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Not it at all.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Life is full of disappointments, especially when we hope too much. But a week of him gone, and you’ll feel fine again.” He holds two hands up. “We lose happiness, we’re built to find more.”
“Is that right?” I drone.
He presses his alcohol-laced lips to my temple above the ribbon, his breath drifting down my jaw. “If the first man is wrong, find a second. You’re bound to find Mr. Right somewhere.”
He hiccups and I push him away. “You’re drunk.”
“On life.”
“On alcohol.”
He waggles his brows. “On love.” He grabs my hand and presses it to his chest. “I’ve been wanting to get you alone all evening. God, you’re so hot.”
“Ford. You have your pick of anyone here. Your sister has Ethan all to herself. You don’t need to distract me.”
He gapes and then bops my nose with his finger. “You were supposed to say I look hot too.”
“Your looks are irrelevant.”
“I was hoping you maybe like me back.”
“I like you.”
“Really like me. The way I like you.”
“I’m a game to you, Ford.”
“No . . .” He stops. “You were. To start with. But you’re not anymore. I really, genuinely like you.”
I shake my head, laughing.
“What? I do.”
I continue laughing.
“I’ll prove it to you.”
“Uh huh.”
Ford throws his hands to my cheeks and plants a sloppy kiss on my lips. “This is real, Fin. I’m falling for you. And I’m sure at least half of you is falling for me.”
Movement at the door catches my eye and I glance up to see Ethan frozen on the threshold. He’s not looking our way, but I can tell he was by the stiffness in his posture, the tick at his jaw.
He turns back into the house, and I’m on my feet, hissing, “We don’t have anything, Ford.”
“We could.”
“I don’t dig guys who sport with people’s feelings.”
“There’s no sport this time, I promise.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I’ll convince you,” he calls dramatically after me. “I’ll catch the moon if I have to.”
I leave him lying on the porch like a wretched soul. Whatever he proclaims, he’ll be over it when the next cute person walks past.
Inside, Rush thwarts my plans. He’s yanking Ethan into the sunroom. “It’s a pear tree! I thought that way you take a bit of Mansfield with you. Make this place feel like home.”
“Big ask, of a tree,” Ethan murmurs. He’s standing just inside the door; I’m just outside.
“Sorry?” Rush says.
“I said it’s a beautiful tree. Thank you.”
“Can I have your advice on something?” I assume Ethan’s acknowledged that because Rush continues. “Do you think, if I asked, Fin would be my best man?”
There is something achingly hopeful in his request. I don’t think I know him well enough to be his best man, but that there’s no one else for him to ask . . .
Ethan feels it too, I hear it in his voice. “I’m sure he would.”
“Good. Excellent. He’s a good man, that Fin.”
“The best.”
“I bet he’ll make someone real happy one day. Maybe that Ford fella. They seemed to get on at my engagement party.”
Ethan is quiet.
“Right,” Rush claps his hands. “Let’s get a drink.”
I conceal myself as they leave the sunroom. Rush is grinning and following behind, sombrely, Ethan.
I can’t anymore with this party. I need . . . I need home.
I call a taxi.
I text Ethan from the road: He kissed me, Eth.
. . . you are overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of bliss—absolute bliss—as though you'd suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle, into every finger and toe . . .
K. Mansfield, “Bliss”
I sneak quietly through the house to the bird’s nest. I’m still wearing my mask, I like the weight of it on the bridge of my nose. If I close my eyes I can feel Ethan next to me.
“I like when you speak te reo.”
“Yeah?”
“K-ka rata ahau i a koe.”
I pull out of the memory, opening my eyes and clutching the balustrade.
A taxi pulls up in front of the house. I wait for Cress and Ford to emerge. Seconds pass—
Ethan.
He pauses on the path, straightening himself. Then he looks up. His gaze snags on the bird’s nest, on me. Time stops. Or maybe it’s my breath. Both.
Ethan stares. I stare.
He moves.
His stride eats up the path and he disappears from view. He moves quietly inside, but I feel his presence burning the stairs under me.
The turret door shuts quietly behind him; he pauses, breathing hard, uncertainty in his stance. My skin is buzzing, it rings in my ears. My feet are ticklish in my sneakers. I’m not sure what comes next either. It’s frightening. Exhilarating.
“Your party . . .?”
“I left Rush in charge.”
We’re a few long feet apart; he crosses half of it and stops. The timber groans under him, encouragement to move closer. Another step.
