Page 93 of Hearts on the Line

“You’re not eighteen anymore, Sloane.”

“I wasn’t eighteen when I left.”

Maybe I’m goading her, but she only makes a hmph sound. It’s very undignified of her. But she’s full of surprises.

“Ethan?” Wally’s never usually in the apartment alone. I sink down and give him a good pat. “This is Wally, Mom. Say hi.”

“I don’t want my outfit dirty.”

My patience is wearing thin. I check our room, then scan the counter for a note. Nothing. Either he’s still on the boat or he’s down in the restaurant with Jack.

She sets her sunglasses on the counter and takes off her hat. “Where is the man of the hour?”

It’s a low dig, but I let it slide. I don’t feel like fighting right now. I don’t really feel like doing this at all, actually. But I decide if I’m short and polite, maybe it’ll be over sooner rather than later.

“Working,” I say.

“Still hauling traps and making lobster rolls for all the tourists?”

I spin around. “What is it that bothers you about him?”

“That boy can’t get his head out of his own ass.”

It’s been almost fourteen hours since we last spoke, and though I agree, I’m not about to tell her as much. I still love the stupid, stubborn man.

“Mom, he was eighteen.”

“He had no right to touch you then either. This isn’t exactly a brownstone.” She circles around the small room, frowning at the carpet and the chipped linoleum countertops. “I get it, I do. It’s fun to have a fling with someone like Ethan. Men like that…” Her voice drops away, and for that I’m endlessly thankful because I’m not about to dive into details of my sex life with my mom. “They’re built differently. It’s fun. But you don’t marry men like that, Sloane.”

“Honestly, whatever happens now is none of your business.”

She scoffs, checking her nails. She adores Russian manicures, so there’s nothing to inspect. Still, I let her swallow what I had to say for a minute before I continue.

“Ethan and I are living together.”

“Your life is so much bigger than this. Than him.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be.”

She doesn’t like that answer.

“You’re never gonna amount to anything if you stay in Merritt Point. This town is where people like us come for vacation in the summer. Not to become, what—some small-town news editor? You went to a good college. You have great access to a powerful network of contacts. You’ve traveled the world. You lined up an ambitious job with the Monarchs.”

“In PR? Mom, I never wanted that job. It was something close to Jason in New York. It would have made a life with him easier.”

I don’t want easy or perfect anymore.

I guess we’re loud, because the storm door slams shut a minute later and Ethan fills the doorway. I can see the night etched in every line of his face—his dark stubble, his eyes red but still fierce when they land on my mother, then back to me.

“What is she doing here?”

I shrug, but Ethan’s already moving.

My mom visibly flinches when I lace my fingers through his, a little tighter than I mean to. Feeling his skin against mine hurts all over again after last night.

“Mrs. Arden.” Ethan’s voice is cold.

“Julia. I haven’t been an Arden for years.”