Page 46 of Hearts on the Line

Sloane quickly snaps her eyes up to mine.

Is she jealous?

“Just think of how much you’ll get for that ring!” June chimes in, cutting through the tension. “You could go on a nice trip.”

I shoot up from my seat. “Let’s have dessert.”

“Sloane, tell us this man’s address. I found a place that will send glitter bombs.” Gloria points at her phone.

“He deserves to have to live with everything covered in glitter,” June agrees.

Sloane slumps back into her seat, watching me while the Golden Girls bicker about warm vacation destinations and appropriate payback. Personally, I think a glitter bomb isn’t enough, but I know enough to stay away from Sloane now. Brokenhearted or not.

I can’t afford to let her know mine’s been broken since she left.

Chapter 15

Sloane

Itake the last bite of my roasted strawberry shortcake and swallow the same indecent moan that’s been in my throat all night.

Fucking Ethan Murphy. He can’t just be attractive—he has to cook like he’s been hiding a culinary degree and be a loving grandson.

June teeters in the seat beside me as Bridget sweeps another look at Gloria before she tosses down a draw four UNO card.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Bridget yells. “I know you didn’t just do that to me, Miss June Harrington.”

June only shrugs. Gloria wipes the tears away from her eyes from laughing so hard.

“I don’t think I want to play you, ladies,” I say diplomatically. “You’re out for blood.”

“Feminine rage, dear. You find it with age.” Gloria tosses down a reverse card, and Bridget groans. “The quicker you embrace it, the more it becomes a superpower.”

I raise my eyebrows, then stand, swiping the half-finished bottle of wine from the table. “Well, behave now. I’m going to help clean up.”

The doors and windows are all open. Warm, salty air sweeps in as the sun slowly sinks lower in the sky. I swear I’ve teleported somehow, and I’m back in high school, grabbing snacks from the kitchen while my brother and the others are playing cards. It’s the strangest, saddest form of déjà vu.

Ethan is at the sink washing dishes. The same thirty-year-old AM/FM radio mounted under the cabinet is quietly playing Led Zeppelin.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner.”

A grunt is all I earn in return, which only crawls under my skin. I’m still a little pissed about his comment at dinner about my ring.

I set my plate down beside him on the counter. “What can I help with?”

“Nothing, you’re a guest.”

I hold back my mocking comment and pour a little more into my wineglass. “Well, I can’t go back out there. It’s like Lord of the Flies but with White Russians and UNO. They’ll eat me alive.”

A low chuckle spills out of him. The smallest crack of happiness makes its way into my chest, and I find myself laughing too. Just that little reminder that Ethan is so devoted to his family.

He grabs my empty plate and rinses it off before slipping it into the dishwasher, then turns around and leans against the counter, studying me. I push myself to sit on top, clutching my wineglass like it’s a lifeline. And maybe it is right now. I feel just as thin and fragile.

“You do this every week?”

He presses his lips together and folds his arms, which only draws my attention to the way his biceps curl and the fabric of his T-shirt moves over his body. Teenage Ethan left me speechless sometimes, but this Ethan…

I can’t put him in a box, I guess. I don’t know what to do with him, other than admit I like the way he snuck a glance at me during dinner, waiting quietly for my reaction to everything he cooked. Something about that made me just a little bit feral, which is entirely inconvenient given the circumstances.