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I'm in love with Ethan.
I'm madly, passionately, desperately in love with Ethan.
"Vi, you okay?" Ethan slides his arm around my waist. He looks to Brendon. "It's been an intense few days. I'll make sure she takes care of her ink."
Brendon nods. "It was nice to meet you two." He shakes my hand. "Hope things get less complicated."
Maybe they just did.
Or maybe they got a whole lot more complicated.
I'm not sure. My legs are still jelly. My tongue is still stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Ethan laughs. "What am I going to do with you?"
Love me.
That's what I want him to do with me. I want him to love me as much as I love him.
But I'm not ready to say that yet. Instead, I exhale all my nervous energy. "I should pay for the tattoo."
Brendon shakes his head. "Sorry, Joel already paid."
"At least let me tip," I say.
"He left a generous tip and he made me swear not to let you pay a dime. Can't go back on my word." Brendon looks from me to Ethan. "You have enough to worry about."
I nod. "Thank you."
He nods back then steps out of the way.
Then it's just me and Ethan and the feelings that are ready to burst out of my chest.
"Damn, I was gonna pay," Ethan mumbles. "Joel's making me look bad."
I want to scream out the words, but I'm not ready yet. I swallow hard. "You can buy me a matcha latte."
He smiles. "Deal."
Chapter 32
Violet
My parents are surprisingly friendly with Ethan over dinner. It helps that Piper chimes in to sing his praises every thirty to sixty seconds.
We spend the evening with her in the Strong living room. She gushes over my tattoo, listens with rapt attention as I explain my current project, and fills us in on all the entertainment news gossip about the band.
Just like old times, I fall asleep in Ethan's bed, in his arms, and I wake up to the smell of coffee and a very sweaty, post-gym Ethan making me tea.
My jaw nearly drops to the floor as he runs his hand through his hair. I've seen the gesture a thousand times. Turns out time a thousand and one is just as good.
"Hey." He smiles.
"Hey." I smile back. The sun is pouring through the deck's sliding door. The ocean breeze too. It smells like salt. I can hear the faint roar of waves crashing.
And Ethan is smiling at me as he makes breakfast.
It's not our kitchen, but it could be. This could be our life. There are practicalities in the way. At the moment, I don't care. I don't care about tomorrow or what happens after Ethan's show in New York. I don't even care about my birthday next week.
