Page 35 of Black Heart

I appreciate his outreach more than words can say. It wasn’t apparent to me until Ethan asked that I don’t have anyone left to care about my well-being. “I consider you a friend, Ethan. And I appreciate it. It’s just personal stuff, you know?”

Ethan nods slowly, his eyes still reflecting unease. “Personal stuff. Got it. But hey, everyone needs a break from their personal stuff sometimes.”

God, if he only knew.

I raise an eyebrow, curious about where he’s going with this. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well...” Ethan starts, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “I was thinking, maybe a change of scenery would help. Something different from, you know, codes and screens.”

“A change of scenery?” I echo, intrigued despite myself. Ethan’s more of a hermit than I am.

“Yeah,” Ethan says with growing enthusiasm as if warming up to his own idea. “Like going out. There’s more to life than this office and our homes, right? I mean, I don’t usually do the whole nightlife thing, but I think we could both use a night off. Just to unwind and forget about stuff. It’s been tense in this place lately, have you noticed?”

I study him, surprised by his offer. “Ethan, you hate going out. You once described the club scene as ‘a Venn diagram of loud music and poor life choices.’”

He laughs awkwardly. “I did say that, didn’t I? But I alsosaid I wanted to try new things this year. So what do you say? A night out in Greycliff. Our choices are the one nightclub or the one dive bar. It might be ... fun?”

The idea of Ethan in a social setting is amusingly out of character, but his genuine concern is touching. “Okay, Ethan, let’s risk some poor life choices together. But if we end up in a techno rave, I’m holding you responsible.”

His grin is infectious. “Deal! It’ll be an adventure. We deserve a little fun.”

As he settles into his chair, I’m left with a feeling of warmth. Ethan, in his earnest and slightly awkward way, is trying to pull me out of my shell, to offer some normalcy amid the chaos of my life.

And maybe, just maybe, a night out is exactly what I need.

At the end of the workday, Ethan and I hover at the crossroads of Greycliff’s nightlife, the vibrant nightclub on one side and the low-key dive bar on the other.

“So your pick,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.

He glances at the nightclub, then at the dive bar, and finally says, “Let’s start with the dive bar. Ease into the whole ‘wild night out’ concept.”

My lips curve at his tight voice. It’s more than charming that he wants to cheer me up in the face of his own anxiety. I loop an arm through his, Ethan’s well-worn plaid shirt soft and comforting against my hand.

And nothing like cold black tactical clothing.

I bat the unwelcome comparison away.Not tonight.

The Leaky Dinghy is cozy and dimly lit, with a jukebox playing soft rock classics in the background and crookednautical decorations on the wood-paneled walls. We pick a booth at the back and order a couple of beers. I find myself relaxing, and the laughter and chatter around us are welcome distractions.

Ethan leans forward on the scratched, wobbling table, and asks, “Hey, so, are you enjoying working at Pulse?”

Light laughter escapes me before I can stop it. “Sure. Are you going to ask me about the weather next?”

His cheeks turn pink under his freckles.

“Oh—shoot, sorry.” I reach out in apology. “I just meant that it feels like we’re on a blind date, and I found it funny. I’m terrible at jokes. I should know better than to try to make them.”

“Wait, so you’re actually bad at something?” Ethan gives a lopsided smile.

That gets another laugh out of me. “I’m bad at so many things. Don’t let my killer computer skills fool you.”

“Oh really? Like what? I can’t picture you struggling at ... anything, actually.”

“I’m pretty sure my oven has a restraining order against me. The last time I tried to roast a chicken, it came out looking like a prehistoric fossil.”

Ethan bursts into laughter, his glasses reflecting the lights above and obscuring his green eyes. “That’s nothing. My culinary low point was attempting a ‘romantic’ dinner. The pasta was so undercooked, I think it still remembered the field it grew in.”

I have to lower my beer before I accidentally laugh into it. “Pasta with a backstory, I like it.”

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