Page 59 of Hearts on the Line

“You used to like it.”

Heat creeps up her cheeks as she brushes past me, and I know I’m playing with fire here.

She heads outside, quickly descending the wooden stairs as Main Street buzzes with evening activity. Her dad’s car—well, Sloane’s car now—sits waiting at the curb.

The late-day sun burns a brilliant orange line across the hood of the Charger. She grins, holding her hand out, and I drop the keys into her palm. She races to the driver’s side, checking for cars before jumping behind the wheel.

I fold myself into the passenger seat and adjust my hat, looking over at her with what I know is a crooked grin. The same one that used to get me in trouble in high school.

And judging by the way she gently nips at her bottom lip, it still has the same effect.

“You know the drill, Sunny.”

She flips her sunglasses down, and the car roars as she steps on the gas, her window down and the radio up, with the whole night stretching before us.

New England summers exist to make you forget the absolute shit show of winter. I’m certain of it.

The sun sets as we drive along the coastal scenic road with the ocean stretching out to my right. Beside me, Sloane has a smile on her face, hiding behind her big sunglasses, her hair twisting in the summer breeze.

Her sunscreen and shampoo cling to the air between us, and I can’t stop staring at her lips—pink, glossy, distracting as hell.

She’s sharing something funny about working in the kitchen this morning when she whacks her hand against the steering wheel, giggling. “Where did you find Tony?”

I blink. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired or my back fucking aches, but I can’t focus.

Since Sloane officially moved in a week ago, I’ve been avoiding her. I want to give her space. Let her have the summer she needs. I can do that without unloading all my shit on her. She has enough to deal with.

It’s getting harder to ignore that little spark of hope that flares inside my chest whenever she laughs. That I might get her back, even for a little while.

That’s always been my problem with Sunny. I’m like a moth to a fucking flame, and I get burned every time. And I hate it as much as I fucking love it.

I rub my palms over the worn knees of my jeans and steal another glance at her.

“Tony used to sleep on the beach after some bad luck. He needed a job, and we needed a fry cook. He’s a Vietnam vet. Nice guy, maybe a little scary.” I laugh to myself. The truth is, sometimes it’s hard to keep help because Tony can be a menace, but he’s never failed to show up for a shift, and Dad helped set him up in an apartment that’s a close walk to the restaurant.

“Scary?” Sloane looks over at me, dropping her gaze so I see her eyes over the top of her sunglasses. “That guy is terrifying.”

“I like to think he has a certain zest for life.”

“Very poetic of you, Ethan Murphy.”

I feel it in my chest first before it happens—I’m fucking smiling again. I can’t help it lately, and it’s pissing me off. She gives me one compliment, she flirts just a little, and I’m suddenly a greedy bastard, desperate for more.

“Why, thank you, Sloane Arden.” I take a breath, feeling everything immediately start piling up on me. “It was easier for a bit when everyone else was home. I gave Annie shit, but I’m happy she’s at her fellowship. She’s great at the restaurant, but I think she can do more than serve lobster to tourists all day.”

“Why’s that okay for you?”

It’s the second time she’s asked me that. I don’t give her an answer. There are plenty of reasons, and I’m not getting into them tonight.

“How about you?”

She shakes her head as she drums along to Led Zeppelin on the steering wheel. “Can’t ever talk about you.”

“You haven’t talked about you,” I counter.

“Not much to talk about at the moment.”

I arch my brow, and she glances over again, barking out a laugh.