Page 63 of Every Beautiful Mile

He knows. He knows that I know he knows.

I want to die.

My mouth hangs open.

“That doesn’t ring a bell,” I lie. “Do you like blueberries?” I ask her.

“Whatever, that’s fine.”

She doesn’t pull her eyes off Ethan. He doesn’t pull his eyes off me.

Every butterfly on planet earth flaps from my stomach to my throat as I grab mint leaves, blueberries, and start muddling them together then mix them with gin and tonic.

I plug the end of a straw with my finger before lifting it to my mouth and getting a drop off the other end to taste. Even just drops, the subtle freshness of the mint blends with the sweetness of the berries and the juniper bite of the gin to play like a symphony across my taste buds.

I smile, pleased, and stick a fresh straw in the drink before sliding it across the bar to Brooke.

“So, Ethan,” she says as her lips curl into a smile. Without warning, she takes the straw in her mouth and provocatively twirls her tongue around it. Repeatedly.

I watch like a deer in the headlights. She’s clearly on a mission to get laid and doesn’t care who knows it.

The amount of time she spends licking her straw has me flabbergasted—like at any moment, the drink itself might start to moan.

I clear my throat to remind her I’m standing there. “Ethan, I think you can handle what’s left. I’m famished and…” I look at the almost empty dining room, then Brooke. “I could use a drink.”

“Stay,” he insists. “Let me get your food.”

He nods to an empty stool on the other side of the bar, and I hesitate. I do not want to stay. On the contrary, I want to run back to Idaho and undo this whole plan.

But, like the fool I am, I do as he says.

I browse the menu while Brooke giggles with Ethan. When she flirts, he leans closer.

A curdling feeling twists my stomach at the scene.

I know how it feels to have someone look at me the way they look at each other. The way he laughs, the way she smiles. They interact in a way I never will again, and I feel all my aloneness as I watch them.

After the last guests leave—including Brooke—Ethan brings me a salad and a glass of wine and stands across the bar from me washing glasses. Watching me.

“So,” I say. “She was really getting weird with that straw, huh?”

He chuckles.

I point a salad-filled fork at him. “Are any of those women your girlfriend or what? You have quite the revolving door situation going on.”

“That’s a personal question, isn’t it, Penelope?”

I snort. “It seemed pretty public with the way they came in here ready to burn their panties for you.”

“That is an interesting visual.” He dunks another glass into the soapy sink. “They’re all friends. Some of them I dated a couple times. Nothing serious. And Brooke is just...” He blows out his breath. “Persistent.”

“Persistent is one way to describe what she was doing with her tongue.”

Another laugh rumbles in his chest as he tosses a couple empty bottles in the trash.

“So,” he says as he leans over the bar, too far into my space.

“So,” I say, looking at my salad like it’s the most fascinating food ever made.

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