No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) (7 page)

He hesitated, took another pull on his beer. “There’s nothing to see in there but some old yearbooks.”

As soon as he saw the delight in her face, he knew he’d said the exact wrong thing.

“Well, then I sure as heck can’t miss this!” She was already off, down the hallway, before he could stop her, and, setting the beer down on the counter, he hurried after her, only to see her hurrying her pace, laughing as she bolted up the stairs. He tried to grab her arm, but she was too quick, and he grabbed a piece of her dress instead. She tripped, clambering up the stairs, laughing so hard he was laughing too. They were behaving like children, something he only did with Claire.

She stood at the top of the landing triumphantly, panting for breath. “Which way is it?” she asked.

He sighed, and vaguely motioned to the left. There was no use resisting the inevitable. When Claire set her mind to something, she usually found a way to see it through. “Last door. You can’t miss it.”

The baseball pinup was still on the wood paneled door, and Claire tapped it with a finger, jutting her bottom lip at him to show how adorable she thought it was, and pushed open the door.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and hovered in the door jamb. He hadn’t been in this room since he was a kid—now when he came back, he usually stayed in one of the guest rooms with the bigger beds. This room was a capsule, of a different time, a different place. A different person.

“I don’t know why, but I assumed there would be some bikini pinups or something,” Claire joked, admiring the baseball posters that framed the two big windows with a view of the lake. She walked over to his desk, leaning down to study the framed pictures his mother had kept all these years.

“Oh.” She gave a sad smile as she picked one up to study, and Ethan felt his blood still for a moment. He knew the photo, knew it well. It was one of the last memories he had of his father, a day on the lake, like so many others. He was eight in the photo, and he had a cast on his arm from falling out of a tree. He’d taken that day for granted, assumed that life would always be carefree, that people didn’t just leave you, but they did. Whether they were taken from you or they left on their own accord, nothing in life lasted forever.

He eyed Claire, thinking of the tears she’d shed when her mother had died. He’d sat by her side, not knowing what to do or what to say, but somehow he knew that was enough for her. He understood. Not everyone did. That alone was some comfort, he supposed.

“You resemble him,” she said, her smile a little hesitant, but something about the comment, the new perspective, made Ethan feel like just for a fleeting moment, a part of his father was alive again. “It’s the mouth. And the nose.”

He swallowed hard, wanting her to put the photo down almost as much as he wanted her to keep talking. He never spoke of his father—at first it seemed too cruel, too insensitive toward his mother—but now, it was he who kept quiet when the man’s name was brought up, he who felt the strain of loss every time he walked into this house.

Finally, Claire set the photo back on the desk, exactly where she’d found it. She was thoughtful that way, always careful not to overstep.

“Now where are those yearbooks you promised to show me?” She tapped a finger against her mouth, looking around the room.

“Hey, I never promised you that,” he said, flinching on the words for a moment. He never promised anything, but somehow, with Claire, it was always different. He gave in, didn’t resist, but then, she was different than other women. Different than most people.

He made a grand show of sighing. “They’re in the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Don’t laugh,” he warned.

Claire eagerly crouched down to retrieve the stack of books, starting with his freshman year and working in chronological order. She hooted in laughter when she saw his braces and bowl cut. “You were on the
debate
team?” she asked, eyes popping, as she stared up at him. “I don’t know why I envisioned you as football quarterback instead.”

“I might have inflated my role on the football team,” Ethan said ruefully.

“It charms the ladies, right?” Claire shook her head, smiling as she flipped to the next page. Ethan dropped beside her on the bed, taking in her familiar sweet scent that mingled with the warm summer air. The old house still didn’t have air-conditioning, and crickets croaked from the half-open window, filling the room with all those summer smells and sounds you didn’t find back in the city.

He relaxed as she flicked through the book, getting caught up in the memories himself.

“Do you ever keep in touch with anyone?” Claire asked, moving on to his senior yearbook.

Ethan tensed. “Oh, a few that still live in town. The rest have moved on. You know how it is.”

“Who’s the girl?” she asked, leaning forward to study the picture with interest.

“Oh, just a prom date,” Ethan said coolly, but inside his blood was on fire. His chest began to pound as he waited for her to turn the page. He didn’t want to look at that picture, didn’t want to remember that face.

“She’s pretty,” Claire remarked. “Another heart you broke along the way?”

Ethan smiled tightly. “Something like that,” he managed.

Only it was nothing like that. And it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Even with Claire.

“I left my drink downstairs,” he said, suddenly needing to be out of that room, away from the small single bed and the photos and . . .all of it.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Okay.”

“Can I get you anything?” He was already walking to the door, eager to be away.

“No,” she said, closing the yearbook. “But I think I’ll come down with you. I’ve embarrassed you enough for one night.”

“Just wait until the bachelorette party,” Ethan laughed in an attempt to lighten his mood. “I don’t even want to know the things my sisters will be sharing with you then.”

He suddenly stopped walking, his chest tightening when he considered his statement. But no, he told himself firmly as he slowly walked down the stairs. No, surely even his sisters knew better than to bring up that  . . .

At least, he could only hope.

Chapter Six

C
laire opened one eye, and then, ever so slowly, the other, only releasing her pent-up breath when she noticed the towel was safely wedged between her body and Ethan’s, and that he was wearing a T-shirt, and hopefully some kind of pants, although given his exasperating and endless desire to rattle her up, she didn’t dare test the waters by tugging on the blanket.

She rolled out of bed and smoothed her hair. Despite the unseasonably warm weather and the lack of so much as a lakeside breeze all night long, she’d worn the most modest pajamas she owned—flannel pants and a matching long-sleeved collared shirt, buttoned all the way to the very top, thank you very much—and now the thick material stuck to her skin.

The windows were open, not that they’d helped, but now Claire opened the French doors and stepped onto the patio, hoping some morning country air would cool her head.

Last night had been strange, and it wasn’t just because she’d held another man’s hand for the first time since Matt. She was struggling with how . . .
natural
it felt to stand side by side with Ethan at the party, to laugh with his family members, to exchange secret smiles with him as they sipped their drinks. She picked up a rock from the edge of the patio and skipped it into the water.

Ridiculous
. Of course it felt natural with Ethan. He was her closest friend. She knew him. She was comfortable around him.

So why did her stomach start to knot every time she thought of the way it felt to stand beside him, and have him look at her like that—like she was more than just a friend?

“You’re up early,” Ethan’s husky voice behind her accused.

Claire turned, smiling guiltily—she hadn’t even checked the time, but who could sleep with all that sun filtering in—and nearly fell back against one of the Adirondack chairs when she saw Ethan grinning back at her. He was propped up on one elbow, still in bed, his brown hair tousled this way and that, his grin positively wicked. She swallowed hard as he reached down to scratch his stomach over the tight white T-shirt he wore, and then stretched his arms, yawning dramatically, making the cords of his muscles pull against his skin. Her entire body stiffened as he slowly brought himself up to a sitting position and then reached for the blankets, wondering if she should look away now, before she saw something she shouldn’t. Even boxers felt wrong. Wrong! But to her great relief—and strangely, a twinge of disappointment—he was wearing cotton pajama pants in what appeared a considerably more seasonably appropriate material than her own.

“It’s warm in here,” he said, walking over to stand in the opening to the patio. He slid his gaze up and down her, looking at her as if she were crazy. “You didn’t overheat in that granny wear?”

Granny wear! Claire rolled her eyes. More like appropriate attire for hotel air-conditioning, and sharing a bed with your super hot best friend. “Oh, you know me. I’m always cold.” Her face felt flush, and for some reason she had the sinking feeling that it had nothing to do with the extra-thick flannel that covered ninety percent of her body. In the early sunlight, Ethan’s eyes shone bright, and his chin bore a fresh layer of stubble. He smelled like musk and sleep and—

She rubbed her nose. Certainly no point in going there. The man was practically like a brother to her. Not that she had a brother to compare. Okay, he was like a cousin. Yes, she was as close to him as she was to Hailey.

Except Ethan wasn’t a blood relative. But he was still very much off-limits.

“I packed for the hotel. You know how those places can be, always cranking up the AC,” she said, pushing past him into the room to select her outfit from the closet. “I assumed I’d freeze all night.”

“Oh, I’d never let you freeze,” Ethan said roughly, and her breath caught as she snatched a sundress from its hanger. She turned, heart pounding, to see where he was going with this, but there was a twinkle in his eye when she finally looked his way.

She pursed her lips as he burst out laughing, and despite herself, she joined in. She never could resist that laugh.

It was Ethan’s suggestion to cycle into town before the members of the main house awoke, claiming he needed to ease into the day and all it held, and Claire happily agreed. She was eager to see the town and visit some of the shops his mother had mentioned.

They found a pair of old bicycles in the detached garage and set off on the gravel path, Claire trailing Ethan by a few yards, her legs wobbly until she finally got her bearing. Before long, they were approaching the stretch of downtown that Claire had admired when they’d driven through yesterday afternoon. The smells of lilacs and roses filled the air, and birds chirped as they flew from tree to tree. Claire smiled to herself. These were the little things she hadn’t appreciated in far too long. She’d been too wrapped up in taxi cabs and subway stops and ambulances flying by. And thinking of Matt, of course.

“I wasn’t sure you knew how to ride a bike,” he said, when they finally pulled to a stop in front of a small diner in town.

“Who doesn’t know how to ride a bike?” she asked quizzically, tapping at her kickstand. “Just because you’ve never seen me ride a bike doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

He shrugged. “True enough. But if you must know, I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was thirteen.” He held up a finger, his expression grave.“And if you tell anyone, I will murder you in your sleep with one of those damned towels. I mean that.”

Claire stifled her laughter at the ominous lift of his eyebrows and allowed Ethan to hold the restaurant’s door open for her. She’d assumed they’d be one of the first customers of the day, but the small establishment was nearly full, leaving them with only a spot at the counter.

“And why is it exactly that you didn’t learn to . . .you know,” she lowered her voice.

Ethan picked up his menu, studied it, and set it back down again decisively. He stared straight ahead, not looking at her. “My dad was supposed to teach me to ride a bike. After he died, I didn’t want to bother my mom with it, and I think she just assumed I knew how. She was so preoccupied with caring for three young kids all on her own. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I figured if I didn’t teach myself, I could forget any kind of normal social life until I finally got a driver’s license.” He tapped his chin. “See that scar? Split my chin wide open the first day out.”

“Ouch.” Claire frowned a little. “But you kept going.”

He shrugged. “What other choice is there?”

Never much of a breakfast eater, Claire ordered a coffee and a blueberry muffin, saying nothing when Ethan opted for the four-egg omelet with extra hash browns and a side of bacon.

“I’m hungry,” he said edgily, when the waitress finished pouring their coffee.

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied. “It’s just not like you.”

“Yeah, well, being back in the town where you grew up will do that to you. Especially a town like this.”

Claire wasn’t buying it. “A town with cobblestone streets and iron lampposts and bicycle paths leading back to your lakefront home?”

But Ethan just rubbed at his jaw, his eyes hardening before he looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

It was the first time he’d ever accused her of such a thing, and shame flooded her cheeks with heat. She set her hand on his arm, feeling uneasy at how comfortable it felt there. “Eth, I’m sorry. I was just focused on how tranquil this town is, how beautiful, and quaint. But it’s different for you. It holds other meaning. I understand. As much as it hurt when my dad sold my childhood home, the other part of me was relieved.” She frowned. It would have been hard, going back, walking from room to room, looking for her mother and never finding her, always being reminded of her absence like that. But at the same time . . . Her chest tightened. She shook her head clear. No use thinking of things that could never be.

He patted her hand, and Claire tensed, wanting to snatch it back, to shift her stool, but as luck would have it they seemed to be bolted to the floor. She fumbled to reach for her coffee mug instead, nearly spilling it all over the Formica surface.

Okay, this had to stop. When had she reacted so strongly to Ethan simply touching her before?

She wasn’t so sure she wanted to explore the reason just now. “So what’s on the schedule for the day?” she asked, happy to change the subject.

“Oh, I figured we could visit some of the shops this morning, maybe ride around town a bit, grab some lunch. Tonight is party night.” His eyelids drooped.“Girls at the house. Men at a pub. You don’t have to go, you know.”

Claire stirred sugar into her coffee. “Why not? It sounds fun. Besides, a night with the girls is exactly what I need right now, no offense. If I sit alone in that cottage, my mind will just end up wandering.”

Ethan frowned. “Still thinking about Matt, then?” His tone was a little harsher than she’d expected, and Claire blinked at him in confusion, wondering where the sudden burst of emotion was coming from.

Ethan raked a hand through his hair, dragging out a sigh. “Sorry. I just . . .I wish you’d get over that jerk.”

Claire considered that the same words were probably spoken of him, by friends of the girls whose hearts he had broken, but said nothing. Their food was up, and as she bit into the streusel topped muffin, Claire decided that Ethan was right. There was no reason to be thinking of Matt.

At least not for today.

***

“Mind if we stop in here?” Claire asked, pointing to a women’s clothing boutique that Ethan hadn’t noticed before.

He eyed her. “Don’t you think you brought enough for a long weekend?”

“It’s the pajamas,” she admitted, blushing. In the morning sunlight, the hint of pink brought out the blueness of her eyes, giving her a softer, more youthful appearance.

His mouth twitched, but he pushed on the door just the same, telling himself to rein it in. It was fun to mess with Claire, but he needed to be sure it didn’t border on flirting. It came easily, maybe even naturally at this point, but with Claire there had to be boundaries.

The sales assistant was busy chatting with other customers, and Ethan followed Claire through the shop, pausing when she did, amused by the way she stopped to admire a red sundress that was hanging on display. She touched the hem, considering the material between her fingers, and then stood back to eye it properly. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she jumped, turning to face him, her expression the picture of guilt.

“Pajamas,” he ordered. “That suitcase will pop if you add anything more to it.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I was just thinking  . . .” She shook her head. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He leaned against a nearby side table, growing curious. “Go on. Tell me.”

“Well, it’s just  . . .” She blushed again, and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head.

“Tell me,” he urged, now more curious than ever. It wasn’t like Claire to hold anything back from him.

“You won’t like it,” she warned, and then huffed when he stood patiently waiting. “I was remembering that Matt always liked it when I wore that shade of red. It’s very hard to find, and, well  . . .”

“You were thinking that if you bought it and somehow ran into him again wearing it that he’d realized he had made a huge mistake and give you the diamond instead of this other woman?”

Claire grimaced. “That obvious?”

He cursed under his breath and moved toward her, setting his hand on her shoulder as he looked her in her eyes. “You’re better than this, Claire. And I know you don’t believe me, but you will be happier without him. Once you let yourself.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and he squeezed her shoulder, resisting the urge to pull her in for a hug, to hold her close, smooth her hair, take away the pain. It tore at him to see her like this, over someone so undeserving, someone so . . .wrong. It was just like—

“Ethan? Ethan Parker?”

Ethan dropped his hand and turned to see Marcy McMullen standing at the counter, her brown eyes lit with something he could only call intrigue.

He swept his eyes over the room, and then, breathing a little easier, back to her. “Well, Marcy McMullen. Fancy seeing you here.” He flashed her one of his easy grins, but it felt stiff and wary.

“I should be saying the same. Back in town for your cousin’s wedding?” She gave him the once-over and skirted her eyes to Claire with noticeable interest.

Suddenly remembering that Claire was standing beside him, he reached over and lightly touched her back. “This is Claire Wells. Claire, Marcy McMullen.”

“I recognize your picture from Ethan’s yearbook,” Claire said pleasantly, reaching out to extend her hand. “You were on the debate team. Or at least in the photo.”

Now Marcy’s eyes popped with interest, and she looked at him for an explanation. Ethan did his best not to show his impatience. Half the town would get wind of this conversation before noon, no doubt. His pulse kicked at the thought.

“Claire and I were going down memory lane last night. I’m afraid I couldn’t hide my past from her forever.”

As much as he tried to.

He swallowed uneasily, bracing himself for Marcy’s next words, for the question that was on the tip of his tongue, for the name they had in common. The person he didn’t like to speak of. The girl he didn’t want to discuss.