Page 23 of Hearts on the Line

“Making pasta.” He grabs an egg from the carton and cracks it with one hand, dropping it into the center of the flour.

It shouldn’t be a thing I find attractive, but it works for me. That familiar kick in my chest happens. God, what am I doing? I’m only here until my car is fixed. Only until my car is fixed…

Ethan cracks two more into the well, then uses a fork to break the bright-yellow egg yolks. The flour slowly gets folded in, and it’s mesmerizing.

I glance at the clock. “It’s almost ten.”

“Long day.”

I push past the fact he’s basically monosyllabic tonight. “I have lots of long days, but I don’t usually end them by making pasta.”

This time, he looks up and flashes me a grin.

There. I’ve missed that smile. It’s devastating.

I shift on my seat and return my eyes to his hands, but that’s a mistake too. Ethan slowly works the eggs and flour into a smooth dough. There’s something almost reverent in the way he handles it. Long, deliberate pulls and strokes. The muscles in his forearms flex with each motion, and I have to grip the edge of the counter to keep from reaching out to touch him.

“You do this for fun?” I ask finally, needing to break the tension building between us.

I feel like this is private, something he likes to do in secret.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind. Calms me down.”

“Oh,” I reply, my voice softer than intended.

Finally, when he has a ball of smooth dough, he carefully measures and cuts it into smaller portions.

His large hands are rough from years of working the boat and hauling traps. I could watch them work forever, the way he coaxes the delicate dough between his callused fingers with such unexpected gentleness. The contrast makes my chest tight.

“Where did you learn to do this?”

“Are you back until the car’s fixed?” he asks, suddenly stopping mid-roll to meet my eyes.

It’s my turn to shrug. “I mean, if that’s okay. I tried to find a hotel room, but⁠—”

“Bad week for that with the race.”

“Right. And I’d have stayed with Sarah, but that seems like it would cause more problems than it would solve. Annie’s already sublet her apartment.”

“So you’re stuck with me?”

It’s not like I wanted to make him feel like he was the last person I’d want to see when, in fact, he has always been the first. But I don’t know how to deal with us either. I’m kind of tired of tiptoeing around what happened.

“If that’s not going to be too much of a problem. I can stay and help.”

“Help me?” he asks. “Until the car’s ready?”

“Yeah.”

He swallows, then returns to shaping the pasta. Before I know it, there’s a bowl full. “Hungry?”

“Sure.”

He spins back to the stove and starts boiling a big pot of water.

I love watching him move around the kitchen. If he’s stressed, you couldn’t tell now. Every movement is precise. It’s kind of like how he was when he played hockey. He was good. No, he was great. Dad was convinced he’d be pro.

When Ethan turns around, he places his hands on the counter, and that’s when I notice it. A scar runs along his knuckles. He catches me staring, but he doesn’t say anything.