Page 62 of Every Beautiful Mile

The shift that happens is instant and destructive. Gone is Nel, the confident bartender. In her place is a teenage girl who’s only recently discovered the opposite sex.

“Well, the bar is a disaster. I would be a dick too, probably. You know, it just happens like that sometimes." When I think I've finished talking, my voice lifts to a strange throaty sound and unfortunately adds, “You never know when a dick is going to fly out of the woodwork.”

He laughs at what I’ve said at the same time I cringe.

“Yes, those dicks do just fly out of the woodwork, don’t they,” he jokes, and for the first time, directs one of his deadly smirks toward me.

“I’m Ethan Mills, by the way. Officially.”

He reaches out a hand.

An introduction—the moment I’ve been dreading.

His outstretched hand has me gaping and blinking.

“This is where you usually shake my hand,” he teases, moving his hand just slightly through the air.

“Ha! Right!” I say, reaching out my hand to shake his. “Well, officially, Ethan, I’m Nel. Penelope, really, but also just Nel. Or Nelly if you’re my dad.” My mouth decides to make some kind of deep voice that it’s never made before, saying, “Which you are definitely not my dad.” I wave my hand up and down, gesturing to his torso and flush instantly.

“Penelope,” he says with a knowing pause.

A pause that says he’s putting pieces together. I see recognition strike him like a hammer to a nail before I look away.

He clears his throat. “Well, Penelope, I’m sorry. You saved my ass tonight. I was just…” he looks around the now half-empty bar and dining room. “A disaster.”

I nod through my discomfort.

“So, are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Ethan asks like he doesn’t already know as he pulls a beer out of the cooler and sets it on a tray.

“No.” I pause as my mouth fills with cotton balls. “I’m a widow, so…”

I’m a widow?

A line forms between his eyebrows.

I close my eyes and push a palm to my forehead as I release a slow breath.

“No, I’m sorry. That was awkward. I don’t know why I said that. I’m not local,” I say, pretending he doesn't already know that.

Thankfully, a woman sits down at the nearly empty bar that ends the conversation and steals our attention.

I drop a napkin on the bar, smiling at her. “What can I get for ya tonight?”

She returns the smile, but her eyes latch onto Ethan. “Hi, Ethan,” she purrs.

The man is like a lighthouse calling to everyone with ovaries in the state of Maine.

“Brooke.” He nods. “What are you drinking tonight?” he asks coolly, leaning a hip against the edge of the bar.

“Hmmm. That sounds like a loaded question.” She bats her thick eyelashes at him. “But why don’t you surprise me with something special.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I recently was informed my drink-making skills are pretty horrible. Nel here is helping me out, and she’s some kind of wizard behind the bar. She can whip up something great for you, I’m sure.”

Her face puckers in disappointment.

“Nel, how about you make Brooke here one of your famous daiquiris?”

The look he gives me is pure evil and smug as hell.

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