“I’m glad you reached out to me this morning, Katie. I’ve . . .” He presses his lips together, as if struggling with what he’s about to say next. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I whisper. If only I could reach out and touch him. His hair. His face. His hands. I want to feel his skin, touch his lips. Press my face against his chest and breathe him in.
But that would be asking for too much, taking too much. I don’t know where I stand, how exactly I feel. I’m still hurt. That he would trick me so easily cuts deep. I want to try and heal our relationship. I’m not sure if we can take it any further than this, though.
Maybe all we can be is friends.
He sends me a quick look, but I can’t see his face or read his expression. It’s too dark. “I’ve been missing you for years. And when I finally found you again . . .”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it,” I say, cutting him off. Though I’m desperate to hear his words, the explanation. I want to know exactly how much he’s missed me. More than anything, I want to go back to the beginning. To when he first saw me at the boardwalk and rushed to my rescue from the would-be purse snatchers.
What possessed him to interfere with my life and become a part of it again? Did he hate having to continue the lie? Or was it easier to pretend to be someone else? Were his intentions pure when he first started to track me down? Or was he after something else?
And what could that something else be? I almost don’t want to know.
So many questions, and only Ethan has the answers. I don’t think he’s ready to divulge all of that information yet. I’m not sure if I want to hear it, either.
“You’re right,” he says, his jaw clenched tight. I don’t want him angry with me, so I hope he understands. “We should just—enjoy the day.”
“Exactly.”
We remain quiet for the rest of the drive back to my place, right until he pulls his car into my driveway and shuts the engine off. Molly emits a little growl, but otherwise, that’s it. When I glance into the backseat, I see her head is resting on her front paws, her eyes almost closed but not quite as she stares at me through the little slits.
“Want me to walk you to your door?” Ethan asks as he reaches for his door handle.
I shake my head. “It’s not necessary. But thank you so—”
He’s already got his door open, turning to look into the backseat and saying in a firm voice, “Stay, Molly. Be a good girl.”
As if she has anywhere else to go.
He slams the door and I exit the car as well, tugging my purse strap over my shoulder as I follow him up the sidewalk to my front porch. He scans the area, his hands in his jacket pockets, still wearing the beanie he had on first thing this morning.
Ethan looks good in a hat. He looks good in anything.
“This is a safe neighborhood,” he says as I stop beside him, my keys in my hand. “I like knowing you’re here.”
“I have my nosy neighbor, Mrs. Anderson, to keep watch, so I always feel protected,” I joke as I insert my house key into the lock and turn the deadbolt.
“I don’t like the woods, though.” There’s a forest of thick redwoods just beyond my backyard. At first it used to scare me, my imagination running wild and coming up with all sorts of imaginary boogeymen lying in wait for me just outside. I had a hard time going into the backyard, even in the daylight.
But eventually, I got over it. Now I love the forest that’s right behind my house. There’s nothing better than the scent of pine greeting you every morning. I can smell it now, fresh and exhilarating, reminding me of Christmas.
“They’re fine. Nothing ever happens there,” I reassure him as I undo the second lock before I turn to smile up at him. “Thank you again for today. I had—an amazing time.”
“I had a good time, too.” He lifts his hand, almost as if he’s going to touch me, and I go completely still, silently urging him to do it. To touch me just once, just so I can feel his hands on me one more time.
He drops his hand instead, the disappointment welling inside of me almost crushing. Why do I care? Why do I still want him so much? I should be furious with him, right? “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
I nod, licking my lips, noting the way his gaze tracks my every movement. Heat flares in his eyes and I wish we didn’t have all of these past barriers, the lies and the bullshit built up between us. I’d do what I want versus what I should.
That I can go from angry to wanting him in a matter of approximately forty-eight hours is mind blowing. I’m so confused, so torn up by this weird situation that’s become our lives.
“I’ll text you first, and let you know when I’m coming over,” I finally say.
He nods, looking like he wants to say something else but is unsure. I wish he would keep talking, to not end this moment between us, when he clears his throat, parts his lips, and seems to go for it.
“I wish I could kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice low, so incredibly deep I feel it reverberating in my bones, my blood. I wish he could kiss me, too, but we can’t do that. Not yet. I’m not ready.
I’m still too damaged and fragile, and I’ve been in this state for what feels like forever. And I’m too hurt by his lies—and his lies dig deep. I bared my body and my soul to him all while he was too busy keeping secrets and losing track of his lies.
“You can’t,” I tell him, the flicker of disappointment in his gaze obvious. “I’m just—I’m not ready. I’m sorry.” The last words leave me in a harsh whisper.