Page 80 of Hearts on the Line

“Maybe that’s because you’re finally in the right place,” Audrey says quietly.

Sarah peeks up at me and smiles.

It settles all at once. This summer, Ethan… it’s been messy and confusing. Until now.

I sip my glass of wine and join in when the conversation switches from Ethan and vibrators to toddlers and the latest gossip from the library knitting circle.

And for the first time, I let it be easy.

Chapter 26

Ethan

“No, Tony. Fire the clam cakes now, hold off on the fries.”

I glance at the tickets, excited to have some interest in the new menu item and frustrated that no one else in the kitchen seems to understand what I’m trying to do.

“I don’t know why you need to change things. Worked fine with lobster for years,” he grumbles. “This dumb fryer keeps fritzing and burns the breadcrumbs.”

“We’ve gotta work with what we’ve got.”

He waves his hand at me as I lay down a bed of microgreens and grab a container of miso aioli from the walk-in fridge.

There’s a small puddle in the corner of the floor again. Shit.

We’re underwater this month. Not enough lobsters being caught, not enough foot traffic, and not enough help in the kitchen. Sloane has been kicking ass for the past two weeks as editor, and I can’t ask her to split her time helping me here while she’s helping Ruth.

Sunny D: Finished interview with the new Eagle Scouts. On my way to help.

Ethan: I have everything under control.

Sunny D: I don’t remember you being all that in control this morning.

Fuck.

It wasn’t only one time. Was never going to be one time. And now everything with Sloane is dangerously close to perfect, but we’re barreling toward the end of August.

Ethan: Meet me outside.

I haul Sloane into the shower the second she turns the corner.

“Couldn’t wait, hmm?” She softly giggles, brushing her hand back into my hair.

I shake my head, diving down to taste her lips. We’ll get to the question portion of our day later, but I know we only have minutes before the chaos erupts. Her mouth is warm and soft against mine, and when I pull back and press one last kiss to the corner of her neck, she whimpers.

I nod toward the restaurant. “Back door is open. Quiet.”

“Or what?”

“You’re going to be bratty now?”

She licks her lips. “Do you like that?”

I can’t fight off the growl in the back of my throat. I bend down and inhale her sweet perfume, then press another line of kisses against her neck, desperate to touch her. “I missed you.” My lips move up her throat to her jaw. My rough hand follows behind, and I gently squeeze, rewarded with that soft, throaty gasp of hers.

I pick her up, and she wraps her arms around my neck, then hooks her legs at my waist. I know she can feel me because she bucks her hips against mine, grabs my hand, and pushes it down until my fingers brush over her underwear.

“You’re wet, Sloane,” I whisper against her ear. I drag my thumb over the damp cotton, then hook my fingers under the fabric to move it to the side.