Page 42 of Whisked Away
“Ready to head back to the inn?” I gesture towards Dad’s pickup.
“Yes, I’m exhausted and desperately need a shower.”
I want to tell her that’s the last thing she needs. That I’d love to hold her close and smell the earth-fresh scent on her. Brush the hair away from her neck as my knuckles follow its curve. Peel her clothes back. I close my eyes and walk towards the truck. That’s the last place my mind needs to go.
Alex follows, and we both climb in. Like before, she slides into the middle seat, wedged between me and the door, hershoulder brushing mine as she buckles in. The truck purrs as we drive down the winding country road. The sun sets beyond the tree line, painting the sky in dramatic splashes of tangerine and peach.
Alex stares out the window, the browns of her eyes reflecting the sunset’s gold. She sighs, then looks up at me. “What if I don’t want to return to the inn yet?”
My breath catches, and in that single inhale, I breathe her in: sweet floral notes still lingering above the farm-fresh earthiness. She’s settled beside me, her body warm, her head resting on my arm. “What would you rather do?”
I don’t add: you could talk me into anything. You could talk me into bad decisions and regrets. Though those are both true.
“I was thinking of taking a walk on the beach.”
My shoulders drop. I feel like I can breathe again. A beach walk is safe territory. The Cove is beautiful but busy this time of the year. Maybe we could grab ice cream at Grant’s shop—Sweet Harmony. Alex would like the place, it has a touch of city sophistication, and he makes all the flavors in store.
My mind is running away with imagined plans for the evening—safe, no-one-gets-their-feelings-hurt plans—when Alex speaks again. “Do you know of a quieter beach that isn’t so busy?”
“I do.” I say the words before I can think better of them. Before I can remember the danger of getting too close to this beautiful, passionate woman. Dean Markham hasn’t forgotten. He’d torn into me after the farmer’s market and growled when I’d explained Grammie Rae’s invitation. And now he’s inserted himself as a judge for the first time in the Bonanza’s history—just to keep an eye on us.
“Any interest in spending the evening with me?” Alex asks as if it’s even a question. As if I’d rather go home or to Paris orto the moon if spending the night with her was an alternative option.
I take a deep breath. One more day with Alex Sinclair, then she’ll be out of my life forever. Dean has nothing to worry about. And I’m just going to make the most of the day we have left. “That sounds great.”
Alex
Maybe it’s the thrill of actually milking a cow. Or the wild emotional rollercoaster of losing a small-town cooking competition—something Missy will probably never let me live down. Whatever it was, I knew the night couldn’t end yet.
Now I’m walking hand-in-hand with Ethan along a stretch of lonely beach as stars slowly dot the twilight sky. In overalls. Alex, a few months ago, would be appalled. Well, not over the man I’m holding hands with—he is objectively gorgeous. But the rest of the situation? Absolutely appalled.
I find that I don’t care what old-Alex might think. I’m starting to believe she wasn’t happy. Maybe she never has been. I’ve spent so much of my life surviving, doing the things that had to happen, that I’d forgotten to slow down and consider if I was living the life I actually wanted. Magnolia Cove slowed me down, turned my days into meditations on buttercream and thoughtful morning walks on cobblestone roads.
“You’re quiet,” Ethan says.
My fingers tighten on his hand. I can’t share the thoughts swirling through me because dreams are wonderful, but we all must wake up. “I have to leave soon.”
It must come out sadder than I intended because Ethan stops walking and looks at me. Really looks at me. The wind whispers through his curls, and the evening’s blue light softens the planes of his face. I shiver, not from the breeze, but from the intimacy of his look. To feel the full weight of Ethan Hart’s attention is dizzying.
“Do you want to sit?” he asks.
I nod, and we walk over to a sun-bleached driftwood log, settling down side by side. I rest my head against his shoulder, and he tucks an arm around me as if this is the most natural thing in the world. As if we’ve done this a hundred times and we’ll do it a hundred more. But neither is true.
“My life is in New York.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and sighs, the warmth of his breath making me shiver. “And mine is here at the Whisk.”
Neither of us speaks for a long time. Waves crash across the shore, and sandpipers leap forward then scuttle back over the wet sand, leaving their prints behind them. It’s peaceful—the lonely sea, the darkening sky, the surety of Ethan’s arm around my shoulders.
If he knew the article I’d started writing, he wouldn’t touch me. I can imagine the hurt flashing across his pale blue eyes, the way his brow would furrow. I can see Zoe frowning. Rachel propping her hands on her hips, her lips twisting into a scowl. It’s like all of Magnolia Cove is watching me, waiting for what I might say about them.
The last time I spoke with Vivian, I’d soft-pitched the idea of writing an actual feature about the Whisk. She’d laughed. I don’t know why I expected more.
Maybe I won’t write it. Maybe I won’t even return toGastronomy Eatsat all. Even thinking that thought has my throat tightening. It’s a steady paycheck, a retirement planwith employer contributions, a potential raise. It’s certainty in a chaotic world. I tremble, and Ethan pulls me closer.
This—he—feels like certainty, too. Ethan feels like home. Meeting him was like wandering through the woods for what seemed like a lifetime, only to stumble upon a cozy cottage with a soft bed and a well-stocked pantry, where everything just fit.
It’s as if neither of us can find the right words. Our feelings are too big to wrap in vowels and consonants. The silence between us stretches, but then a memory of Missy breaks through the stillness. “I’m sure my sister misses me. Or at least the food I usually bring home. She can’t cook grilled cheese without setting something on fire. She’s probably surviving on some crappy three-dollar hamburgers.”
