Page 122 of Every Beautiful Mile

A woman strolls over to him, beautiful, of course, and he says something that makes her laugh while his hands stay glued across his chest. When his eyes meet mine across the room, I raise my eyebrows at him, and he does the same, the slightest of smirks lifting his lips.

Marin nudges me. “Mom, you’re staring at him.”

“Am not,” I lie.

When he makes his way over to our table, he gives Marin a big hug with goofy noises and Finn a fist bump.

“Penelope.” He nods his head toward me and reaches out to give me a hug as I stick my hand out to shake his, slamming it right into his chest. I grimace, and he bites back a smile.

“Really, Mom? You spend two weeks together, and you shake hands at dinner? If that’s real, Poppy’s going to be so disappointed in you.”

Embarrassment swallows me whole as I fumble to get into my seat.

“So, how was camp? You both survived, I see.”

Ethan doesn’t miss a beat at settling into a chair and changing the subject.

“Awesome. Only one night of rain, which was very soggy, but at least it was only once,” Finn says, thumbing through his menu.

I choke on my water, a fresh wave of heat crawling up my neck as I recall the day it rained and exactly what I was doing when it fell.

“Mom? What’s going on with you? You’re acting so weird.”

Marin’s eyes narrow over her menu, and Ethan doesn’t even try to hide his smile. I hate them both.

“No, I’m just thinking how hard it would be in the rain.”

I squeeze my eyes shut with a cringe at the accidental innuendo, and Ethan snorts.

“I’m starving. Would you believe I’ve been here all day and have only had a salad?” he says, flipping his menu and then tapping my foot under the table.

His hand finds my knee and gives it a squeeze.

I look at him.

Relax, he mouths silently.

Like it’s just that easy.

Finn grabs a roll from a basket on the table and starts slathering butter on it. “I’m so glad to have real food. We had these dehydrated meals that were god-awful and then foraged for berries. I thought I was going to die.”

I can’t get comfortable in my seat, and no matter how much I rub my hands against my jeans, their moisture is endless. Two leaky faucets connected to my arms.

When the waitress takes our drink order, I ask for the largest glass of the best tequila they have, straight, earning a look from everyone at the table.

Even Ethan.

Especially Marin.

“So, how did you two run into each other once we left?” I think Marin says it, but I can’t be sure.

“Your mom came in here and yelled at me in front of the dining room,” Ethan says it so matter-of-factly both kids laugh.

“She has a tendency to do that,” Finn says.

In the next few minutes, I mentally check out as they talk about camp, and Ethan tells stories from when his boys went to the same one a couple of years ago. I can’t retell a single thing they say if my life depended on it.

When my drink finally arrives, I throw it back in a single gulp, and a loud gag from the hostile burn as it scorches down my throat.

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