“Maybe not,” Nils corrects. Oliver looks between us, chewing.
“Well, that’s nice he’s back in town for a bit. I guess he’s an artist. I looked up some of his stuff last night—it’s really good. He’s talented.”
I nod. He is. Even more so now that he’s been making a career of it. Nothing will ever beat that first piece he put up for sale, though. Not for me. Not when I can look at it and see the cove, the little cave we spent so much time in together, and the shine of the sea. I doubt anyone else but me and him could look at that painting and see Naiad Cove, and maybe that’s not even what the piece is meant to be. It feels like it is, though. Every time I look at it, it feels like home and safety and the smell of the sun on warm skin painted into the canvas in shades of gray and green. Maybe one day, I’ll be brave enough to ask Ewan about it.
I wonder if he even knows I bought it. It’s not as though I deployed any amount of subterfuge. They wouldn’t deliver in Siren’s Point, so the address might not be recognizable to him, but the credit card and invoice were under Shiloh Lepage. But I keep thinking about the look on his face when I yelled at him last night. There hadn’t been an ounce of recognition in his eyes when I mentioned the emails. He’d looked overwhelmed. Afraid, even, as though I were striking him instead of just talking. As they usually do, things look different here in the light of day than they did last night. Now, I’m wondering if the absence of a reply was because he didn’t even know I’d been reaching out.
It never occurred to me that he wasn’t seeing the emails. The address was from his own damn website; it’s his name in the handle. I’d assumed it was a direct line to him and my only option since his phone number had been disconnected.
“I can’t pay for this,” Ewan had said about the family plan his mother had their cell phones on. “I’ll get a pay-as-you-goand text you.”
But he never did, and I’d assumed that had more to do with the cost of a pay-as-you-go than the fact that he didn’t want to speak to me. It had never, in seven years, crossed my mind. He was too busy, I’d told myself, and that fantasy held me over just fine until now.
I spend the rest of the day in confused silence. Hauling holds just enough of my attention to keep me focused on work, but there’s still that little bit of wiggle room for Ewan to slip through. I’m simply not cut out for this much stress. As much as Roy’s apathy got on my nerves, this is worse. I’m a simple man—I want to catch my lobsters and get a pub dinner every Wednesday and spend my weekends doing home projects. Nils and Oliver don’t cause any drama, so they can stay. Other than that, I think it’s best I just keep to myself. Anything else gets you public arguments and your boyfriend breaking up with you on a sidewalk. No, thank you.
“Got any plans for the evening?” Oliver asks me cheerfully as we unload our catch, swiping a forearm across his face.
He’s got a nice face. A pretty face, like Ewan and Roy. Nils and I are the unsightly additions, unkempt and soft and a little wild. I’ve always wondered what Roy saw when he looked at me, what he was thinking when he’d rub his palm over my hairy chest and soft stomach. I’d asked if he wanted me to accompany him to the gym one day, thinking that maybe it would be something we could do together that also gave me the benefit of less fat and more muscle. He’d laughed—an unbridled, shocked sort of sound that I’d never heard before and haven’t heard since.I’d dropped it after that, thinking that if he wanted my stomach to be flatter, he’d let me know.
Ewan, too, was born with more than his fair share of looks. Roy might be the more classically handsome of the pair, but Ewan is striking. His light eyes stand out with his dark hair and pale skin, his body lean with ropy muscle like a cheetah. He catches your eye and makes you want to keep looking. I don’t know why I’m surrounded by so many beautiful men and why those beautiful men can’t seem to act the way I want them to.
“Shiloh?” Oliver prompts when I’ve gone too long without answering him. I shake my head. This is just not my day.
“Sorry. No plans.” I pause, thinking. I probably should have plans. “Maybe talk to Ewan.”
“That’ll be fun.” Oliver smiles. I hide my grimace, thinking it’ll be anything but fun. He turns to Nils, sidling a little closer to ask him the same question. If the other man answers, I’m standing too far away to hear it.
Oliver seems eager to keep riding the wave of good cheer and conversation we got from Nils today. They stand and chat between their vehicles after we finish for the day, Nils with a hand on the door handle as though waiting for the opportunity to open it and slip inside. I sit in my truck and watch them for a few minutes. More and more recently, it seems like Oliver has started making strident overtures of friendship toward Nils. I hope he succeeds.
Backing out of my spot, I send a final wave in their directionand leave. Roy’s boat isn’t berthed, and there is no reason for me to linger. The cab smells of bait, so I roll the windows down in an effort to keep the stink from settling into the upholstery. It’s probably no use. If anyone other than a fisherman climbed in here, they’d probably think it smells like shit, no matter how often I leave the windows down. And anyway, who else would be riding with me?
Amy told me Ewan is staying in one of her cabins, so I drive in that direction. Five minutes later, which I wish was more like fifty, I’m pulling up to the curb. Leaving the engine idling, I lean across the console and peer through the passenger window. All the shades are drawn on the Kelpie, which, if I’m remembering correctly, is the one Amy told me Ewan booked. It doesn’t look like anyone is home, but maybe he just prefers the dark. Sighing, because I know if I just assume he’s not there, I’ll be giving myself an out, I turn off the vehicle and climb out. It can’t hurt to knock and see. If he’s not there, I’ll head home and live to fight another day.
I rap my knuckles against the door, barely making contact. I don’t particularly want him to answer, so I don’t put too much effort into requesting his presence. I give it a solid minute before I relax and turn to leave. Halfway down the sidewalk—grass poking up between the slabs and sand dusted across—the door to Kelpie Kottage opens.
Fuck, I think, and turn back around.
Ewan is peeking through the narrow crack he left when he opened the door, a suspicious-looking scowl on his face as though expecting a burglar to be knocking. When he sees it’sme, the frown drops, and his eyes widen.
“Oh,” he says, letting go of the door. It squeaks as it falls open wider, revealing Ewan in all his scruffy-faced, lazy-clothes splendor. He looks like he’s only just rolled from bed at two in the afternoon.
“Hey,” I greet him, taking a few steps back in his direction before coming to a halt.
“What time is it?” he asks, glancing up at the sky. “Did you not go to haul today?”
“We do shorter days in the spring.” He nods, biting his lip. For some reason, that simple question about my work schedule relaxes me. It feels like the old Ewan, who used to hound me seemingly every minute of the day, wanting to know what I was doing and whom I was doing it with.
“Come in?” It sounds less like an offer or a demand and more like a question. He adds, “It’s kind of a mess.”
I move another step closer, looking at his face. He hasn’t appeared particularly well since he arrived in Siren’s Point, and today is no different. The pallor of his skin makes it seem like he’s never once been exposed to the sun, although that might be in part because of how stark it stands out under all that dark hair. The skin under his eyes is so thin it appears almost blue, like a sleepless night pressed a thumb there and left a bruise. Maybe he really was sleeping, and now I’ve disturbed him.
“I’m sorry if I woke you. I wanted to invite you to dinner.”
No, I actually didn’t. I have no idea why I just asked that. The plan had been to talk to himhere, and for a short enough amount of time that I could still go home and relax on the porch.Maybe read the newest issue ofNational Geographicmagazine while trying not to worry about the words Dryden said to me last night and wonder if they’re true. The plan was not to invite him anywhere, and certainly not to involve food, which will turn this quick visit into a lengthy one.
I can’t retract the offer, though. Not when he breathes another soft “oh” and then follows it up with a smile. I’m starved for Ewan smiles. He could look at me like that, ask for anything at all, and I would capitulate. I wonder if I should warn him I want to talk to him, and not the sort of conversation that is likely to be enjoyable for anyone.
“Dinner?” he repeats, perking up like an excited puppy. Somehow, he looks less tired, like the simple invitation was enough to breathe a little life in. “Yeah, sure. Dinner would be great. Come in.”
