Page 48 of Hearts on the Line

Desperate and sweaty, all teeth and need.

His fingertips settle on the small of my back as if he knows.

I should step away, should move, but it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality, and I can’t afford to get lost in daydreams.

“Thanks again for the lovely evening.”

Then that whisper of a touch is gone all too quickly, and I’m following him numbly, climbing up into the truck and folding my arms before Wally drops his head on my lap.

We pull out as the sky does that amazing trick of being a riot of blue and orange, and the sun is heavy in the sky. We pull onto the street before he spins the truck around and continues north on the dirt road farther up the coast.

To my old house.

I grip my hands in my lap as Ethan’s truck bounces down the narrow dirt road. It’s more of a cart path in the woods. My house is the last house in the cove, just a quick walk down the beach from his family’s place.

I swallow hard but don’t say anything, not even when he stops in front of the gates and I jump out before I lose my nerve.

I crane my neck to see the house tucked away behind a curve of tall pines. My chest tightens.

“This way,” Ethan says, flagging me around.

“We can’t⁠—”

“You think Sean is waiting for us to trespass?”

A small, wicked curl pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I take off, darting down the drive to the spot in the wall where you can climb over. Just like when we were kids.

“This feels wrong,” I whisper loudly.

Ethan climbs up and jumps down to the other side.

“The new owners aren’t here. Haven’t opened it up in two summers. We’re good.”

“What about cameras?” I sweep my gaze around, searching, but he shakes his head, and I bolt for the house.

The sun is setting behind us, and everything is washed in gold. My sundress catches in the sea breeze, and I can feel Ethan’s eyes on me as I move.

The house still looks the same. Three stories with freshly stained cedar shingles and a big wraparound porch that overlooks the beach. The hydrangeas are still massive at the foundation, and above the porch is the curved tower that was once my bedroom.

I spin to face him. “Think I can climb up the drainpipe like I used to?”

“I know better than to fall for that trap.”

A smug smile spreads across my lips. I’m still a little buzzed from the wine at dinner, feeling bold and reckless.

“At least someone knows me well enough.”

I say it a little louder than I mean to, but it’s true. He does know me. Better than Jason ever did.

I climb up onto the porch and lean against the post, studying him as he stays there at the bottom of the steps. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip.

“I feel like I was just here posing for prom pictures. It’s the weirdest thing.”

“Never went to prom,” he says quietly.

“No, you were too cool, too busy…”

“Is that why I picked you up from Steve Winback’s after-party that night?”