Page 39 of Hearts on the Line

“I know you’re not the grump you want everyone to believe you are.”

“I don’t have time to worry about what anyone thinks.”

“That so?” She crosses her arms, tilting her head.

“I have a lot to handle now, is all. My parents earned their summer away. And I owe⁠—”

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Ethan. You don’t. Especially not your parents, and sure as hell not me. If my being here is too much, I’ll grab a motel until the car’s ready, even if it’s a few towns away. I can get it towed to another garage, and I’ll be out of your hair. But you don’t owe me. Not when you hate me.”

That last sentence rings between us. All the subtlety of Paul Revere riding through the night to announce the British were on their way.

“Why did you fix my storm door? It doesn’t squeak anymore.”

She shakes her head. “It needed a little WD-40. I didn’t solve world hunger, Ethan.”

I know I’m not saying the right thing. But I don’t know what she needs to hear either.

“I don’t need any favors.”

“Do you just get off on doing everything for everyone?”

“You want to explain to me why you’re arguing with me instead of—” I wave in the direction of her ring. I can’t say it.

“Jason knocked up his ex. I found out during our rehearsal dinner. So this,” she says, waving at her hand, “is still a relatively new truth for me to tackle. And I’m not doing a good job. As you found out last night. Thanks, by the way.”

I nod, tugging the brim of my cap lower, trying my best to disconnect the view of Sloane and her ring. Guy sounds like a first-class prick.

“You can stay on my couch, Sloane. It’s not a problem.”

“Then why are you stomping around like it is?”

I don’t want you to leave, I want to shout.

“Lots to do,” I say instead. Not a lie.

“Okay,” she whispers, looking out onto the harbor.

I can’t let myself hope for that. Can’t pretend I don’t want that either.

She bites her lip again before turning her attention back to me, then shrugs.

I jump up onto the dock, then reach down to help her. Her hand slips into mine, the summer sun baking our skin. Her fingers are so soft against my rough palm, her nails perfectly manicured in a pale pink.

She’s always been flawless, but now she’s curated and quiet.

I decide then I fucking hate Jason and whatever else polished the edges off Sloane to something more palatable.

The loudest thing I’ve done for years is love Sloane Arden, even if she doesn’t know it.

“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice rough and my mouth suddenly dry.

Her hand is still in mine. We’re stuck here on the dock as the water crashes against the footings and the seagulls squawk overhead, and I can smell lobster and fish and fry oil.

“Sometimes, Ethan, it’s okay if you need help too.”

Then she slips her hand out of mine. Leaves me there as she starts up the dock toward the restaurant, the sway of her hips matching the pulse pounding in my ears.

She might have run off to Merritt Point thinking her life is a mess, but I’ve been drowning for years. Now I’m watching my life raft drift away, too afraid to go after it. Too afraid to let her close. More afraid I’ll ruin my second chance to make her mine.