Page 99 of Every Beautiful Mile

I stare at the drink sitting on the table while moody chords of music fill the air.

Almost the whole menu is seasonal and locally sourced.

I roll my eyes. Ethan would love this, I think bitterly.

I look at the drink again and swirl it with my straw, the purple dripping to the bottom of the glass. The flavors roll across my tongue with familiarity.

This unique combination, and the man I tasted them with, will not easily be forgotten.

Dion appears again.

“The owner is helping in the kitchen right now. He said he’ll come out as soon as he’s finished.”

“Great.” I smile and hand him my menu. “And I’ll have the lobster mac and cheese with a house salad, please.”

I take another sip of my drink, lean back in my chair, cross my legs, and let my head bob to the music.

As devastatingly sad and alone as I felt this morning, this moment is somehow its polar opposite. I’m relaxed. Even though I’m at a table for one, I don’t notice. I don’t care. I have music and a cocktail—in Maine.

“Ma’am?” Dion’s back less than a song later. “The owner’s here.”

He gestures toward someone standing behind me.

I smile as I set the glass down and stand up, turning to introduce myself.

“Thank y—” My gaze lifts slowly but my smile drops instantly.

I see the eyes before the smirk.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Thirty-seven

“Hello, Penelope,” Ethan drawls.

In this light, Ethan’s eyes look more green than blue, and it’s now my least favorite color.

“Hello, Penelope?” I repeat through clenched teeth.

Ethan’s eyes drop from my face down the length of my body, and satisfaction competes with rage for a split second.

“I’m serious, Ethan. What are you doing here?” I demand, slowly lowering myself into my chair.

He casually takes a seat across from me. Like I invite him. Which I don’t.

“Dion mentioned you ordered the newest cocktail on the menu. What do you think?” he asks, tongue in cheek.

“You?” My voice is now louder than the woman singing.

“Actually, you. If you’re mad that I didn’t give you credit, I can if you want.”

Like, that is why my blood is boiling.

“That’s not what… that’s not why.”

I smack my lips loudly and blow out a frustrated breath. I lower my voice and fake calmness. “I saw it and wanted to ask how they got the idea. I wasn’t pissed because I didn’t get credit. Jesus, Ethan. Why are you here?”

I look around the restaurant, and the pieces fall into place. It’s different but also very much the same.

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