Page 76 of Writing On The Wall

“Maybe,” I whisper while peering out the window.

The roads have turned to gravel as we continue driving toward the outskirts of town. We’re only ten minutes out, but the properties begin to stretch farther apart, as if they need more room to breathe out here.

“Your house is so beautiful,” I sigh as the wheels crunch onto Ethan’s road. Soft lights illuminate the brick-paved driveway, and the whole house seems to glow invitingly among the dark surroundings.

“You’ve been here?” he asks, slightly confused.

Crap. I forgot Ethan doesn’t know about Ember and I sneaking into his Halloween party last year dressed like a pair of psychotic ninjas so no one could tell who we were. We had to be incognito so that Ember could spy on Colton and figure out whether he was in a relationship with a coworker.Turns out, said coworker had made the whole thing up, and the rest is history.

“Oh, um. I just figured this is your house.” I reply vaguely.

He pulls his truck into a double garage, grinning over at me. “Yeah. I’ve been working on this one for about a year.”

I want to ask what he means bythis one,but he jumps out, running around to open my door before I can. And then his hands are on my hips as he turns me to face him. We’re eye to eye, giving me a whole new perspective of his handsome face and his eyes that seem to swallow me up. Even through the thick hoodie I’m wearing, his hands on my sides send a wave of heat all the way up to my cheeks.

“Your shoes are pretty cool,” he remarks, giving a playful wiggle of his eyebrows. I glance down at my purple Croc-covered feet and feel a surge of pride at how far I’ve come. Ever since hitting thirteen and realizing just how much my peers were towering over me, I’ve been too self-conscious to wear anything other than heels or platforms in public. But it’s another fear Ethan’s been determined to help me tackle.

“Fishing for compliments, Mr. King?”

“Never. The way you’re looking at me is compliment enough,” he jokes, giving me a quick kiss before sliding me out of his truck. “You hungry?”

I refrain from giving him the satisfaction of knowing just how correct he is.

“I could eat.”

“How does steak salad sound?” he asks, leading me through the garage into the kitchen.

“Amazing. I haven’t eaten since lunch. Okay if I use the restroom first?”

“Sure, it’s just down the hall. Last door on the left.”

“Thanks.” I smile, doing my best to hide the fact that I already know where the restroom is. I head back afterfreshening up, but a slightly ajar door catches my eye, making me pause. I push it open a little wider with my finger, and the sight inside makes my jaw drop. Without thinking, my feet carry me farther into the room, and I do a slow spin, taking it all in. Both walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves and filled with books, framed maps, and photos. Ethan is a total closet book nerd! The discovery makes me grin with delight. I hear his footsteps just before he appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, looking irresistibly handsome, as always.

“I see you found my secret project,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His eyes soften, a hint of pride dancing in them as they sweep across the room before settling back on me.

“Are you kidding me? I’m having a totalBeauty and the Beastmoment here. All you need is the rolling ladder! This room is amazing!”

He pushes off the doorway, still wearing that irresistibly warm smile, and takes my hand. For the next twenty minutes, he guides me around the room, pointing out his favorite books, sharing where he found them, and telling stories about the photos and maps on display. They’re an ode to his adventurous spirit, a constant reminder—like an echo drifting over a chasm—that this man wasn’t meant to be tied down. I both love and hate that fact. Shame swirls within me at the selfishness of the thought, but I swallow it down and push it away. I refuse to resent this beautiful quality in him.

Back in the kitchen, Ethan busies himself, washing his hands and taking steaks out of the fridge while I appreciate all the work he’s done since the last time I was in here. Of course, I can’t tell him that.

During my last visit, the kitchen was nothing but bare bones, but now it radiates modern colonial charm with its wooden panels and exposed brick. A stunning smeared-stonebacksplash perfectly complements the house’s country setting, while the navy blue cabinets are straight out of a dream.

I’m perched at the massive island, its surface reminiscent of an old dining table, but this one seems sturdy and custom built, and it commands attention. Across from me, Ethan bustles about, sprinkling salt and pepper onto the meat.

“Why were you stuck at school so late?” His expression knits with concern. I find my hands suddenly restless, hesitant to delve into the embarrassing reasons behind my regular prolonged stay in the classroom.

“Just class prep, student work to check. Administrative things to get done.” I shrug.

That frown is still hovering on his face when he flips the steaks, seasoning the other side. He washes his hands and pauses, seeming unsure. “Is it…typical to spend that long on those tasks?”

His sweet hesitancy to offend me brings a smile to my face. “No,” I admit, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. How does this man keep pulling secrets out of me that I’d normally fight to the death to hide? He makes me want to verbalize my struggles, for the first time ever. The gentle way his eyes sweep over me is so encouraging, I might just be brave enough to do it.

“I have a form of dyslexia called dyscalculia. I struggle with math calculation skills and understanding numbers and math facts. It takes me a lot longer to figure out some things which most people breeze through. Plus, I have some of the typical dyslexic struggles, as well.”

He releases a weighty sigh then rounds the island, bringing his large form near. He turns my legs to face him, stepping in closer, and he closes his eyes as he leans his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry you’ve had to struggle with that.”

His words gently twist open that lid, causing a tear to spillover my lashes without permission. No one has ever acknowledged how hard it’s been for me.

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