Page 103 of Hearts on the Line

My mom bends down and kisses the top of my head. “And if you don’t marry that girl,” she whispers, “I’m gonna kick your butt.”

Nana starts laughing from the doorway, then Jack and Annie join in. We all sit on the deck as Sloane finally walks back up from the beach toward us.

“So?” she asks.

“It’s been decided,” I say. “We’re not rebuilding, the lobster boat is getting sold, and I’m apparently going to try to open a place of my own.”

“Ahh!” She runs toward me, jumps into my arms, and gives me a big kiss.

“But you have to stay with me,” I whisper against her ear. “We’re going to do this together.”

Sloane pulls back, smiling in that way that makes my chest ache. “Good thing I’ve already decided to move back here and take over as editor of the newspaper.”

The noise from my family swells around us, but it’s just static. All I can hear is my heart drumming against my chest.

“You’re staying?”

She tucks her face into my shoulder, nodding, as if embarrassed. But then I hear her sniffle and realize she’s crying again.

I ease her back, my hands framing her face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

And right then, I know that this isn’t the end. This is where we start.

Chapter 35

Ethan

My hand shakes as I grip the knife. A week out from the fire, and my hands still haven’t gotten the memo. I blow out a breath, peek at the clock on the wall, and keep chopping. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to pull it off. Everyone insisted I postpone, that Ruth would understand, but I saw that as a challenge, of course.

Brooks is helping me in the kitchen. A frilly floral apron covers his tailored black shirt. Given his piercings and neck tattoo, it’s a look. Annie won’t ever let him live it down.

He’s gingerly placing nasturtiums on the row of plates ready to be brought out. “This is some fancy shit, Ethan. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

We’re cramped in the dated 1960s kitchen of Ruth’s giant farmhouse. Behind me, I have pots boiling for me to drop in baskets of fresh pasta and seared beef tenderloin finishing off in the oven.

“He’s a millennial, dude. YouTube.” Jack backs into the swinging door, pulling Ruth along in a wheelchair.

Her walker apparently broke. Considering it’s Ruth, I wouldn’t be surprised if she chucked it off the porch.

I chuckle, shaking out my hand. I can’t stop it from trembling.

“Quite the place you have here, Ruth.” Jack spins her around.

I’m not sure how he convinced her to do it, but she’s wearing lipstick and eyeshadow and a dress that looks like it hasn’t seen the outside of her closet since this kitchen was last renovated.

“It’s too big for me,” she grumbles.

I glance up to Ruth glaring at me. “This gonna work?”

Ruth thinks I’m doing this just for Sloane, trying to win her over by surprising her with a fancy supper club. What she doesn’t know is that while a small part of me wants to impress her, every ticket sold to tonight’s event is being donated to help bring a nurse into Ruth’s house until she’s fully back on her feet.

I ignore her first question. “It’s got good bones.”

“It was too big for me when my parents died. Now I’m just an old woman with no family nearby. I need to get rid of it.”

Brooks drops his tweezers and reaches for the small pot of flaky sea salt. “Jack loves real estate.”