No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) (9 page)

From whom?

***

Ethan stared into his beer, happy that a noisy pub had been chosen for tonight’s festivities. The last thing he wanted to do was sit and talk. Besides, there was no way Kimberly would come into this place. She hated it. Always had.

He was safe here. So really, he needed to stop looking over his shoulder every ten minutes.

He took a long pull on his beer and flagged the waiter for another. His cousins and their friends were already rowdy, shooting pool, tossing darts, commenting on the baseball game that was playing on the television. He knew he should join in, shake himself out of this funk, because that’s all it was, a funk.

He cursed under his breath. He was behaving like Claire, going against his own advice. He was a hypocrite. But damn it if he couldn’t help it.

He knew what he said. He knew how he came across. A flirt. A cad. A womanizer. But that wasn’t who he was, not deep down, at least. Even though he tried, and oh, how he’d tried. To move on, to not look back, to never let it happen again.

“Love,” he snorted aloud. “Who needs it?”

“Don’t let Eddie hear you say that,” his cousin Dominic said, sliding next to him. “Have you seen the man tonight? Looks like he’s just seen a ghost!” He chuckled ruefully as he brought the beer to his lips.

Ethan looked over his shoulder where Eddie was shooting pool. Sure enough, the man’s eyes looked a little glazed, and there was a confused frown to his forehead.

“Marriage. Who needs it,” Ethan said, turning back to the game.

“Don’t let your girlfriend hear you say that!” his cousin Rob called from the corner of the bar.

“Don’t you worry about Claire,” Ethan said, hiding a smile. But it was true. If Claire were his girlfriend, she’d be expecting the picket fence, the kid, the yard. Things he couldn’t offer. Or maybe just things he no longer believed in.

He frowned. Best to remember that.

“Aw, now, you can’t fool me, Eth. We all know how you feel about marriage.” Dominic gave him a knowing smirk, and Ethan felt his back teeth graze.

“What? I hit a nerve? You know Kimberly’s in town this weekend—”

“Don’t go there,” Ethan said acidly, taking another long sip of his drink.

“Hey, if you’re still hung up on her, I’ll take Claire,” called Rob, giving a wolfish grin.

Ethan shot him a hard look. “Cut it out,” he snapped.

“I’m just saying, she’s pretty easy on the eye. Nice ass, too.”

“I’m warning you. Don’t speak about her like that,” Ethan hissed. His breath turned ragged as his anger burned.

“Hey, he’s just a little drunk. Cut him some slack,” Rob’s brother, Ted, said, coming to set another round on the table. “Since when did you all get all sensitive on us?”

“I just don’t like him speaking about Claire that way. Got it?”

“Whoa,” Rob said, laughing until the beer sputtered from his mouth. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I do not have it bad. I just don’t like you talking about her that way, okay?” Fire heated his blood and Ethan took a sip of beer to cool his anger. Ted was right. Rob was drunk. He should call it a night. Go home.

He pulled out his wallet and set a bill on the table to cover his share and a few rounds for everyone else. Tipping his head to swallow the dregs in his glass, he pushed back his chair and stood. “It’s been real, gentlemen, but I’m heading out.”

“Already? But the girls haven’t even arrived,” Rob said, and Ethan just narrowed his eyes. They all knew what Rob meant by “girls.”

“Good night,” he said, turning to go.

“Heading home to his lady,” Rob cried, laughing.

Ethan stopped, knowing he should let it drop, but he couldn’t. “And what are you heading home to?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” said Rob. “Now that Kimberly’s back in town, I might head over to one of the other bars, see if she’s around. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Eth?”

Ethan ground on his teeth, holding the challenge in his cousin’s gaze, telling himself not to feed it. Rob had always been this way with him—rumor was he’d been sweet on Kimberly back in high school. From the looks of it, he was still hell-bent on punishing Ethan for it.

Ethan’s hand felt balmy as he pulled it into a fist at his side, wondering which of the comments he was more worked up about. The ones about Claire, or the ones about Kimberly.

“Wouldn’t mind at all,” he said tightly. He walked to the door and pushed out into the cool night air, and began the walk back to the house, not pausing to look back.

***

Claire was in the kitchen when Ethan came through the screen door; his shoulders hunched a little as he stepped inside.

The party had died down forty minutes ago, with the bride claiming she needed her beauty sleep, and her sisters and friends following suit. The older women seemed happy to be relieved of the event, immediately claiming they were off too, leaving Claire, Amelia, and Barbara to clean up—it had only seemed fair to send Leslie up to bed.

“I saw the light on,” Ethan said, opening the fridge and reaching for a bottle of water. He gave her a quizzical look. “Is everyone else asleep?”

“Well, it is eleven thirty. Though, Amelia did mention something about seeing what was going on in town,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Meaning
who’s
in town.” Ethan shook his head. “It’s been almost a year since the breakup and she’s still hoping he’ll have a change of heart.”

Claire frowned at that. She couldn’t exactly fault Amelia. Hope was a powerful thing.

But then, so was denial.

She realized, with a jolt, that while Amelia maybe still had something to cling to, she did not. Not when Matt was proposing to another woman. She was free, but he was not. And that, well, that was closure, wasn’t it?

“Do you think she’ll find what she’s looking for?” Claire suddenly felt defensive of Amelia. She may have tired the patience of her family members, but there was something romantic about unrequited love.

And that was officially crazy talk. She opened the fridge and took a bottle of water out for herself. Time to clear her head.

“Do any of us find what we’re looking for?” Ethan asked mildly, coming to stand next to her at the breakfast bar.

Claire shrugged. Once she would have said so, but now . . . “I don’t know. I suppose that’s what life is all about, though, isn’t it? The belief that somehow, someway, it will all work out for us in the end?”

She blinked quickly, but it was too late. The tears were there, burning the back of her eyes, threatening to spill. She was just tired, worn out, and worried. Hailey had called again, and Claire knew she couldn’t dodge her forever.

Ethan frowned and set both hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “Promise me, Claire. Promise me you will not turn into Amelia. Promise me you will move on, live your life.”

Claire nodded in amusement, deciding that Ethan had definitely enjoyed a few beers this evening. She held up two fingers and sniffed. “Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Claire,” Ethan said, his face serious, his eyes earnest. He lifted one hand from her shoulder to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his gaze unwavering. “You have too much to offer. Too much going for you. I want to see you happy again.”

“I am happy,” she assured him. She blinked, struggling to maintain eye contact. His gaze was too intense, and his thumb, it was still lingering on her skin, caressing her cheek.

His eyes drifted lower, to her mouth, and Claire felt her breath catch as the silence between them stretched. She shivered.

“Cold?” He arched an eyebrow; a look he did well.

She nodded, seizing her chance to pull away, to create some distance between herself and . . .whatever this was. She closed the kitchen door, but only a little. She would go back to the boathouse, take a shower, or go to bed.

“I might need those flannel pajamas after all,” she joked, and then stiffened, realizing the truth in her words.

Ethan was still standing near the counter, his expression pensive, his smile a little wan. “I think I’ll stick around here for a bit until I get tired.”

Claire nodded. “Great,” she said, even as she registered that little tug of disappointment in her chest. She smiled tightly as she slipped through the door, wondering what had just happened back there, and what might have happened if she’d stayed.

Chapter Eight

E
than wasn’t in bed when Claire woke up the next morning, her skin cool and her head a little foggy. She blinked into the sunshine that filtered through the French doors, and then startled all at once when she remembered last night, the strange impasse between them, the way Ethan had held her gaze a little too long, his eyes drifting dangerously to her lips.

He’d had too much to drink at the bachelor party, she decided. That explained it. Except that he didn’t seem all that drunk, really, and she’d been out with him for drinks hundreds of times before and never, ever had he looked at her that way before.

She pulled in a breath and blew it out quickly. She was overthinking this, imagining things that weren’t there. After all, nothing had happened. He hadn’t made a move on her. He’d respectfully stayed on his side of the rolled up towels.

Except . . .She frowned, staring at the perfectly smooth pillow and sheets on his side of the bed. On second look, Ethan hadn’t come to bed at all.

She studied the empty space where his body should have been, and then, for reasons she couldn’t explain and certainly couldn’t justify, bent down to sniff his pillow. She closed her eyes, locking in the musky scent, and then, just as quickly, snapped her eyes open and jumped out of bed. She was lonely. Clearly, very, very lonely, and very, very desperate.

She was better than this, as Ethan would say. After all, if she described a man exactly like him, to him, he would instruct her to run for the hills.

Or maybe to relax and have a little fun.

But he never, ever, ever would have told her to fall for him. She frowned at herself. Of course not! He was her friend—her dearest, closest friend. The man who wiped away tears and made her laugh and was always there, her rock. Ethan may be loyal to her, but he was hardly that way with the women he saw in a . . .
sexual
light. She couldn’t start thinking of him in
that
way. That would . . .Well, that would just ruin everything.

She showered and changed quickly, ready for another day exploring Ethan’s quaint hometown. Today he had said they would have lunch on the pier, and from the looks of the still waters sparkling under the morning sun, it was the perfect weather for it.

She had barely pushed through the front door of the cottage when she spotted Ethan lying in the hammock, his feet crossed, his arms resting on his stomach. She stopped walking, eyeing him suspiciously, and, curious, ventured closer across the cool green lawn, still damp with dew.

He roused as she approached, the twig she accidentally broke under her sandaled feet snapping him from his slumber. Claire took in last night’s clothes and the dazed look in his eyes and started laughing. “You
slept
out here?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and looked around. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Although last time I wasn’t alone.” He gave a wolfish grin, and Claire rolled her eyes.

See, Claire? Cute, dependable. And all wrong.

“I just assumed you’d crashed in the house,” she said, stepping back to give him room to slide off the hammock.

“And give them reason to speculate?” Ethan cocked an eyebrow. “I should probably go freshen up before they see me. If they haven’t already,” he added darkly. He glanced warily toward the house, cupping a hand over his eyes to shield the sun.

“I’ll wait outside for you,” Claire said, deciding she might like the chance to sit on one of those Adirondack chairs and look out at the water for a bit. They went back into the cottage, Ethan turning toward the bathroom while Claire walked around the structure to the small patio, stopping to admire the rose bushes Barbara was so proud of. The water was so close, she could almost hear it lapping gently at the shore, and seagulls swooped down, casting shadows on the blue surface.

She settled onto a chair and rested her head back. They had a beach in Chicago, of course, but it was crowded, full of people sunbathing and playing volleyball; it was nothing like this. Here she could think, clear her head, think about the future.

But for some reason, right now, all she wanted to do was to focus on the present. She had all the time in the world to worry about tomorrow, and she was rather looking forward to today.

She snorted to herself. When was the last time she’d thought that?

The day she and Matt had been planning to move to California, that’s when. She’d been so full of hope then, so full of anticipation. But she’d also been so full of another thing. Something she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself at the time. Something she’d tried not to think about, something she’d told herself was silly and out of place.

Something that felt an awful lot like doubt.

She could still pinpoint the exact moment she’d felt it. It wasn’t when she’d told Hailey; no, her cousin had been too busy popping the champagne and squealing for all the details. It hadn’t been when she’d given notice at the auction house, either; though she loved her job, she’d been there since she was twenty-two and was ready for a new challenge.

It had been when she’d told Ethan. She’d assumed he’d have the same reaction as Hailey, that he’d buy a round of drinks, talk about annual visits to Wine Country, or, that, being Ethan, he’d roll his eyes and say she was too young to settle down, but, of course, if one must, a fabulous West Coast lifestyle was the way to go.

Instead, he’d said nothing at all. He’d just looked at her strangely, and finally, after what felt like the longest silence of their friendship, had simply said, “If that’s what you want, then I’m happy for you.”

Only he didn’t seem happy. She told herself it couldn’t have been about Matt—they got along just fine. But that night, after she went back to her apartment, the apartment she would soon be leaving, even though she loved that apartment, with its tall windows and its short walk to the “L” station, she felt as if someone had come along and popped the dream she’d been building up all week. She’d imagined it all—she and Matt on the beach, taking tours of the vineyards, sitting on a patio, the sunshine in their faces, eating fresh vegetables and buying a juicer. She saw open windows, curtains billowing, white furniture and sea blue walls. But those images became harder to cling to as the doubt crept in. And soon she found herself shopping for her new lifestyle, focusing on the petty necessitates like rugs and color schemes, anything to maintain the joy she had felt at the first promise of this next step.

It was change. A good change. But something else had changed, too. She and Ethan were inseparable; even when they were dating other people, they still made time for each other, and she still laughed harder with Ethan than she ever had with Matt. And that, she knew, was troubling.

And when she went to California, there would be no hours-long chats over a shared bottle of wine, no last-minute excursions to see the latest Woody Allen movie, no lazy nights watching crappy reality television. There would just be Matt. And for some reason, that didn’t feel like enough.

Claire bent down and picked up a rock, rubbing her thumb against the smooth grain before tossing it into the lake. She’d forgotten to flick her wrist, and the stone dropped heavily into the water, sinking to the bottom in a hopeless way, as if it had had a chance of making more of its situation and now that opportunity was gone.

Claire thought back to last night, wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t stepped back from Ethan’s gaze, hadn’t listened so firmly to her head and kept him just out of reach. Would Ethan have kissed her last night?

And would she have let him?

She hadn’t dared to think of it, to imagine what it might be like, not just to kiss him, but to make this something real, something permanent, to finish what they’d started. A foundation. A relationship. A bond.

“Penny for your thoughts,” a deep voice behind her rumbled, and Claire jumped, turning to flash Ethan a guilty smile.

He was dressed, but his hair was still damp and tousled and anything she’d seen in his eyes last night had vanished, replaced with the Ethan she knew back in Chicago, with a hint of a smirk on his mouth and a slightly amused glint to his eyes. He came out onto the patio, walking as casually as always, and picked up a stone. It skipped effortlessly across the water, making at least four stops before disappearing into the dark water. Ethan looked at her, his expression deadpan. “Last one to the bike shed buys lunch.”

And he was off, running ahead of her at full speed, not willing to let her win, or maybe, not willing to let her ever catch him.

She couldn’t be sure anymore.

***

Ethan pushed his toes into the sand and looked out onto the water, where sail masts caught the wind, moving like small white dots across the horizon. Claire was standing at the edge, gingerly dipping her feet in what he knew to be icy water. She glanced over her shoulder, tossing him a grin.

“I was hoping it would be warmer up here,” she said.

“In Wisconsin? We’re farther north, not south. Same lake. Same water.”

“Wishful thinking.” She shrugged, then turned back to the water. Her long blonde hair billowed in the breeze, and the hem of her dress bounced against the back of her knees, dragging his attention to her long, smooth legs.

He sucked in a breath, counted to five, told himself to quit it, to cool down, to stop getting caught up in the moment. Claire was pretty, but lots of girls were. Didn’t mean he had to go there.

He bent his legs, roping his arms over his knees, his eyes trained on the sand. He was getting sentimental, emotional. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He never did when he was back here. There were too many memories that muddled his head.

Everything would be back to normal when he was back in Chicago. If he could, he’d get in the car and leave right now.

He looked up at Claire as she came walking toward him now, her stride slow as she maneuvered through the thick sand. His jaw tensed. For a moment, the distractions of the city were the last thing on his mind. And this . . .the beach, the sand, the soft sounds of the water, and that smile . . . It was enough to keep him here forever.

“I like this little beach,” Claire said as she dropped onto the sand beside him, her hair skimming his arm, sending a rush of heat through his blood. “It’s quiet. Doesn’t seem like many people come here.”

“A group of us used to come here back on college breaks,” he mused, remembering the bonfires that started long before sunset, the way the sun turned from blue to orange and then faded to black, making it impossible to know where the sand ended and the water began.

“Your mom implied that you never come back to Grey Harbor anymore,” Claire remarked. “And when I think about it, your sister’s wedding last summer was the only time I could think of that you’ve been here in the three years since we’ve known each other.”

“It’s not the same coming here anymore,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes me think about the past. You know I don’t like thinking about the past.”

“It’s one thing to dwell on the past,” Claire pointed out. “But I suppose I’m guilty of it, too. Last night when I was hanging out with your mom in the kitchen, it made me think of these desserts my mother and I would always make for the holidays. I’d nearly forgotten that memory. It shook me up.”

“You’ll never forget your mother,” Ethan said firmly.

Her head was down and she was drawing a pattern in the sand with a stick, tracing loops and then smoothing it out with her palm. She shrugged. “I’ll never forget her, but all those little things that felt so ordinary at the time; I don’t want to lose that. I want to remember. Even if it hurts to think of her, to know she’s gone, I want to hold on.”

Ethan looked back at the water. “I guess it’s easy sometimes not to think about the past.”

Claire grew quiet for a moment. “Matt was a good distraction for me. We had just met, and . . .you know how it is. That first flush when you meet someone new. Everything feels exciting.”

Oh, he knew how it was. He’d built his life around that rush, never lingering long enough for it to fade. “Don’t beat yourself up. You were coping.”

“I was hiding,” she corrected. She shook her head. “I didn’t talk about my mom with Matt. I guess I got caught up in the escape instead. Sometimes I wonder what was real with Matt and what wasn’t anymore.”

“Sometimes avoidance helps. When I’m away from here, it’s easier.”

“You miss your father,” Claire observed. Her eyes drifted over his face. A strand of hair caught her cheek and she pushed it back before he could reach for it.

“He used to take me fishing, over at that pond in the park we were at yesterday.” Ethan smiled sadly. “They stock the pond. I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew that every time we went out we always caught something. Always threw it back.” His gut hurt when he thought of the way his dad had feigned surprise every time Ethan triumphantly reeled one in.

“You know I never brought anyone to that pond before.” He frowned, wondering why he’d stayed away so long. Why he suddenly felt okay going back. He could have brought Kimberly, a hundred times. But he hadn’t wanted to share that with her. It had been easier to get lost in her, in what they shared.

Like Claire and Matt, he supposed.