Page 21 of Tides of Change
Garrett
I knocked on Ethan’s door at six sharp, the warm bag of takeout releasing mouthwatering aromas of char-broiled beef, tangy barbecue sauce, and crispy fried potatoes into the evening air. In the crook of my arm, four chilled bottles of craft beer clinked together. I adjusted my grip, suddenly very aware of the tightness in my shoulders. It wasn’t just the weight of the food—it was the weight of the conversation we were about to have.
The door opened, and Ethan stood there with a hesitant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His face looked pale, the usual spark in his expression dulled by…fear, maybe.
I lifted the bag, putting on my best attempt at an easygoing grin. “Special delivery from Barnacle Brews.”
His smile widened, genuine this time. “Bringing our evening out…in?”
“Exactly.” He moved back, and I stepped inside and kicked off my sneakers near the door. I looked around for direction. “This way?” I asked, gesturing toward a door off the living room.
“Yeah.” He closed the door behind me and locked it with a firm twist.
I crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. A teak table sat tucked into the corner, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of the overhead light. I grabbed a paper towel from a roll on the counter and placed the greasy bag on it.
Ethan inhaled deeply. “Something smells good.”
“I brought a cheeseburger, a barbecue pulled pork sandwich, and fries. Take your pick, and I’ll eat the other choice.”
Ethan grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet and slid them onto the table. “I’ll take the pulled pork.”
We worked in unspoken sync, unpacking the food and popping the caps off the IPAs. The sound of clinking bottles and rustling paper filled the space. The moment felt normal, comfortable.
As we sat down and dug in, I kept my tone casual but firm. “Enjoy your dinner because you’re coming clean afterward.”
The words sounded harsher than I had intended. I winced as Ethan choked on a bite of his sandwich and his face went red. He reached for his beer to wash it down.
“Sorry.” I softened my voice. “Didn’t mean for that to sound like a threat.”
He shook his head and gave me a wry smile. “It’s fine. You’re not wrong.”
I changed the subject to lighten the mood. “I finished reading the first Jake Slate book. That plot twist at the end? Didn’t see it coming.”
His face lit up, and the glow of it hit me square in the chest. I hadn’t realized how much I missed seeing him animated and confident. “Glad you liked it! I’d give you book two, but I didn’t bring books with me when I came here. Traveled light.”
The mention of his arrival in the wee hours of the morning sobered me. “I guess that’ll happen when you move across the country with only two suitcases.”
Ethan’s smile faltered, and a flush crept up his neck.
I instantly regretted the reminder. “Sorry,” I muttered. “That was insensitive.” I mentally kicked myself. Again.
He waved it off, though his voice was quieter. “It’s okay.” He hesitated, then added, “I worked out my plot point, though. The walk we took helped clear my head.”
“I’m glad.” I casually leaned back, trying to ease the mood again.
“What did you do this week?” He dunked a fry in ketchup.
“The usual—helped old ladies cross the street, tied knots, set up camping tents…”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm, exactly what I’d been hoping for. “Boy Scout,” he teased.
“So,” I said, leaning back in my chair with a grin, “if I’m the Boy Scout in this setup…what are you? And how’d you end up writing about murder and mayhem?”
Ethan smirked as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “You mean besides the obvious darkness lurking beneath this mild-mannered exterior?”
I chuckled. “Exactly.”
He took a long sip from his bottle, then set it down. His thumb ran along the label like he was thinking through his answer.
