Page 74 of Every Beautiful Mile

I rub my hand through his hair. “You got smart, kid.”

He grins. “I know.”

Then, against my better judgment, I walk out the door to meet my date.

Twenty-eight

Ethan is waiting on the sidewalk in front of the inn, looking in a way I can only describe as hot as hell. He’s in blue jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up on his forearms. Forearms that are apparently my kryptonite because all I can think about is what they would feel like if I reached out and touched one.

His eyes drop from my face to my body in a way that makes me feel like he’s stripped me naked and pinned me to the wall.

I disregard how my body reacts, as if it would very much like if that’s what he would do and roll my eyes as heat swallows my head. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he says innocently.

“Like you’re trying to give me a stroke with those ridiculous eyes of yours.” I fan myself with my hand. “I’m not one of your toys, Ethan. I’m here because you and Marin pressured me. This isn’t going anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, holding out his elbow with a grin.

I eye it like it’s a snake slithering around a forbidden fruit, hesitating.

“I won’t bite. This is a date, remember?”

He takes a step closer to me, his woodsy scent making my brain misfire. “I wouldn’t put it past you to bite on your dates.” I reluctantly slip my arm through his and ignore how it fits like the clicking of two puzzle pieces that interlock perfectly.

“So where are we going?” I ask as we stroll down the street.

The sun hasn’t quite set, but it’s low in the sky, and a cool breeze blows my hair.

“It’s a surprise.” He pulls me closer as we pass people walking in the opposite direction, and my breath catches.

He notices. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes.” I laugh at my own honesty. “I know this isn’t a date date, but I haven’t done anything like this in a long time. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m awkward and not very…”

My voice trails off.

“You are very,” he says, looking at me.

I laugh a disbelieving snort. “You’re relentless.” I say, rolling my eyes once again and looking away.

When we stop, it’s at a park at the edge of the small downtown in front of a wooden sign that sticks in the ground, Bethel Night Market.

Vendors sit at tables under lamps with strands of Edison bulbs wrapped around the trees. The sound of a harmonica, followed by a woman’s raspy voice, floats in the air as people with canvas bags and strollers sip plastic cups of wine and beer.

“Is this where we’re going?” My voice is barely above a whisper as I bring a hand up to my mouth.

He grins. “The night market only happens twice a summer. I thought we could grab food and find some ingredients to create a cocktail. The restaurant is closed on Tuesdays. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” He says it so casually it’s as though he doesn’t realize how perfect this is.

I laugh. “Ethan, this is incredible.”

His response comes in the form of his hand to my back, leading me into the crowd.

We stop at every table and talk about ingredients, both with vendors and each other. I smell every herb and flower I can get my hands on while Ethan makes small talk with the farmers about recipes. We taste baked goods and cheese cubes and sip wine as we walk. We eat donuts from a local bakery and smoked fish from a local river. The folksy bluegrass music playing in the background makes it all feel like a cheesy movie—one I never want to stop watching.

Everyone looks at the man I’m with, especially the women. Not that I blame them. If my mother were here, I have no doubt she’d tell him he was a fine piece of meat and then ask to paint him nude.

“You know, if we turned this into a game where we had to drink every time a woman eye-fucked you when you walked by, we’d be drunk in less than ten minutes,” I say with a smile and sip of my wine.

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