“Just to let her know I’m alive.”
I take my phone back and carefully pluck his, which is unlocked, and trade places with him. My lips immediately press together when he poses awkwardly against the periscope. Suddenly, I’m thinking about his terrible profile picture at work while he moves his ever-so-stiff arms—I’m not even sure what he’s doing can be called posing.
I’m channeling a considerable amount of willpower not to break into laughter while I snap a couple of pictures of him. Then, for his sake, I offer him a few suggestions—most of which involve crossing those magnificent arms against his chest or interacting with the periscope.
Some people are photogenic and born to be on camera. Ethan Carter is not one of them. It’s kind of endearing, really. Dorky for sure, which adds to the charm.
Or, I have it bad for him, which is quite an astute and glaringly obvious observation. When we’re not engaging in our dodgy flirting rituals, the number of times I’ve secretly checked him out in the past forty-eight hours alone can only be rivaled by how often he’s been sneaking glances.
All we need now is a bunch of hand flexes thrown into the mix, and we’d be living our best period-drama lives.
“Jesus. If these were taken on a disposable camera,” he hedges, “we’d have run out of film twenty pictures ago.”
“You’ll thank me later,” I say. “More importantly, so will your ex.”
His head pulls back, and he frowns. “My ex?”
“Yeah. The girl you thought about proposing to three times?” I remind him, but the sheer look of confusion written on the lines of his face almost has me backtracking. “You know. Lara?”
“Lara, my sister?”
“You dated a girl with the same name as your sister?” I gasp, horrified.
“No,” he chokes out. “Lara’s my sister. Aimee’s my ex. I would never date anyone with the same name as my sister. I turned down a girl once ’cause Laurel was too close to Lara.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment blazes across my cheeks. I’m not sure what to say. “That makes so much sense. I was wondering why your ex would watch your mom for you.”
“Yeah, Aims wouldn’t,” he says finally, bringing his hand behind his neck. “She wasn’t a big fan of my mom, which would break her heart if she found out the truth.”
“Oof,” I say, sparing him a sympathetic wince. “I’m, uh, guessing your ex wouldn’t appreciate these pictures either.”
“No,” he says. “I don’t want her to assume I’m interested in restarting our relationship. I’ve officially moved on, or else a lot of things that have happened these past few days would have been entirely inappropriate and douche-y. It wouldn’t have been fair to her or you.”
“To me?”
He nods, his gaze resolute, and my lips twitch while I fight the hint of a smile beginning to form on my lips. In the near distance, I hear chatter and a shriek of laughter, severing eye contact with him to glance at the exit.
“We should go check out the other boats,” I suggest. “Get our money’s worth.”
“Or, you know, we can head back down to the boardwalk and grab a bite to eat before the dinner rush,” he counters.
“What are you in the mood for?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Lady’s choice.”
A grin breaks across my face, and his eyes narrow immediately as I say, “Famous last words, Ethan.”
“We’re not eating there,”he says, which causes me to snicker. He gestures to the chalkboard with both hands. “It’s a crappy spot.”
“It clearly saysCrabby Spot,” I reply, forging on when he opens his mouth to respond. “Relax, Ethan. It’s a bar, not a crack house. It’s ridiculously hot. I want a fruity drink.”
He heaves out a weary sigh, shaking his head. “You and your fruits.”
“I will go absolutely feral for mangoes,” I tell him, and he chuckles.
“Is this why you sent us the bouquet?”
“Huh?” My brow furrows. “Oh. No. I sent you guys the bouquet as a distraction.”
