my world behind—”
They both stopped speaking and the scratchy silence descended again.
“You go first,” she said, going for breezy.
Easy peasy breezy.
He nodded. “Even though this isn’t real, I liked that you didn’t see my celebrity as all that I am,” he said. “That’s why I asked you to help instead of paying someone.”
“Sometimes I do forget who you are,” she said, crossing her arms and squeezing. The trend of forgetting he was Ethan-freaking-Greene could easily become a habit and then it’d be dangerous. Very dangerous.
“No.” He tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear.
Her throat got thick, the air heavier in the room.
The touch wasn’t an invasion—there was still a whole lot of space between them, and it was platonic. But the move was more than comfortable. Like his hand was supposed to brush against her skin, and she was supposed to get goose bumps.
He seemed to realize what he’d done and pulled his hand back.
“You see me,” he continued. “Not just Ethan Greene the chef, but Ethan the dad and Ethan the neighbor and Ethan the guy. Y’know?”
Okay, now it was her turn.
“Even though this isn’t real,” she said. “I still left my world behind because it was awful. And I know you used to run in those circles. Like I did get that. But I didn’t really understand it until I found out you know Tony and—”
“Brief meeting,” he said. “Nothing heavy.”
“Since this isn’t real, I should not feel so relieved at that,” she said.
He crossed his arms, too. His forearms flexing with the movement.
She’d noted the ink there before, of course. One didn’t have tattoos like Ethan’s and have them go unnoticed. But now, really looking at them, they were made of an intricate design of leaves, flowers, and words—all coming together in a canvas of truly inspired artwork.
“Hey, listen,” she said. “I heard Annie and Fiona chatting and…I think they don’t understand what this is between us.”
