Chapter 9

9

ELODIE

" I 'm glad you made it over," he says.

"You promised to make me dinner. How could I not?" I reply. "Speaking of which, that meal was absolutely incredible."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I have to say, I'm impressed. You're not only a world-class doctor, but a pretty accomplished chef as well. You're a regular Renaissance man."

His chuckle is a low, deep rumble. "Afraid I can't take credit for my cooking skills. Everything I know I learned from YouTube."

We share a laugh as we snuggle up on his sofa. I lay my head on his chest, tracing small circles with the tip of my finger. The room is lit only by the bright orange light of the crackling fire. We're wrapped in a warm sensation of peace and serenity that's been uncommon in my life for quite a while. Even more uncommon is the sense of care being wrapped in Ethan's arms gives me. We still barely know each other, but in the short time I've known him, he's shown me more care and respect than anybody I've ever been with. It's been rare in my life, and I just want to enjoy it.

And of course, the sex has been incredible. It's been so much better than I ever imagined it could be. There's some small part of me kicking myself for not letting myself enjoy it sooner. But I also know it wouldn't have been as good with somebody else. I'm pretty certain the sex with Ethan is so good because he's such a generous lover. He genuinely seems more concerned with my pleasure than with his own. Most guys my age just want to get off and don't really care whether I get mine or not. Ethan is different. He really wants to make sure I enjoy every moment of it. And I have. I really, really have.

"How is your grandmother?" he asks.

"Good. She and Mrs. Lund are having a girls' night in. Movies, Scrabble, and knitting."

"They sure know how to live the wild life."

I laugh. "Right?"

I melt against him, savoring his touch and having his arm around me and his taut, toned body pressed to mine. I close my eyes and just soak it in. As we sit in silence, watching the flames dancing in the fireplace, a small curl to my lips. It could be all the wine I've had tonight, but I realize that I know so little about Ethan, and a thousand questions start firing through my mind. I want to know more about him. I want to know everything about him, actually.

It's a dangerous prospect, I know. Ethan's roots are here in Emerson now, and there's no way he's going to leave. I know that much already. Eventually, I will go back to LA. If we start opening up to each other, if we risk opening those doors into our souls to each other, then emotions might get involved—and nothing good can come from that. Emotions make things more real, and with me going back to LA and Ethan staying here, that means we'll be hurt. Or at least, I think I will be.

This, what we have right now, whatever it is, is all we're likely going to have. I knew that before I ever dropped my panties in Mam's kitchen that day and still dropped them anyway. I wanted to enjoy something good and fun. I wanted my first sexual experience to be with somebody like Ethan. He's every bit as kind and generous as I thought he would be. And if I'm not careful, I can see myself falling for him. It's why I need to be incredibly careful with my feelings and opening the door to them.

That's why getting to know each other on a more intimate level is probably a bad idea. It's why he and I need to simply enjoy this moment since this moment is likely all we're going to have. This, whatever it is between us, has a shelf life. I know that. And knowing that, I need to act accordingly and simply enjoy the time we have without mucking it all up by getting our feelings and emotions involved. That's the smart thing to do.

"Why did you leave LA?" I ask.

"Because Dr. Pelson offered me his practice out here."

"That can't be the only reason."

He laughs softly. "Honestly? I got tired of the life out there in LA. Everything was so impersonal and superficial. The people are phony. I enjoyed the work, but it was all just getting to be too much. I like this slower pace of life. I like being able to have personal relationships with my patients. And I guess I wanted to do something a little more meaningful," he says. "For the most part, I'm enjoying life and the people here. Yeah, there are things I miss—I'd kill for a decent fucking sushi bar or some diversity of food choices. But there is a lot less bullshit in a place like Emerson, and I like it that way. It's a change I didn't even know I wanted to make until Dr. Pelson invited me out here to take a look."

"It's funny. I could have gone to school locally. I had an offer from Tennessee, but I wanted to get away from the slow, sleepy town. I went to LA because I needed a new experience."

"That makes sense. And I think we should all challenge ourselves and experience new things," he says.

"I think so too."

He looks down at me, a small smile playing across his lips. "So, is there anybody waiting for you back in LA? I mean, I probably should have asked before we started sleeping together, but better late than never, I suppose."

"Nope. Not anymore," I tell him with a laugh. "We broke up before I came out here."

"Why is that?"

"Because he was horrible. He's abusive?—"

Ethan immediately stiffens and his face darkens, the thought of somebody abusing me obviously pissing him off. It's sweet and only reinforces the belief that I'm safe with him. But I know I need to correct my statement.

"He was mentally abusive. He never physically harmed me," I say. "There were a couple of times I was worried that he might, but he never did. He was just … mean."

"Mental abuse is just as bad as him laying hands on you. Either is unacceptable."

"Well, he and I are done. I told him before I left that we were done."

"And how'd he take it?"

"Not well. But whatever," I say with a small shrug. "What about you? Anybody out here that's piqued your interest?"

"Aside from you?"

My face grows warm, and a silly giggle passes my lips, which only embarrasses me more, forcing me to turn away. Ethan puts his fingers under my chin and turns me back to him then leans down and gives me a small, sweet kiss. He leans back on the couch and pulls me back down, resting my head on his chest again. It's such a sweet, almost domestic scene, and I like it. I like it far more than I probably should, given our shelf life.

"To answer your question, no," he says. "There isn't anybody I'm seeing out here."

"My grandmother says Hannah the dressmaker has been trying to bag you since the day you moved to Emerson."

"True. But I'm not interested in her."

"And why is that? She's a beautiful woman."

"She's not you," he says.

His words send a ripple of emotion through my heart and make my face grow warm again. It's insane just how much this man can inspire so much emotion in me with nothing but a few words. We sit in comfortable, companionable silence for a couple of minutes, and I nuzzle closer to him, relishing the mélange of emotions coursing through me.

"I have a son," Ethan says suddenly. "He's about your age."

It's a little surprising, but maybe it shouldn't be. Ethan's twice my age and has lived a whole life before he even met me.

"Where is he now?" I ask.

"Last I heard, he was in California. But that was a while ago, so he could be anywhere. We haven't talked in a long time," Ethan says. "He blamed me for a lot of things, and our relationship just deteriorated. Well, maybe that's being generous. We haven't had a relationship in a long time. He hates me so much he even dropped my name. Legally. I've tried to contact him, but he doesn't want anything to do with me, so I've let him be."

Talking about his son makes him uncomfortable. More than that, I can hear the pain in Ethan's voice when he talks about him. He regrets not having a relationship with his son. It's a source of hurt for him, even still. It makes me hurt for him.

"I'm sorry," I say.

It's lame and wholly inadequate. But I can't think of anything better to say. There's certainly nothing I can say that will ameliorate his pain in any way whatsoever.

"So, you're a writer?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Freelance writer and editor, yeah," I reply. "I hope one day to be a bestselling author."

He smiles. "Yeah?"

I nod. "It's going to happen one day."

"I'd love to read your work."

"You don't have to say that to be polite."

"I'm not," he replies and gestures to the room around us. "As you can see, I'm a reader."

It's true. He's got built-in bookshelves as well as light oak bookcases, all of them stuffed with books of every genre. He's a man after my own heart. It's not often that you'll find me without my nose in a book.

"Then I'll have to give you something to read," I say.

"I'd like that."

It's weird. In the year we were together, Ben never once asked to read my work. In fact, nobody I've ever been with has shown the slightest interest in what I write. Having Ethan expressing his genuine interest not only makes me happy, but it makes my heart swell until it's two sizes too big for my chest. I know I'm supposed to be tempering my feelings and keep them reined in given that this is a temporary thing, but the more time I spend with Ethan, the more difficult I'm finding that task.

"How about some dessert?" he asks.

"You made dessert?"

"I did indeed. I used those world-class YouTube skills to make something sweet."

"I love dessert," I say. "Lead the way."

He smiles as he takes my hand and helps me to my feet. Still holding hands, we walk into the kitchen together, and it hits me then just how complicated this is going to be.