Page 199 of Ewan

He has a lot of fun.

Ewan?

Not so much.

“Go wash your hands, son,” he says in a do-not-fuck- with-me voice.

Ezra straightens and moves quietly away from the dining table while I try not to start a conversation as his steps trail down the corridor.

Still, I can’t not flick my eyes to Ewan, who watches me slide the tray of food to the center of the table.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks.

“A few candles would be nice.”

That almost sounded like I snapped.

We’re like a couple about to start a fight.

I sound mad.

He sounds like someone who’s walking on a minefield.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I’m right.

We both know there’s a lot to talk about, especially since his tall, athletic son is on his way back.

How could he not mention him?

For one, he has a kid. And his kid is a man who was in an accident the night he was supposed to play Santa.

He is little Colley’s cousin, which means Ewan is related to Colley’s mother.

Oh, my.

Elisa knows him? Of course she does.

Who is Elisa in all this?

Is she Ewan’s sister?

No, I don’t think so.

She’s never mentioned having a brother.

She did mention in passing that she used to spend her summers at a beach house with her sister.

She never talked about her sister again, and I always thought the woman had moved someplace else.

If my intuition is right, that woman was Ewan’s wife and Ezra’s mother.

And again, Ewan has a nineteen-year-old son? How old was he when he became a father?

He must’ve been eighteen years old.

A wave of panic rolls through me. Ezra’s mother must’ve been Ewan’s first love.

Somehow, I feel hopeless.

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