Page 22 of Hearts on the Line

“You better not.”

I smile and wait outside on the front step until my rideshare arrives.

When I’m dropped off, I notice that a light is still on in the restaurant. I think Ethan’s inside when I walk in through the door, but I hear Annie. She’s talking to someone in a hushed voice in the kitchen, then I hear the sound of a cooking rack rattling before the back door slams shut.

I peek back to make sure everything is okay.

Annie has her back to me, her hands braced wide on the giant work sink.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Hmm,” she says, quickly wiping at her face. Her shoulders drop on a quick exhale when she turns to me. “You came back?”

“I was just in their way. You’re still working?”

“I only have a few more days before I’m free.”

Something inside me sinks. “Oh?”

“I found out yesterday I was selected for a science fellowship. I’ll be heading to the Cape for the summer. That’s why Ethan is mad at me.”

“Isn’t he always mad at everyone?” It’s meant to be teasing, but it doesn’t feel right when I say it. Like it’s a cheap dig, especially when he’s not here to grunt back at me.

“Go on,” Annie insists instead. “I was hoping you’d change your mind. I dropped off a few more things upstairs for you until you get the car back from the garage, before you leave for New York.”

“Back,” I repeat, testing that reality on my tongue. Go back where?

Not to Jason. And I’m dreading talking to my mom. I’m in between work projects right now so I could focus on being in New York this fall after spending years overseas. I gave up one version of myself for another, but that one didn’t stick either.

“‘Night, Annie. Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sloane. If you want to help out again, I mean. No pressure.”

“I’ll be here.” I slip out the back door and catch the dark outline of someone on the dock as the sky quickly grows darker. Someone tall and broad, and then a small dot of orange as the figure drags in an inhale of a cigarette.

It’s not as if the dock is private, it’s only that I feel that same tugging feeling I just had with Annie. Something sad. I can’t do sad tonight.

I trudge up the staircase to Ethan’s apartment, clutching onto the railing as things sway slightly. Then I pause at the storm door. It’s open, allowing in the cool July night in, but I don’t know what to do.

“Come in,” he says, annoyed and …

Well, that’s the thing with Ethan Murphy.

When it comes to the two of us, we’re whatever is after the ellipses.

The apartment is stuffy. The ceiling fan rolls around almost as if it’s exhausted, each revolution a slow click, click, click.

Ethan has a Sox game on TV, and I’m struck with another wave of nostalgia. My dad never missed a game.

Wally greets me at the door, tail wagging. While he’s excited that I’m back, and I scratch behind his ears before trudging to the corner of the room where I drop my overnight bag, it’s hard not to feel like I’m out of place here too.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Flour dusts the countertop, and there’s a smudge just below Ethan’s chin that I desperately want to reach out and wipe away. Instead, I run my hand through my hair and force a smile.

Ethan grunts. Maybe he thinks I’m joking, but I’m not trying to be sarcastic right now.

I slip out of my sandals, pad over to the island, and plop down in the seat opposite him. I watch as he carefully measures out flour in the center of the island, then makes a deep well in the middle.