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Not quietly enough, though, because he smirks. “I meant that what I have to say is awkward. But actually, I won’t disagree with you.”
I snort, and the tension in my shoulders releases a touch. I’ve read about this phenomenon in my slightly cheesy (okay, really cheesy) “true-self discovery” books: naming an uncomfortable emotion takes away some of its power. Apparently, it works around exes too.
Maybe I should write a book about that: “How to de-awkward the awkward: a friends-to-exes-to-friends journey.”
Is this really what’s important right now, Val?
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, sounding appropriately breezy.
Ethan shifts. “I just came from Ray’s. We went through Pops’s will.”
All at once, an ache shoots through me. Grief for what I’ve lost in Alfie’s passing, but also—more so—for Ethan. I know how much he loved his grandfather.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I say sincerely. “Pops was a good man.”
“He was.” He nods mechanically, looking off to the side.
I’m bothered by the faraway look in his eyes, the telltale downward quirk of his mouth. Suddenly, a gut reaction kicks in; some old habit from years ago. A distinct, primal urge to make him feel better.
Uh oh, I can’t stop it. The words are coming up…
“I ripped my pants,” I blurt.
That gets his attention. Ethan gives me a look. “What?”
“That’s why I’m wearing Ivy’s skirt.” I blabber on. “I ripped my pants in the treehouse.”
Ethan snorts. Laughs. My goodness, he’s gorgeous when he laughs.
No, Val, he isn’t. He’s just a regular, normal, man-type person.
“You’re hilarious, Teeny.” He shakes his head. “I always loved that about you.”
His compliment washes over my skin and I feel a traitorous bloom of validation that I immediately shove away.
Ethan’s expression grows serious and he looks at me curiously. The kind of look that makes goosebumps rise on my skin. “Okay, I’m going to say this fast. You don’t have to say yes, definitely don’t feel obligated. It’s more of a formality than anything…”
Now, Ethan’s the one blabbering. My palms start to sweat.
“Here goes,” he mutters. Takes a deep breath. “Pops’s will included his final request. He, uh, wants me to go on a road trip.”
My eyebrows shoot up even as relief fills me. I thought he might bring up… Ah, it doesn’t matter. “A road trip?” I say. “That’s fun?”
“It is.” Ethan bobs his head. “But there’s a caveat. He doesn’t want me to do it alone. He wants me to do it with… you.”
My jaw drops. He wants what, now?
“The road trip,” Ethan says quickly, his cheeks reddening as he misinterprets my shock. “He wants you to come with me.”
“On a road trip. Just you and me.”
“Yup. He specifically mentioned you.”
A loud silence stretches between us, and I finally kick myself into gear enough to wrench my mouth shut. “Uh…” I manage intelligently.
On the one hand, of course I want to honor Alfie’s legacy and do this final thing for him. He was such a feisty, clever old man with the sweetest heart you could ever imagine. It feels wrong not to do this one task he requested of me in his will.
But to do this, go on a trip with Ethan? Well, that has the potential of opening a whole can of sardines I’m not sure I want to be anywhere near in the first place.
