“I know. You were there to ruin all of them.”
“No.” I laughed. “I mean, I was there when you needed me, and you were there when I needed you. And it was never by default, Rachel. It was always by choice.”
She shook her head. “What are you trying to say, Ethan? We should fuck again because we have a history?”
“We should fuck again because sex with you is incredible,” I said, watching her blush. “That said, I think we should take the ‘temporary’ tag off our friendship for the long term. And because I know you—” I paused, letting her say the seven words she always said whenever I mentioned that.
“You don’t know me at all, Ethan.”
“Exactly.” I smiled. “Anyway, I can promise you that sex won’t ruin anything between us. Since every other guy has failed at it, you should give me a chance to be the one thing you’ve wanted since I’ve known you.”
“You want to try being my best friend?”
“I’m already your best friend,” I said, looking into her eyes. “I’m talking about being your boyfriend.”
Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. She was still blushing, but she wasn’t saying anything.
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think you know what being a boyfriend requires.”
“I’m sure you have a list,” I said. “Would you like me to take a look at it?”
“I don’t have a list, Ethan.” Her eyes gave that lie away. “But if I did have a list—hypothetically speaking, my number one says that real boyfriends don’t cheat.”
“I’ve never cheated.”
“Number two says that real boyfriends insist on making sure that there are romantic outings every week.”
“You have another list about the requirements for real dates as well, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not.” Her cheeks reddened again. “Number three would say that there’s no sex, but lots of intimate moments.”
“I’d be fine with that if I wasn’t already addicted to our sex.” I pulled a few more rollers from her hair. “But I’m looking forward to these intimate moments.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Only because you want to hold out and make this shit dramatic.” I smiled. “That’s what all your favorite heroines do, correct?”
She smiled, not answering.
“I can deal with that.” I moved her sketch pad to the side and stood up. “I’ll give you a few hours to give me a yes.”
“I think it’s going to take me more than a few hours to think about this.”
“I doubt it.”
“In that case, I’ll have an answer for you in a few weeks.”
I laughed and kissed her, gently biting her bottom lip. Then I gripped her waist and lifted her up, setting her on top of a dryer.
Unbuttoning her pajama top, I whispered against her mouth, “I think you’ll have the answer I’m looking for the second I’m done with you tonight.”
Back Then: 17 Years Old
Ethan
DEAR RACHEL,
(This is a truce message)
Your AP Art teacher asked me why you’ve missed class for the past two weeks. I don’t know if you want me to tell him that you’ve been spending it at the hospital with your mom, so I made up a lie. I also asked him for your homework assignments. (I asked all your other teachers, too.)
I put everything in your mailbox.
Forget You,
Ethan
DEAR RACHEL,
(This is another truce message)
Your painting, I Hate Him, won first place at the state art fair over the weekend. (I thought you said that you were done painting me with knives in my chest?)
I was already there since I won the essay contest, so I told them I lived next door to you, and they let me accept the blue ribbon and cash prize on your behalf. I don’t want to put it in your mailbox, so I’ll keep it on my desk.
Let me know when you want me to bring it over.
Forget You,
Ethan
DEAR RACHEL,
I’m sorry about the passing of your mother.
Sincerely,
Ethan
I CRUMPLED MY LETTER and tossed it through Rachel’s window. It landed on her desk, right on top of all the other letters I’d thrown.
When her mom was diagnosed with stage four cancer months ago, Rachel refused to believe it. She stormed out of her house and up to my room whenever her mother started to say things like, “When I’m gone, make sure you...” or “When it’s you and your dad, don’t forget to...”
She was too convinced that her mom would beat it, and she didn’t want to listen.
Even though my parents (and a lot of other people in the neighborhood) wanted to be hopeful, they braced for the worst.
Rachel was the only one who didn’t.
Ever since the funeral, she’d sat on her bedroom floor, crying.
Her extended family paraded casseroles and flowers through her front door for the first couple of weeks—waving at me as I looked on, but they eventually stopped coming by.
I tossed tons of letters through her window, telling her how sorry I was, asking her if she needed anything, but she never tossed one back to me.
The few friends she had at school (Well, “classmates” since she didn’t have any real friends), never stopped by her house to see if she was okay, and from what I could tell, they never called or sent letters either. When I confronted one of her art club-mates, to see when she was planning to visit, she said, “Why can’t Rachel visit me? I mean, she’s a pretty tough girl. I’m sure she’s not crying about something like this for all this time, right?”
Standing up from my desk, I decided it was time to stop waiting on Rachel to write me back. The sympathy flowers on her porch were dying, and she and her father hadn’t left the house in forever.
I made a few calls to places in town and changed clothes. Then I picked up a bouquet of lilies from her mother’s favorite floral shop, and parked my car in her driveway.
I rang her doorbell, but there was no answer.
I rang the doorbell again.
Still no answer.
Knocking as hard as I could, I waited five minutes before walking to the edge of her porch. I lifted up the fourth flower pot and picked up her spare key.
Stepping inside, I noticed Mr. Dawson sitting in the living room. He was staring at the television, and tears were falling down his face.
“Do you, Richard Dawson, take Marie London to be your lawfully wedded wife?” A deep voice came through the speakers.
Mr. Dawson nodded and sobbed as he continued to watch his wedding video.
I walked through the dining room and headed upstairs, but Rachel wasn’t there. I checked all the other rooms, and made my way down to the kitchen.
Rachel stood in front of the oven, looking pale and several pounds lighter.
Her brown eyes met mine and she crossed her arms. “Ethan Wyatt, if you’re here to tell me that you’re sorry, or that my mom is in a better place, please don’t.” Tears fell down her face. “I’ve heard those phrases enough to last me a lifetime.”
“I’m not here to give you one of those.” I handed her the lilies.
“Oh...” She tapped the blooms. “My mom used to give me these on the last Sunday of every month.” A slow smile spread across her face. “Her favorite shop always had extra so—” She paused. “She used to...”
“Today’s the last Sunday of the month,” I said, stepping closer. “Now’s the time when you two usually head out for your brunch at The Blue Lake Café, right? Even when you’re grounded?”
She nodded. “Yes. Even when I’m grounded.”
“Well, I called the café as soon as they opened this morning.” I pulled my brand-new car keys out of my pocket. “They’re going to hold a special boat on the lake for you all day.”
She didn’t say anything. She just stared at me.
“If you don’t
want to go, it’s okay,” I said. “I thought you might want to get out of the house.”
“That cafe is near the college. It’s outside of our county’s permit driving zone.”
“Not anymore.” I handed her my wallet, and she flipped it open.
“You have your full-fledged driver’s license now?” She looked up at me. “Is this real?”
“Yeah. Got it two weeks ago with my new blue convertible.”
“What?” she raised her eyebrow. “Well, why didn’t you immediately rush over here and rub all of this in my face?”
I didn’t answer.
“Congrats on the car,” she said. “As far as the test, I’m sure you cheated somehow, or you scored a cougar-teacher who has no taste and thought you were cute.”
“It was definitely the latter.” I smiled. “She also treated me to ice-cream afterward.”
“I figured.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be ready in a few.” She left the kitchen and rushed upstairs, returning in a baby blue quote shirt that she and her mom used to wear. A shirt she designed and hand-painted herself. A mother is a daughter’s first best friend...
Carrying the lilies with her, she headed toward the front door.
Her dad was still staring at the television, so I readjusted the pillow behind his head and poured him a glass of water before leaving.
When we walked to my car, I opened the passenger door for Rachel and she slid inside. Holding the flowers in her lap, she cleared her throat.
“Your new girlfriend is cheating on you with your ‘real friend’ Mike Harper who lives down the street,” she said. “I’ve seen them come home together all this week during fifth period. They mess around in his room and then they go back to school.”
I cranked the engine and looked over at her.
“I was going to tell you the next time we got into an argument,” she said. “But, since I know you really like her and you’re being nice to me, I think you should stop wasting your time and dump her as soon as possible.”
“I will.” I handed her a box of Kleenex and pulled onto the street.
Our conversation ended there, and she kept her gaze forward. We rode in silence for half an hour, and at every stoplight, I leaned over and pressed a fresh Kleenex against her cheeks.
When we arrived at The Blue Lake Café, a waitress rushed out to my car and opened Rachel’s door. She pulled Rachel into her arms and held her close.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel.” The waitress cried, hugging her even tighter. “I am so sorry.”
The manager came out next, and then one by one each staff member took turns giving Rachel an embrace. When the last hostess said her words, the manager took Rachel’s hand and motioned for me to follow them to the dock.
He walked us to a picnic boat that was already set up with the best lunch entrees, and waited until we were settled inside.
“You’ll be the only two on the water today. Okay, Rach?” He handed her a bouquet of white roses. “You can stay out there all night if you want.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “I really appreciate it.”
He nodded and untied the boat from the dock, whispering to me, “Take good care of her today, Ethan.”
“I will.” I steered the boat to the middle of the lake, then over to where Rachel and her mother always stopped to get the best view of the downtown skyline. After that, just like her mom, I pulled out a small bottle of sparkling juice and poured two glasses.
“You have to say, Cheers to living your best life every day, Rachel.” Tears fell down her face. “That’s what my mom always said when she did that.”
“Okay.” I handed her a glass. “Cheers to living your best life every day, Rachel.” I waited for her to drink before following suit.
When she was finished, she set her glass down and looked at me. “Do you know what comes next?”
“I think so,” I said. “Is this the part where she typically says, I know we have our differences from time to time, but I want you to know that at the end of the day, I love you more than you’ll ever know?”
“Yes.” She nodded, a faint smile crossing her lips. “After that, she always asked me if I still hated Ethan Wyatt.”
“Okay.” I dabbed her eyes with another Kleenex. “Do you still hate Ethan Wyatt?”
“Yes.” She leaned on my shoulder. “More and more every day.”
Track 16. King of My Heart (3:30)
Rachel
I STOOD IN FRONT OF my mirror and changed my outfit for the hundredth time. I’d never cared what I wore around Ethan, but since he insisted that he wanted to “finally” take me on my first real date, I was questioning everything.
It’s just Ethan, Rachel...Just Ethan.
Reapplying my makeup, I settled on a pair of white jeans and a glittering purple tank top. Then I slipped into a pair of my silver wedge sandals and walked to the living room.
“Where the hell are you going?” Greg sat up on the couch, looking me up and down. “It’s a Tuesday night.”
“I have a date.”
“With your enemy?” He smiled. “Or your boyfriend? What are you two calling yourselves today?”
I laughed, avoiding the question.
“I was telling Ethan about some new house rules I’ve established for the two of you,” he said. “Feel free to buy me a drink this week, and I’ll tell you all about them.”
“You still owe me a drink from my first week here, Greg.”
“Friends don’t hold grudges, Rachel.” He lay back on the cushions. “It’s way past time to let that drink go. Also, tell Ethan he owes me fifty bucks for our bet.”
“Will do.” I walked to the front door. “What exactly was the bet?”
“That you both were full of shit,” he said, laughing. “Now, get out so I can rest before my company gets here.”
Laughing, I stepped outside and saw Ethan leaning against his car. He smiled at me—his dimples deepening, as he looked me up and down. “Are you ready this time, or do you need another hour to change jeans again?”
“I need another hour.” I headed to the other side of the car, but he blocked me.
“We’re not going in my car,” he said, pulling two helmets from the front seat. He pointed to the two mountain bikes near the mailbox.
“I thought you said that you were taking me out on a date.”
“I am.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to say, “just kidding,” but those words never came.
“You may want to put some different shoes on for the ride,” he said, popping his trunk. “You left a pair of tennis shoes in there.”
Confused, I took them out and tucked my wedges into my purse. I put on my helmet and buckled it, following him to the bikes.
“Try to keep up with me,” he said. “And if you fall off, try not to blame me for it like you did when we were nine.”
“I blamed you because you literally picked me up and threw me off my bike, Ethan.” I showed him my elbows. “I still have the scars to prove it.”
He smiled and looked me over one last time before pedaling down the street.
The wind hit my back as I followed his head, and by the time we reached the stop sign, we were side by side like we used to be when we were forced to ride together as kids.
As the sun set ahead of us, we pedaled through the back lanes of campus, past Main Street’s shops and eateries, and by the time the sun’s light was fading, he slowed a bit and led me to a part of the beach I’d never seen before.
Clear of tourists and residents, there was a long row of pastel-colored park benches, a small coffee shop, and a lone vending machine that was full of chocolate bars.
“This is it.” He stopped his bike in front of the machine. “Do you like it?”
I stopped and took off my helmet, looking around. As if he could tell how confused I was, he stepped closer and motioned for me to get off my bike. Then he locked it against the machine for me.
Clasping my hand, he walked me ove
r to a yellow park bench. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and we stared at the ocean waves for several minutes.
“How am I stacking up against your first date list so far?” he asked.
“I told you I don’t have any lists anymore.”
.He blinked.
“Okay, fine. If I’m being honest, you’re failing.”
“I don’t see how,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You’re not going to give me any bonus points?”
“Why would you get bonus points for making me ride my bike to a park bench, Ethan?”
A slow, sexy smile spread across his face, and he pressed his fingers under my chin. He tilted my head up, forcing me to see a blanket of stars against the darkening sky.
I stared at them in disbelief, feeling my heart skip a beat.
“Okay,” I said, looking at him again. “You definitely get bonus points for that, but I still don’t think that a park bench counts as a—”
He pressed his mouth against mine, and my sentence ended on his lips. He kissed me until I was breathless, making butterflies flutter wildly inside my chest.
“This part of the beach doesn’t allow cars,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And the reason they don’t allow cars is because the five-star restaurant that’s down past the other park benches is owned by another hopeless romantic like you. She doesn’t want her dinner guests to be distracted by anything other than their conversations and the sound of the ocean.”
My jaw dropped, and he kissed me breathless all over again.
“Now...” He smiled and stood to his feet, pulling me up with him. “You have the stars, a private beach and a five-star restaurant, and a kiss.”
“It wasn’t a soul-searing one.”
“I beg to differ.” He pressed his hand against the small of my back. “Were there butterflies?”
“Not at all.” I blushed. “I think you’d have to kiss me again before I can tell.”
“Are you sure?” He smirked. “Or should we wait until after our mandatory conversation about books, art, and the things we love to do?”