Page 114 of Return To You

There’s no way for us to repair what was lost. Those ten years apart, resenting each other, longing for each other, missing each other, and eventually building lives without each other.

As I get organized in the small workshop Dad has off the main barn, I wonder what I’m doing here, creating yet other souvenirs of what could have been? Is this what I’m supposed to do to fix it? As I nail and hammer and sand, taking pride in my work, I can’t help but ask myself: Does it really fix anything for her? I’m doing stuff that makes me feel good—but what about her?

Could Amy be right?

When Grace goes on the deck of her spa and sees the off-color planks, is she going to think about me each time? Will that bring her comfort or pain?

Am I being selfish by wanting to do things for her?

Am I forgetting about the most important person here—Grace?

I take a deep breath and look at my handiwork. Not gonna lie, it looks great. I think she’s gonna love it. And if she doesn’t? She can always throw it in the back of her dressing room. Throw it at me.

She might.

When she comes back from work that evening, her reaction ends up being, “Ohmygod, Ethan.” And honest to god, I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

thirty-six

Grace

My belly somersaults when I pull up my driveway and see the chick magnet sitting in my driveway. Ethan. Ethan is here. In my house.

I swing the door open and throw myself in his arms. He swirls me around and kisses me. “Hey, beautiful.”

“What are you doing here?” I throw my car keys on the kitchen counter.

He gives me a squeeze. “Is it okay I came? I have a surprise for you.”

“You’re the surprise. Of course it’s okay.” I grab his nape, wrap my legs around his waist, and hoist myself up with the help of his hand under my butt. “Kiss me first. Real good. Real hard.”

He nibbles at my lower lip. “Always so bossy, you.”

I smile against his mouth. “Too much?”

His gaze deepens. “Never enough,” he murmurs. Then he takes my mouth in slow strokes, his hand in my hair, as he walks us to the bedroom.

“Thank you for the brand-new deck,” I whisper when he releases my lips reluctantly.

He seats me softly on the bed and cages me, his fists in the bed on either side of me. “Wasn’t too loud?”

I grin. “You mean your cheerleaders?”

He looks utterly confused. Did he not notice all my clients eating him up and whooping? “Never mind,” I say.

Damian wedges himself between us, purring. I scratch between his ears. “Were you a goo’boy?”

“He was a very goo’boy. He helped me with a little project.” Ethan straightens himself and moves sideways. “What do you think?”

I stare across the space he left empty, to the wall across my bed. Frames of varying sizes adorn the wall, and a sense of panic seizes me.

Two pucks on shallow, framed-in shelves.

A folded Jersey in a glassed-in frame.

A ring of twine in a vintage jewelry box.

A slab of wood with an engraving: A heart prank reign.

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