Page 87 of Hearts on the Line

Kathleen Murphy smiles, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. Her face relaxes, and the deep-set laugh lines etched around her eyes fall.

“Tell me, what have you been up to?”

“Visiting for the summer!” Bridget pipes up.

Gloria sets down her drink. “She’s helping at the restaurant and working at the newspaper.”

“And sleeping on Ethan’s couch,” Jack adds.

I let out a shaky breath, clasping my hand over my forehead. There are a thousand questions in her hazel eyes. They remind me a lot of Ethan’s. Thankfully, she’s kind and doesn’t press any further.

“I hope we don’t miss you. I’d love to see you.” She wipes at her nose. “We’ll be home in a few weeks.”

I smile, ignoring the prick of tears burning in my eyes. I don’t know what to say. I sort of want to tell her everything, but given the company, I’m not ready to share. It makes me mad that I can’t do the same with my own mother.

“Ma, she almost got married!” Jack blurts, suddenly right behind me, his hands landing on my shoulders.

Heat crawls up my neck. I manage a tight smile. “Hope you have a great trip. I should go help…”

Bridget claps her hands, as if sensing my embarrassment. “Okay, say goodbye, kids! We need to clear the table.”

I know Kathleen replies but I can’t hear over June and Gloria bickering over ER George Clooney or Ocean’s Eleven George Clooney.

I head back into the kitchen with Ethan. It’s quieter here. He shaves zucchini into long ribbons and tosses them into a bowl.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he says.

“Can I help with anything?”

His shoulders tense before he glances up at me.

“Yeah,” he says. “Can you chop these herbs for me?”

“Sure.” I snatch the bunch of fresh parsley, drop it onto the cutting board, and start plucking leaves off.

He places the scallops into the heated pan and turns around.

“Oh, wait. Can I show you something?”

I nod, not moving as he comes to stand behind me, leaving a sliver of space between us. His hand closes over mine, warm and steady, guiding the knife from my grip.

“Stack up those leaves there.”

I swallow, then do as he asks before he runs the knife through the stacked herbs. Their oils burst in the air.

That’s something I love about Ethan. He makes magic with the smallest things.

“Like that. It’s faster. To save you some time,” he whispers against my ear, the heat of his words wrapping around me.

“Thanks,” I mutter, snapping out of my daze as he steps away. I set aside the parsley, grabbing the next bunch. I sniff—basil. I place it down and start chopping it fine as well. “You could go to school. Become a chef.”

“I don’t want to go to school,” he says. “Not my thing.”

It sounds like an excuse to me.

“Besides, I’ve been teaching myself.”

“You have?” I set the knife down.