Page 107 of Every Beautiful Mile

The moment Finn and Marin decided to go to that camp, I stopped caring about puffins or whales. The lobster? I definitely still want that, but everything else were plans for them.

“I just want lobster. Lots of it. But I realized for the first part of this trip, I went to a lot of places because I thought it was what Travis wanted, and then when we were coming here, I planned a lot of things because of some idea of what it would be like with the kids. Now that I’m alone…” My voice trails off. “I guess I just see it differently.”

"Good."

"Good?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

“I have to go to the restaurant for a few hours this morning, but I want to show you something…with lobster.” His mouth curves into a smile that renders me powerless. “And pack a bag—just in case.”

Forty

Just before two o’clock, Ethan pulls up in his shiny silver truck, and I’m waiting for him on the porch wearing casual jeans and a plain white shirt.

He eyes the bottle of vodka sticking out of the box I hand him as he opens the door for me.

A smile tugs at my lips.

“I didn’t know what you had planned, so I brought stuff for your first lesson.”

I sink back into the passenger seat, toe off my flip-flops, and prop my feet on the dash as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

He smiles, then reaches across the center console to wrap his hand around my thigh. It’s a nothing move, ordinary, but the simple gesture feels a bit like a free fall.

“Let’s get you some lobster.”

With the windows down and the briny smell of the ocean blowing across my face, I don’t even ask where we’re going. I don’t care.

I want to stay in this truck with the warm wind whipping my hair around my face and Ethan’s hand on my leg forever.

The sun warms my skin as I watch evergreen trees fade to rocky coastlines and then back to trees as we drive.

When we come to a small coastal town, the water shimmers like sequins, and fishing boats bob playfully in the waves. There’s not much to it. A post office, grocery store, marina, and a few small businesses, but what’s there is picturesque. The houses, mostly big block rectangles, are painted in a color palette I can only describe as New England.

“This place looks like a picture that’s used to make a puzzle,” I say as we drive through town.

He snorts. “I’ve never heard anything described like that.”

“All I’m saying is, they don’t put trash on puzzles. This is the cutest town I’ve ever seen. People probably walk around singing sea shanties.”

As if scripted, a man in a striped blue and white shirt tips his old captain’s hat as we drive by. I shoot Ethan a look that says, see.

When we park, it’s under a big sign with bright red letters that say, Pound It! Maine’s best lobster pound.

I squeal as I get out of his truck, walking toward a cute white building with bright red trim.

It’s perfect.

We’re greeted at the counter by a round woman with a mouth that only knows how to smile.

“Ethan Mills, leave your fancy restaurant long enough to come to eat some real food?” she asks with a cackle.

Her frizzy red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showcasing bright, rosy cheeks.

He brings a hand to his chest in mock pain. “Marlene, it hurts when you say things like that.”

“The truth hurts, honey,” she says, her smiley eyes flicking to me and then back to him.

“Marlene, Nel here wants a true Maine lobster pound experience, and I knew we had to come here. Unlike you, I’m not threatened by the competition.”

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