Hard Sell| ETHMA

26

EMMA
Friday Night, October 6

After the sun set, the weather went quickly from being "brisk and refreshing" to downright cold, but neither Ethan nor I seemed to care. Instead we pulled on every layer we brought with us, helped ourselves to the stack of fleece blankets rolled neatly in a basket by the back door, and curled up on the enormous padded chaise longue overlooking the water.

Juno's sprawled out at our feet, finally tired from her endless laps on the beach, and even with the zap of bugs against the porch light and the occasional rowdy laughter from a group of teens farther up the beach, the night's the most peaceful I've experienced in a long time.

"More wine?" Ethan asks, glancing down to where I have my wineglass propped up on his knee, my head on his shoulder.

"Nah, I'm good. You?"

"Saving room for dessert."

I groan. "I can't even think about having more food. That steak was enormous, and you put half a stick of butter on my potato."

"It's the only way to eat the things. That or fried."

"Or mashed," I point out.

"I never liked mashed potatoes," he muses. "I think because they remind me of Thanksgiving."

I lift my head to look at him. "You don't like Thanksgiving?"

He grins. "You've met my parents. What do you think?"

"Tell me Felicia didn't come over for holidays."

"Not until I was in college. I guess they figured with me gone most of the time, there was no point in keeping up pretenses anymore. Not that they ever did a good job of that in the first place."

"God, you poor kid," I murmur.

"It wasn't so bad."

"It was pretty bad," I say with a laugh.

He looks at me, his eyes going serious. "Yours was worse."

I suck in a quick breath. "You know, maybe I will grab some more wine."

I start to stand, but he puts a hand on my leg, holding me still. "Emma."

"Emma."

"What?"

"Why don't you ever talk about your childhood, your life before New York?"

"Because it sucked. As you've already said, yours was bad; mine was worse. I don't see the point in discussing things best left in the distant past. Michael's the only thing from that part of my life that's still around."

He flinches. It's slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to give me pause. Surely Ethan's not jealous of Michael. Is he?

"I didn't mean to imply . . . I just . . . I didn't even know you then."

"I know. Which is why it sucks that I'm always on the outside, like I'm being punished for growing up in Connecticut instead of Philadelphia with you two."

I touch his arm. "That's not what this is about. This isn't me trusting Michael more than you."

"Okay," he says quietly, and my chest clenches in panic. He's giving up on me already. I should be relieved. Instead, I feel . . . lost.

"It's fine, Emma." Ethan's hazel eyes soften as his touch moves from my knee to my cheek. "You don't have to tell me." The gentle tenderness in his voice is like a battering ram on the very walls he mentioned earlier in the evening.