“Want to walk?” Ewan asks and then sets off without waiting for a reply, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.
I’m a step behind him and off his right shoulder as we walk, close enough for our elbows to bump. I can’t seem tobreak myself any further out of his orbit, and frankly, I’m not interested in trying. Everything is so much more vivid and lively with him here—the grass more green, the sea more blue, and the white bricks of the lighthouse clear enough to have been painted yesterday. It’s like putting in a pair of contact lenses after living for years without.
We come to a stop near the cliff’s edge, and I rest a hand on the railing. Next to me, Ewan stops close enough for me to be jostled by his arm when he raises it to snap a photo of the water. The sea is choppy, the water moving in little waves of foam down below. He leans over to look down at the rocks, and I stay right where I am, looking at him.
The wind is a little more forceful up here, pulling at my hair and sending Ewan’s dancing across his forehead. His face is sort of scrunched up, like he’s thinking hard. After a second of silent contemplation of the view, he says, “You need a puffin.”
I bury my teeth in my bottom lip, biting back the smile. I love finding all the ways he’s similar to how I remember. I feel like an archeologist, carefully brushing away the dirt and uncovering pieces of bone placed precisely where I knew they’d be. Ewan’s mom used to tease that he was always a sentence or two ahead of the rest of us, spouting off things that made no sense to anyone but him.
“The puffins are here,” I tell him. “It’s April.”
“No—I mean, yes, you’re right—but I meant to go with Ed the lobster.”
“You’re right,” I agree, thinking of the wall I hung the canvas on, the evening of the day he gave it to me. I put it onthe wall that most often draws the eye in the living room, in full view of the couch and chair. It’s a lot littler than the piece I had there previously—the wall too big for a single small canvas. “Actually, I could stand to put three up, if you’ve got another in you. Maybe a…octopus or something.”
“An octopus.” Ewan laughs. “Well, I’ll try.”
“Maybe it’ll be your new niche.”
“Ah, yes, subpar drawings of animals by a washed-up painter. Everyone will be lining up.”
I raise my eyebrows and don’t return the smile he tacks on the end of that sentence.Subparandwashed upboth seem to be pretty harsh to me, but Ewan’s always been harder on himself than anyone else. Head turned toward him, I catch movement in my periphery and glance over my shoulder. Jake, the groundsman of the lighthouse, is walking toward us. I lift a hand over my shoulder to let him know I see him.
“Incoming,” I warn Ewan. He looks back and sighs, probably getting sick of feeling like a sideshow for the villagers to fawn over.
“Hi, Shiloh. Ewan, good to see you.” Jake holds out a hand to Ewan, nodding at him as they shake. Ewan mumbles a reply before stuffing his hands back into his pockets and scrunching up his shoulders like the wind is giving him a chill all of a sudden. There’s so little fat on him, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that were the case. Jake asks, “You guys here for the lighthouse?”
“Just taking in the view,” I correct. Ewan huffs, still annoyed at himself for forgetting to book ahead of time.
“Well, I just came from inside, and they’ve got the afternoonfree. You should go in.”
I glance over at Ewan in time to watch a small smile pop into place. He really did want to revisit the lighthouse and was probably more bummed than he’d let on that we couldn’t. I nod at Jake.
“Thanks for the heads-up. We will.”
“Good to see you,” Ewan says, shifting his feet as Jake parts with a wave, strolling back toward the shed at the corner of the property. Once he’s out of earshot, Ewan sighs. “It’s like meeting strangers for the first time, except worse because these strangers already know the worst things about me. It feels like I’m trying to convince a jury I’m a good guy when they’ve already convicted me of murder.”
I frown. “That seems excessive. You’ve been given a hard time?”
“No. Not at all.” He scowls, moving toward the lighthouse and forcing me to fall into step next to him or risk being left behind. “Everyone is nice to my face, but I know they’re all whispering behind my back. And the subtle digs are getting a little tiring. ‘We’d better catch up now, before you’re gone again!’; ‘I only recognized you because of all the pictures on social media!’; ‘I was starting to wonder if I’d live to see Shiloh and Ewan causing trouble in Siren’s Point again!’ I’m tired of it,” he repeats.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize people were bothering you.”
I probably should have, though, because unfortunately, that’s just the way things work around here. Siren’s Point is fairly unchanging when you compare it to other cities or towns. In theseven years Ewan’s been gone, no shopping centers or apartment buildings have been erected; no restaurant chains have opened their doors here. New faces are really the only source of change, which means the gossip mill grabs on to them and doesn’t let go. Ewan, who is a familiar face masquerading as a new one, has probably been the talk at everyone’s dinner tables since he arrived. He’s also famous, which only adds fuel to a fire that needs no accelerant.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I did it to myself.”
Reaching in front of him to grab the door, I wait until he passes inside before I snag his elbow. He turns to look at me, that same infuriatingly fearful light in his eyes. It’s really starting to grate on my nerves that I’m lumped in with everyone else, that I’m someone he needs to be cautious around. It’s not supposed to be that way. My name is always meant to be spoken alongside his, and those hazel eyes should never have worry in them when they’re aimed my direction.
I don’t put any pressure on his arm, but he steps into me anyway. Our faces are close enough for me to see his individual eyelashes and feel the soft displacement of air against my chin as he breathes. I can feel the muscle of his arm move underneath my fingers, making me wish there wasn’t a layer of fabric between. We stare at one another, and for a moment, I forget what it was I wanted to say. The distance between our lips is little more than inches. I could kiss him.
“Hi! Welcome!” a young, happy voice says, reminding me that we’re in public and Ewan and I aren’t the only two people in the world. I clear my throat and look over at Hailey Johnson.Her eyes widen in surprise when they fix on Ewan. After a moment, she looks back at me. “Oh! Hi, Shiloh!”
Ewan makes a soft, gurgling noise and coughs, like a laugh got stuck in his throat. With a fair amount of regret and sheepishness, I take a step away from him and drop his arm. What the hell was I thinking? You can’t just go around grabbing people, and you definitely can’t kiss them without first figuring out if they want to partake in the kissing.
“Hi, Hailey. Sorry to drop in like this, but we were hoping to climb the lighthouse if you happen to have any openings?”
“Yes! We do!” Ewan clears his throat. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s trying not to laugh, obviously having picked up on Hailey’s tendency to speak as though every word has an exclamation point at the end. She adds, looking back at Ewan, “You must be Ewan Fate! It’s nice to meet you!”
