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“Your laptop?” I pause midwhisk. Why would he bring his laptop on a date?
“Yeah.” He shoots me a curious glance. “How else am I supposed to show her my sample websites? Sure, they’re all mobile optimized, but you get a much better picture on a computer screen.”
“Ethan,” I say slowly, still bewildered. “Why would you show Harper websites you’ve designed? I mean, I understand you’re proud of them, but isn’t that a bit gauche for a first date?”
“It wasn’t a date. She wants me to build a website for one of her clients. What made you think it was a date?”
I stare into the bowl of frothy, overly whisked eggs, thinking back to Harper’s text. She sure made itsoundlike a date. Or had I completely misread it? Not wanting to bring her text into the conversation, I say, “Well, it’s not so crazy to assume it was a date, is it? I mean, Harper is pretty perfect, don’t you think?”
He shrugs. “I guess it depends on your definition of perfection.”
“It’s a fairly universally understood concept, Ethan. Obviously, I don’t mean she’s entirely devoid of faults. But she’s beautiful, talented, accomplished, successful.” For some reason, I’m ticking off her selling points like I’m trying to convince him to ask her out, and I can’t figure out why. It’s as if all my innermost insecurities have manifested in praise of another woman, a woman who’s the epitome of everything I’ve always wanted to be but couldn’t be more opposite. “Did you know she speaks five languages?” I blather on, unable to stop myself. “And she’s competed in a triathlon. Twice. I bet she already knows how to crack an egg, too. I doubt there’s anything she can’t do, which basically makes her prime girlfriend material.”
“I guess.” Ethan layers the fresh herbs, bell peppers, and feta cheese evenly on the bottom of the cast iron skillet, then pours the egg mixture on top. “If you value those things.”
I watch him work, his movements so nonchalant, so casual. There’s something about the way he so easily dismisses all the characteristics and achievements I hold in high regard that rubs me the wrong way, as if everything I’d been taught to revere in life is worthless. “And you don’t?” I ask, my tone challenging.
He slides the skillet into the oven, then turns to meet my gaze, his expression measured and thoughtful. “Honestly? It doesn’t matter to me if someone is good at everything. Are they kind? Compassionate? Do they love others well?” Using a dish towel, he sweeps the scattered shells into a pile to discard. “Perfection is a myth. We all have cracks, scars, and weaknesses. Just like we all have different strengths. But when you’re a team, when you can lean on one another and help each other grow, that’s when you’ve found someone special, someone worthy of forever.”
His words wash over me, at once cleansing and utterly confusing, so contrary to everything I’ve ever known. In my world, worthiness was earned with accomplishments, by being the best. Ethan’s sentiment, on the other hand, was simple and sincere, tempting, and, if I’m honest, almost too good to be true.
Silence settles between us, weighty and unwieldy, but I don’t know what to say. My thoughts are too jumbled, too precarious.
It feels like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice. I could jump, but I have no idea what’s beneath me, and more than a small part of me is afraid to find out.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
After dinner, we carry our steaming mugs of hot chocolate to the living room. Rain taps against the windows, providing a soothing serenade. For a moment, I stand and admire my surroundings, digging my toes into the plush weave of the carpet. There’s something magical, almost mesmerizing, about the way the city lights diffuse through the water droplets snaking down the glass.
Ethan scoots the large ottoman against the couch, creating a cozy corner to stretch out with his book. While there’s plenty of room for two, I select a spot on the other side. My mind keeps mulling over our earlier conversation, and his words are starting to reshape my thoughts, like tumbling a sharp stone inside a rock polisher. What if he’s right? What if I should focus less on striving for perfection and more on continual growth and, dare I say, finding enjoyment in the process? It’s at least something to consider, isn’t it?
Our presence stirs Wilson from sleep, and he leaps onto the couch to join us, wriggling onto the cushion beside me until he’s nearly taking up the entire thing and I’m shoved a breath away from Ethan. Not to be left out, Whiskers scampers up the side, turns in a circle three times, then snuggles into Wilson’s soft fur, purring contentedly.
I crack open the worn copy ofThe Lion, the Witch and the WardrobeI borrowed from one of the bookshelves, and Ethan smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just that this is what I remember most from when we were kids. You always had a book with you, like you preferred reading to spending time in the real world.”
I color slightly at how well he knows me. “I suppose, in some ways, I did. When you read, you can be anyone you want. Someone funny or clever, adventurous and brave. Someone far more interesting than I ever was.”
Ethan observes me over the rim of his mug, his gaze tender, but far too penetrating, as if he can see through me. I squirm and take a sip of hot chocolate, letting the sweet, syrupy liquid coat the back of my throat before asking, “What about you? If I remember correctly, you were quite the bookworm yourself.”
“That’s true. And in my own way, I enjoyed living vicariously through the characters, too. Mostly because they helped me see life through someone else’s eyes. I guess you could say books helped teach me empathy.”
I glance at the cover of the book he’s holding.Coffee, Crafts, and Creating Community. I recognize it from perusing bestsellers in LAX before my flight to New York. It’s a memoir by a woman who founded a coffee company in Costa Rica that focuses on giving back to the local community. Specifically, on how a simple craft project utilizing the empty burlap coffee sacks completely changed the trajectory of the company—and her life. It’s exactly the sort of book I’d expect Ethan to read. And one of the many reasons I admire him.
“I want to show you something,” I blurt impulsively, springing from the couch. I grab my laptop off the coffee table, and in my absence, Wilson stretches out a few more inches, commandeering my spot.
Ethan shifts his weight, making a smidge more room, and I settle beside him, trying not to be distracted by how incredible he smells. I flip open my laptop, suddenly nervous. “It’s not completely finished yet, but I wanted to show you what I have so far.” My heartbeat races as I pull up the campaign for MAD Market and hit Play on the video I’d been working on.
Carly Cannon, a pretty pop singer and B-list movie star, appears on screen. “I’m mad,” she says into the camera over a moving instrumental soundtrack. “Mad about inhumane working conditions.”
Her image fades, and José Chaves, a Triple-A baseball player recently recruited to the major leagues, materializes in her place. “I’m mad. Mad about exploitative business practices.”
One by one, celebrities appear on screen vocalizing their concerns about worldwide issues that pertain to consumerism. In the final frame, they band together, Carly at the forefront. “And what are we going to do about it?” she asks, gazing directly at the viewer. “We’re making a difference… one purchase at a time. Because where you spend your money matters.”
The video closes with Ethan’s MAD Market website, featuring the various business partnerships interspersed with snapshots of the social and environmental causes they support around the world. The final clip is a shot of his logo, and the wordsMake A Differenceunderneath, highlighting the meaningful acronym.
