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“Is someone in here?” a startled voice asks.
A startled voice I faintly recognize. But it can’t be him…canit? “E-Ethan?” I squeak as I fumble with the slippery faucet with one hand while the other clutches the now-drenched towel.
“Quincy?”
I hear the distinct zip of his fly closing, which only adds to my embarrassment. What in the world is Brynn’s older brother doing here?
“I didn’t think you were arriving until tomorrow.” His tone is sheepish and apologetic.
“Um, well…” I finally manage to shut the water off, although droplets continue to bead off the ends of my hair and ping onto the tile floor. “I’m here now,” I finish feebly, stating the obvious.
“Of course.” He releases a self-chastising groan. “I’m sorry, Q. You’re trying to take a shower, and I barged in here like a clueless idiot. I must have startled you to death. I’ll go use Brynn’s bathroom.”
I take a moment to collect myself. He hasn’t called me Q since… Well, since I visited Brynn in New York ten years ago. Why does the sound still send tingles down my spine?
I inhale sharply. Stop being ridiculous. Now is not the time to revisit a silly childhood crush.
“Thanks,” I murmur, trying to repress my mortification. I never thought the first time I ran into Ethan again I’d be wrapped in a soaking-wet towel like some sort of soggy burrito, talking to him through a tile wall.
Even after the latch clicks shut, I hold my breath, not daring to move until I’m a thousand percent sure he’s gone. And even then, my shower is hardly relaxing. Every little sound—plus some nonexistent ones—gives me a mini panic attack, although I know I’m being unnecessarily paranoid.
After I dry off, I slip into my flannel pajamas, regretting my pattern choice. Icouldhave gone with tasteful snowflakes or plaid, but instead, I chose cartoonish cups of hot chocolate with cheesy smiles and their equally nonsensical winking marshmallow companions.
For a moment, I consider ducking into the guest room to change into my fleece-lined leggings, which even Veronica begrudgingly admitted make my backside look “decent.” Maybe I’ll swipe on some mascara and lip gloss, too.
Ultimately, I decide to face Ethan in my mortifying PJs sans makeup. After all, my crush on Brynn’s brother was a long time ago. We’re adults now. He’s probably married. Or seeing someone, at the very least. And I’ve sworn off dating for the next millennia or more.
I shove my feet into a pair of pink slipper socks—complete with wooly pom-poms on the backs—and pad softly into the kitchen. As soon as I round the corner, I regret my decision.
Ethan stands at the gas range with his back to me, stirring something heavenly in a small copper saucepan. I have a suspicion it’s his family’s decadent hot chocolate recipe—the kind his mother used to make Brynn and me after we played outside all day in the cold—but for once, it’s not the chocolate that’s making my mouth water.
Ethan’s wearing loose sweats hanging low on his hips and a long-sleeve thermal shirt snug enough to show off the curve of his biceps. Wowza. Even when he ran cross-country in high school and worked out every day he never looked likethat. All of a sudden, my mouth goes dry like one of my socks was stuffed in it.
Thankfully, Wilson barrels across the room and knocks some sense into me—literally and figuratively. From my new position on the floor, I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a snuggle.
“Sorry about that,” Ethan says on Wilson’s behalf. “He doesn’t realize how big he is.”
“I don’t mind.” I bury my face in his fur to avoid looking at Ethan. For some reason, my stomach won’t stop somersaulting. Maybe your first crush is like riding a bike? You never forget how badly it hurt the first time you fell.
“I still feel like a jerk for barging in on your first night in New York, so I made you my mother’s cure-all as a peace offering.”
The intoxicating aroma of rich dark chocolate draws my attention to Ethan as he slowly pours the thick, velvety liquid into two mugs.
My heartbeat slows at the sight of him. His caramel-colored hair is a little longer than it used to be, with a slight curl at the ends. But his hazel eyes have the same mischievous sparkle, and the left side of his mouth still lifts slightly higher than the right when he smiles, to devastating effect.
Breathe, Quincy. Just breathe.
“Thanks.” Self-conscious, I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear and follow him into the living room.
I notice the fireplace first. Although it appears to be electric, the flames are surprisingly realistic and provide a pleasant amber glow along with a remarkable amount of heat. Against the wintry backdrop of New York City covered in snow, the idyllic scene is cozy and inviting. Then my gaze lands on the coffee table. It’s covered in a smorgasbord of snacks. Plates piled high with a variety of crackers and dips, plus a fondue set with melted cheese and chunks of artisan bread. And the holy grail: Brynn’s leftover sushi.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He sets the mugs on the coffee table and grabs a bag of marshmallows, ripping open the seal. “They’re not the winking variety, but I thought we could roast them over the fondue flames later.” He casts an impish glance at my pajamas, and I blush.
“Very funny.” I hide my embarrassment by stuffing my face with a cracker dipped in a tangy red pepper hummus. All hope of making a good impression is already out the window, so I might as well relax and be myself. “Thank you,” I mumble with my mouth full. “I’m starving.”
Ethan unfurls a throw blanket for us to share while I fill my plate with an assortment of sushi rolls and sit cross-legged on the couch. Wilson leaps onto the cushion beside me, resting his boulder-sized head on my lap.
My heart only skips a little bit when Ethan sits next to me, slipping beneath one corner of the blanket close enough to smell his cedar-scented bodywash. Counting the subdued palpitation as progress, I forgo the chopsticks and start polishing off the spicy crab rolls like finger food. They may be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
