Page 11 of Hearts on the Line

“Okay—”

“Whoa.” Annie turns around and whacks me on the shoulder. “Shut up. Yes, we do need help. Don’t listen to the man with a hero complex.”

The kitchen gets eerily quiet at the reminder. Did she mean it? Probably not, but the silence is awkward, and this kitchen has always been too small for me.

“Annie will walk you through everything.”

I storm out, the door knocking against the frame, drowning out the comebacks. Tonight, I’m going to have to figure out what I’m supposed to do with Sloane. She can’t stay on my couch, not that she wants to—too fishy, probably.

I nod to Brooks as he finishes cleaning up the lobster boat.

I’m plugging leaks in a dam that’s already cracking, and I’m the only one who knows how this ends. I’m close to losing everything, to having twelve years of busting my ass for this family mean nothing, and to ending up fixing cars at O’Brien’s. But not today. I can’t think about the flood that’s coming.

And…

Fuck, the conversation I’m going to have to have with Sloane tonight.

I can feel her before I see her. I know, even with my back turned, that she’s paused outside the storm door to the apartment while I’m at the stove. Wally grabs Betty White and sits at the door, his tail thumping against the floor.

“Are you going to stand outside all night?” I ask.

“Must be past your bedtime,” Sloane says, fully pouting as she steps inside.

I swear I can feel her eyes rake over my back as I work a knife through a clove of garlic. Knowing that she’s there, staring…

It fucking makes me hard, and I hate that.

I hate that after all these years, this woman owns me. I’m thirty-two, but I swear my dick thinks like I’m eighteen again. It was bad enough that she was my best friend’s little sister, but it was more than that. Always had been. Even then.

Now? I can’t go there.

“You smell like fish, Arden.” Okay, that’s an asshole barb, but I can’t help myself. “Go take a shower. I’m making supper.”

“No, thanks.”

I spin around, tilting my head to study her. I don’t mean for it to feel intimate, but it does. “Anyone ever tell you you’re difficult?”

She grins.

Probably because she knows it’ll piss me off more. I go back to mincing garlic. “Shower, Arden. Don’t want my couch smelling like fish.”

“Who said I’m staying for the night?”

“Where else are you going to go?”

I slow my knife, half dreading her answer. “I can’t stay, Ethan.”

Quiet slips between us, until finally, the bathroom door shuts and I drag in a steadying breath. It feels like my chest is cracking open, and not that I’m against feeling shit, but this isn’t the time. I found her on the side of the road, but that doesn’t have to mess up my summer.

I can’t let it.

My parents have worked hard enough for this restaurant, and I won’t let them down. I can handle everything. I can do both. It doesn’t matter if Annie is leaving.

Liar.

I reach for the small pot of basil on the windowsill and aggressively tear off a few leaves, rolling them up and julienning them into thin strips as the water comes to a boil beside me on the stove. Wally pads over to the bathroom and circles before plopping down, guarding the door.

I’m listening to the baseball game on TV, heating up olive oil in a shallow pan before tossing in some crushed red pepper and the garlic I minced. I’ve made this so often I could do it in my sleep. After a long day, it’s my favorite dish to cook.