Page 111 of Return To You

“And you kept that ring,” Ethan says, not making fun of me, not even chuckling a little bit. Even I can see how ridiculous it is that I’m holding onto that. Not just the ring, but all the memories associated with that day. The pebble in my sandal poking under my big toe. The fact that Haley was wearing the white dress and not me. The bees buzzing around us. How Justin had decided to prop us on crates for some reason, and I’d stopped internally complaining about the unsteady situation when that brought me closer to Ethan’s height, high enough that I only needed to tilt my head just so to look into his beautiful, soulful, kind eyes.

The way his hands had cupped my head for the briefest moment when he dropped a quick and chaste kiss on my head before leaving to do his big kid stuff with his dad.

“Forget-me-nots” Ethan says, interrupting my daydreaming.

“What?”

“I braided forget-me-nots in the twine.”

My breath halts and my heart kabooms. He remembers? “I wasn’t gonna let you be the maid of honor.” His fingers dig softly into my nape as he brings my mouth to his. He kisses me languidly, the blue of his half-closed eyes shining bright in the morning sun. He shifts my thigh on his legs and cups my breast softly, running the pad of his thumb over my nipple. “I’d better go,” he groans.

Too stunned to talk, I sit with my feelings, unsure what’s happening right now. The door shuts, his bike hums in the distance, and then, after a while, voices inside call me back to reality. To every day. To the present.

After another hour of admin work (writing up a proposal for a bachelorette party, renewing my insurance, answering yet more emails), my first appointment is a massage, and I take that as a good sign. Sign that people are trusting me to bring them deeper wellness.

My client is Wendy, who owns a small hotel in town with her husband. I bring her upstairs, where I’ve put my treatment room toward the back—out of the hubbub of the first floor, with its large lounge area that lends itself to chatter and laughter. It’s still a little bare. I was going to work on the decor before fall, but with a pinch in my heart, I realize it won’t be needed anymore.

Wendy growls as I tackle her shoulders. “Too much pressure?”

She groans an unintelligible answer.

“You’re very tight up there,” I say in a soothing voice. “Try to relax.”

She moans softly, and after a few minutes, snores lightly. Good. She mainly needs time away from it all. I’m halfway through my routine, ready to gently wake her and have her turn around, when excited whooping wafts from downstairs all the way to us. What is going on? I smile to myself. This is exactly what I wanted. A space for women to come and take care of themselves.

As Wendy turns around, I glance out the window overlooking the deck, wondering how long it will be until the deck is repaired. It’d be nice to… What is going on?

Ohmygod.

My mouth gapes.

The three damaged planks are pulled out of the deck and set aside. The deck is turned into a mini woodworking station, complete with trestle, electric saw, and a couple more tools I don’t know the name of. Brand new planks—you can tell by their lighter color—are being cut to size.

By Ethan.

By Ethan on my deck.

Under the brutal sun.

T-shirt clinging to his torso, he maneuvers the new planks as if they were as light as twigs. Brings the first to the gaping space on the deck, adjusts it, measures stuff one last time, and drills it in place. Neat, quick drills. He knows what he’s doing. Standing, he wipes his brow, then—get this—whips his T-shirt off, wipes his face with it, and throws it on the railing.

The whooping downstairs stopped, and I can fill in the silence: disbelief. Hungry glares. How can I blame them?

“Oh my. He should be in the movies. At least some ads for… beer or somethin’. Ya know?” Wendy is standing next to me, wrapped in the sheet.

“Oh—s-sorry.” I clear my throat. “Let’s get that massage finished.”

“Why don’t you bring him a glass of water? He looks thirsty.”

“Um… no-no-no. I need to… we need to…”

“I’ll be right here waiting. Unless you’d rather someone else bring him water?”

I end up bringing him water—of course I do. And not because I’m worried about someone else bringing him water.

By the time I’m out on the deck with him, he’s finishing the third plank. “Babe!” he flashes his full-on smile and grabs the water from my hands. “Awww. Thank you. You’re the best.”

Um… me? “Ethan… I… I don’t know what to say.”

---