Later in the evening, after they’d cut the cake, she stood alone in a corner of the backyard, nursing a seltzer and surveying the scene. The party was mostly made up of Grey’s casual acquaintances and Kamilah’s close friends, which wasn’t surprising. Grey’s inner circle could barely fill their kitchen, let alone their backyard. She was grateful Kamilah had ignored her request for a quiet birthday. She’d needed this more than she thought.
And then, as he usually did when her mind was slack and drifting, Ethan snuck in. She closed her eyes, her face flushing, the spring air feeling unseasonably warm. She hated how much she wished he was there. How keenly she felt his absence.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw him.
That part wasn’t unusual. She thought she saw him everywhere these days. But that was usually a quick glimpse out of the corner of her eye, disappearing as soon as she turned her head. Now he was still there even when she looked away and looked back, moving steadily through the crowd toward her. Grey was frozen to the spot. Had she actually wished him into existence, trying in vain to keep him out of her thoughts when she’d blown out her candles?
Only when he was close enough for his all-too-familiar scent to hit her did she allow herself to believe he was really there. She was too dumbfounded to do anything but stare at him.
As if his presence weren’t enough on its own, she realized with a jolt that he was wearing his navy blue T-shirt with the threadbare chest pocket. The same shirt he’d been wearing that day in Palm Springs, the one he’d pulled over his head in a flash before slipping into bed with her for the first time. Was it on purpose? Were all the details of that day, and the ones that followed, etched in his mind as indelibly as they were in hers?
He seemed overwhelmed by the sight of her, too, shifting his weight, his eyes skittering to her face, then away again. She was dimly aware that people were staring at them, but she was glued to the spot.
Finally, he spoke.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” She meant to sound accusatory, but the question came out as pure astonishment.
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” he said as if it were obvious.
“How did you…”
His head turned toward Kamilah, cuddling with Andromeda on the other side of the backyard. Grey’s face must have clouded over, because he quickly interjected, “Don’t blame her. I was the one who reached out to her.”
Anger flared in her stomach anyway. “You reached out to her, but not to me? Did you lose my number or something?” People around them were beginning to stare.
He shifted his weight. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
Grey made a quick calculation. There were too many people inside the house for the living room to be an option. But her bedroom was obviously out of the question. “Fine. Let’s go out front.”
* * *
—
AS ETHAN FOLLOWED Grey through the back door into the kitchen, he instantly regretted all the nights they’d spent at his place, that sterile, impersonal prison he’d created for himself. Her house was cozy and charming; not cluttered enough to be maximalist, but still bursting with color and texture on every wall and surface. He wanted to ask her to slow down and give him a chance to take it in, examine every book on her shelves, every print on her walls, every Polaroid on her fridge. Each object another clue to help him unravel her further. But all too soon, they were out the door and in her front yard.
She stopped abruptly and turned to face him, crossing her arms. He stopped, too, the look on her face warning him to keep his distance.
“How’s your ankle?”
“It’s fine. Why are you here?” she repeated without missing a beat.
“I missed you.” At first, that seemed to be the right thing to say, her expression softening, but then she turned her face to the ground. When she spoke again, there was something aching in her tone.
“You could’ve texted me. You didn’t need to go behind my back and, like, conspire to show up and blindside me.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me. You tried to leave before I woke up. You broke the contract. I was just trying to feel out the situation. I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.”
She was silent. The faint sounds of laughter and pulsating bass drifted over from the backyard, sounding like they were coming from a different world.
“It was too much. I couldn’t handle it. The pictures…the whole weekend…everything. I thought it would make things easier if I didn’t. If we didn’t.”
“So you were just ready to go the rest of your life without ever talking to me again?”
She looked back at him.
“I thought that was what you wanted. Not to get too close.”
He shook his head in frustration, jamming his hands into his pockets.
“I didn’t want you to break the fucking contract, Grey. Without even talking to me first. I thought this meant something to you.”
“It did. It does.” She covered her face with her hands and groaned, her next words coming out muffled. “It means so much that it scares the shit out of me. That’s why it’s good that we…that it ended when it did. It needed to happen before we got in too deep.” Her hands fell back to her sides.
His heart leapt, then plummeted. They fell back into silence for a moment.
“I read your profile. The Sugar Clarke piece. Audrey sent it to me.”
She looked at him again, her eyes searching, trying to figure out where he was heading. She recrossed her arms.
“And?”
“And…I saw what you said. About…about how you…love me.” He wasn’t sure he would be able to successfully get the words out. Her eyes widened, quickly, almost imperceptibly, before she looked away again.
“Of course I said that. I had to. That’s what everyone thinks, right?” Her voice was dull, unconvincing. He knew she was a better actress than that. She wasn’t even trying.
“Right. So you don’t, then.”
She said nothing.
“Grey. Look at me.”
She looked back up at him, the sharpness in her expression gone, replaced by apprehension. He was seized by a fierce, overpowering need to get to the bottom of her feelings for him, right now, whether or not he made an idiot of himself in the process. He had to know. He wasn’t going to waste what might be his last opportunity to do so.
“If you don’t love me, tell me now. I’ll leave you alone. We can move on with our lives. But if you have any kind of feelings for me…it doesn’t even have to be love, if that’s too much. Because I don’t know about you, but it’s way too late for me. I’m already in too deep, and it scares the shit out of me, too. I just need to know. I need to know if you…if you feel the same.”
It was like time stopped. Ethan started to open his mouth again to equivocate, to soften the intensity that had shocked even him. She was staring at him, mouth slightly open, her eyes dark, gleaming pools.
The next thing he knew, she was moving closer, the distance between them going from respectful to intimate in a heartbeat, her hand knotting in his shirt and pulling his face down to meet hers. Then nothing mattered besides the feeling of her tongue sliding between his lips, the warmth of her body against his, his hands tangling in the silk of her hair.
Suddenly, silently, but with as much impact as a gunshot, a camera flashed next to their faces. They froze, and without thinking, Ethan released Grey and took off after it.
* * *
—
ONCE THE SHOCK of the flash had faded from her vision, Grey sat numbly on her front stoop, waiting for Ethan to come back. Thankfully, there only seemed to be one photographer at large. Her stomach curdled. He must have followed Ethan to her house. She’d never been bothered here before. She’d let herself believe she was safe here.
Her eyes glazed over and she brought her fingers to her swollen lips. Right now, she had something even bigger to grapple with than her privacy (or lack thereof).
Ethan loved her.
Ethan loved her.
What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?
More important, did she love him?