Except Ewan always smells good. Even back when we were kids and he’d experiment with the paint his mom bought him, he always smelled enticing. Now, he doesn’t smell like paint so much as…cedar. Or maybe sandalwood. Whatever it is, it’s deep and masculine and alluring. I’ve never been so aware of him as I am these days. Every time he’s stood close enough for me to smell him since he’s been home, I’ve struggled with the urge to press my nose directly to his hair and inhale. Roy never smelled so good. Oliver and Nils never smell that good. I sure as hell never smell that good.
Ewan is sitting on my porch when I come down the stairs, dressed in clean jeans and the nicest shirt I own that still makes it seem like I’m not putting in any effort. Ewan, facing away from me, is staring out over my yard, legs dangling off the elevated patio and fingers curled around the edge. With his arms holding some of his weight, his shirt is stretched across his shoulders, the dips of muscle visible even from here. I want torun my fingers along the grooves and up his neck, rest my hand on his head and feel the strands of his hair, warm from the sun. Instead, I knock gently on the glass door to get his attention. He looks over his shoulder, once more smiling that happy-to-see-Shiloh smile.
“Ready to go?” I ask, poking my head out the back door as he climbs to his feet. “You could have come in. The door is unlocked.”
Ewan chuckles. “I figured the door was open, but it felt weird just walking in. The porch was fine. It’s a perfect day.”
“It is,” I agree, staring out toward the slip of blue in the distance and the gulls diving over the water. “I was happy to be out on the boat. We caught a big boy—twelve inches.”
Ewan looks like he wants to make a joke about that, but I spear him with a look, and he holds it back with a quirk of the lips.
“I miss the days when we’d go out with your dad and grandpa,” he says instead.
“Well, I offered for you to join us one day. That still stands.” We climb into my truck without discussing it, as though Ewan already knows I prefer to drive rather than be the passenger. As we clip our seat belts, I add, “You won’t be able to get away with slouching about, though.”
He laughs, the noise a close relative to the easy joy of his youth. It’s a richer laugh now. One that comes deep from his chest, like that first gentle roll of thunder as a storm moves in. If I’d had a hand flat on his sternum, I’d have felt the vibrations through his bones.
“I was ten! Ten-year-olds get bored easy. The boat was small, and I had a lot of energy. Give me a break.” He makes a huffing noise, and even without looking over, I know he’s rolling his eyes.
“Mm-hm.” Energy still seems to be something he has in surplus, and the boat is still small. I suppose we’ll see, if he does end up coming out on a trip, just how prone to boredom adult Ewan is.
“Your crew won’t mind if I tag along?” he asks, timidity creeping back into his voice. This unexplained bashfulness sets my teeth on edge. He’s starting to remind me of a kicked dog—so used to the treatment that he expects it from everyone. The sunny daydream I had of his life in LA is starting to mold around the edges. Maybe it wasn’t as great for him as I’d hoped it was.
“Of course not.” He hums a little noise of assent but doesn’t respond. I give it a moment, eyes firmly forward on the road, and tell him, “I’d like it if you came out with us.”
Another noise from his side of the cab, this one little more than an exhalation. It sounds like relief, though. It sounds like a hallelujah-we-made-it-back-to-land after being caught out on the boat in a storm. It sounds like I’m reading too far into a sigh and sliding back into the helpless state of infatuation I spent so many years in with Ewan.He’s not staying, I remind myself. I can’t forget it.
“Okay. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we aren’t hauling.” I laugh.
“Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday? Pick a day, and I’ll showup. First to arrive, last to leave.”
“All right, all right. Monday works. Honestly, whatever you want. It’s the offseason, as you know, so don’t be expecting anything too exciting,” I warn, glancing over at him in time to catch the shrug.
“I know. It’ll be nice to get back out on the water, though. I never went out on a boat or learned to surf while I was living in California.”
He keeps talking, but the words fade to a soft buzz.While I was living in Californiasounds like he’s no longer living in California. It sounds like a reference to the past and not a look toward the future. He only vaguely answered the question about how long he’ll be in town any of the times I’ve asked, and so I’ve stopped asking. I assumed that meant I wouldn’t like the answer, but maybe the reason is that he doesn’t have an exact answer. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe there is a chance of him staying here.
I look over at him, watching his mouth move but still struggling to connect the words into sentences. Maybe I should just ask him to stay, let him know he’s still wanted and welcome and desired. If he knows he’s got the option of a home here, perhaps he won’t go running back to the one he left behind.
I nearly run a red light, I’m so caught up in my thoughts. Hitting the brakes a little harder than I should have needed to, the seat belts lock, and we’re both caught in the chests as we fall forward. I hold out a hand automatically, as though trying to protect Ewan.
“Sorry,” I apologize. Fuck, how embarrassing. Too caughtup in daydreams of my friend to pay attention to the important task of driving.
“Light changed quick,” Ewan replies, adjusting the seat belt as it unlocks. It didn’t change quick, but I let it go and try to focus. I don’t even know what he was talking about since I wasn’t paying attention to that either.
The lighthouse, which has stood on the cliffs for a hundred years, sits at the top of a hill and offers only a handful of parking spaces in a gravel lot. I park on the grass instead, leaving the spaces for those with tickets to the lighthouse. I already know Ewan doesn’t have any, and laugh when he immediately confirms it.
“Shit,” he mumbles, eyeing the sign. “I forgot.”
“You forgot you can’t just show up unannounced and do a tour?”
He narrows his eyes at me, unclicking his seat belt. “They used to just let us in!”
“Yeah,” I agree on a laugh, popping my door open. “Because kids get to visit for free. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you’re no longer thirteen.”
“Thankfully,” he mumbles, rounding the hood of the truck to meet me on the driver’s side. His eyes travel upward to mine from where he’d had them on my legs. I glance down, wondering for a second if I put on a dirty pair of jeans instead of clean.
