Page 110 of Every Beautiful Mile

I look at him. “A houseboat?”

He leans against a piling, casual as ever, nodding.

My eyes narrow. “And?”

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“What kind of question is that? Sure. It looks nice. New. I’ve never been on one actually. The ones I’ve seen in marinas in the Keys give off more of that on the run from the law vibe, but I’m sure this one is great. It doesn’t look like bricks of cocaine are being smuggled on it.” I hold up my hands as if to say, why do I care?

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He grabs my hand, steps off the dock and onto the boat, pulling me behind him.

“What—” I pause as understanding clicks. “Of course. It’s yours.” I blink, irritated, and his smile only widens.

“Why can’t you just say that like a normal person? Nel, I have a houseboat. Do you want to see it?” I lower my voice to mock his. “And I would have said, sure, Ethan, let’s go. Then it wouldn’t be this whole annoying thing you do.”

“It’s more fun this way,” he says.

He slides open the door, and we move from the small porch into the surprisingly spacious living area. There’s a couch, TV, kitchen area with a few cabinets, and a table with four chairs. Like his house, it’s creamy white with expensive leather and wood finishings and a few landscape photos on the wall.

He leads me through the space in slow yet deliberate strides.

“Back here is the bathroom.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a toilet, shower stall, and vanity, all larger than what we had in the Avion.

“And my bedroom.”

I walk in behind him. He leans against the wall, puts his arms over his chest, and crosses his ankles. He says every word he doesn’t speak with the way his head tilts toward me and tracks my movements.

I wander around his room, touching every surface I walk by. When my hand moves from the smoothness of his nightstand to the softness of his white cotton comforter, my cheeks burn. When I get to the window, I can see the other boats in the marina as the thick, textured dark blue material of the curtains scrapes through my fingers before I turn to look back at him.

The churning sound of an engine from a passing boat hums by before the room gently rocks from its wake.

It’s hard to swallow through the tightness of my throat.

Between the effect he has on me and my lack of experience in these situations, every thought in my head is probably written all over me as clearly as the words scrolling across a news ticker.

He pushes off the wall and takes a step my way, triggering something between sheer terror and primordial need to bounce through me.

I can’t handle it.

“I feel hot,” I say, clearing my throat. “Are you hot? You know, it’s probably from earlier. I just want to go see the outside again—for air.”

I rub my palm against my forehead as I try to squeeze past him without touching him.

He grabs my wrist and anchors me to a halt as his mouth moves close to my ear, and his voice lowers. “Stay with me tonight.”

I can’t breathe and I definitely can’t look at him. My nod is so subtle, so slight, he might have missed it if he wasn’t paying such close attention.

I yank away from him and rush toward the open door, where the coastal breeze is a welcome relief. My first breath of air is a gasp.

Ethan, relaxed and unaffected, appears with two beers and lifts his chin.

“Up?” he asks.

“Up,” I say, feeling my nerves settle just slightly.

The view from the roof is stunning—the bay to one side and the picturesque town to the other. The sun, low in the sky, coats everything with gold.

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