Page 85 of Return To You

twenty-seven

Ethan

Being with Grace is just so much more than I ever anticipated. Hoped for. Dreamed about. She was my dream woman when we were just kids, and she’s even more so now. Funny, sweet, sexy, strong.

But mostly, she makes me feel… at peace.

My brief freak-out last night? Everything I feared is true. I’m falling hard for her. It’s going to hurt like a bitch when I leave. But so what?

No regrets. I have no regrets. I could live a lifetime on the memory of this one night, this one morning with her. I don’t need anything else. I’ve had it all.

This is the present, and I’m going to savor every second of it.

I snap a picture of Grace’s shopping list before leaving her house on my bike. Just in case. She’s working, I’m on vacation. It seems like the least I could do. I’m going to take a wild guess that she’d say no if I offered to do her shopping. Could be any reason. I just don’t see her eagerly accepting.

Once it’s done, though? Different story.

Or not. We’ll see.

My saddle bags aren’t huge, but Grace’s shopping list is tiny. Tomatoes, ham, yogurt, basil cleaner—whatever that is.

Seriously. That’s all that’s on the list. What does she actually eat?

I stop at Noah’s general store. There’s no point going to the small supermarket on the outskirts of town. Noah will have it all. The store hasn’t changed. I’m instantly thrown back decades by the slight bend of the wooden planks giving under my weight.

It’s a large space, made of several buildings connected together over the decades. A deli corner on one side with produce and cold cuts and salads. Kitchenware on the other. The same seemingly bottomless barrels of candy are still at the very front, near the checkout registers and the greeting cards. There’s a sign that says ‘More cards at the bookshop.’ My third-grade teacher is sifting through them.

“Hi, Ms. Angela.”

The little lady beams at me. “Oh hi, sweetheart.” She puts the card back and picks another one up, turning it in her fingers. Louder, she says, “Noah, I’m rearranging your cards, if you don’t mind. This doesn’t make sense the way it’s done. I’m gonna do it the way they have it at Shy Rabit.”

Noah’s muffled agreement sounds from somewhere in the middle of the store.

Cookies and sweets and canned goods are in the middle. Moving toward the back, three steps on the left lead to a wine cellar in a separate room. The clothing section is still central. Wandering farther inside, I notice a new section—pets. My eye lands on a toy that will be perfect for Damian, so I snatch it.

If nothing else has changed, farther inside will be toys, then hardware, construction and garden items, and finally the loading dock, for those heavy bags of seed, the occasional wheelbarrow, shovels, bags of sand. I resist verifying how many changes Noah has made. One thing that hasn’t changed, is that this unassuming shop seems endless, and I don’t have the required hours at the moment to tour it all. Another thing is the smell. Old wood and dust and burnt coffee. I guess they still have that terrible coffee machine. You could get a coffee for a quarter back in the day, and even that seemed expensive.

Fuck, but that smell brings back so many good memories.

I make my way back to the wine cellar, wondering what Grace likes.

“Heard you been busy.”

Turning around, I see Noah, hands on his hips, big smile on his face. My forehead feels warm, just thinking about last night. About Grace’s mouth under mine, her hands on my body, my jersey she’s been sleeping in for years.

Noah extends his hand and pulls me in a half-bro hug. “Coaching hockey, helping out Thalia and Lucas… and your dad mentioned all the fences and barns you’re repairing.”

Shit. Now it’s my chest feeling warm. What the hell? “Ah, just keeping busy.”

“Damn. I missed you, dude.” He glances at the bottle I’m holding. “How long you here for?”

“’Nother few days.” I’ve yet to hear from my commanding officer. When I got here, I was anxious to get my orders. Now…

He nods slowly. “I uh… wonder if you’d mind talking to my kids—my coding club kids.” He shakes his head. “Still summer, but most of them are around, and matter of fact, we’re meeting tomorrow at the high school. They’d love to talk to you 'bout your career. Give’em some ideas.”

Noah is tall and muscular, but in a sinewy type of way. His locks of blond hair are now trimmed shorter than they used to be, and between his slightly receding hairline, his glasses, his tan, and his corded forearms, my impression of him the other night at Lazy's is confirmed: he looks like an outdoorsy nerd. I bet the kids in the coding club love him.

“You run the coding club? Course I’ll come. Tell me what time tomorrow.”

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