Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

31. Marisa

CHAPTER 31

Marisa

PRACTICALLY OBSCENE

I t’s been over a week since the Trunk or Treat Festival. It’s also been over a week since I’ve seen Ethan. After we agreed to keep being friends, I thought we’d at least see each other, chat a bit, maybe even hang out. But nothing. I haven’t even seen him in passing, almost like he’s avoiding me.

It’s not as if we were very close beforehand, but I thought after driving me over a snowy mountain pass and sticking his tongue down my throat, there would at least be a little texting. I could always reach out, but I don’t want to come across as annoying or clingy. For all I know, he was only placating me to avoid the fallout of our kiss and intends to avoid me until I leave.

My fingers twitch across my phone screen, practically itching to text him. But I can’t. I won’t do it. I’m not going to beg for attention from someone who doesn’t want to give it.

And what would be the point, anyway? Clearly, there’s chemistry there and hanging out or talking would only make it that much more apparent after we both decided not to get involved with one another. Ethan’s being the rational one, doing the right thing and avoiding?—

My thoughts are cut off by the chime of my phone, alerting me of a text message.

Ethan: Hey

I stare at the text as a line of heat works its way through me, lighting fire to all the feelings I’ve been pretending aren’t that intense. It’s a silly crush, that’s all. It’ll go away. It’s not even a good text. I press the sleep button on my phone and toss it on the couch cushion next to me, purposefully choosing to distance myself from it and not respond to his shitty text. I mean, he didn’t even use any punctuation.

Seconds tick by, the large, decorative clock on the wall echoing like a ticking time bomb. I stare at the phone and then, before I can second guess myself, reach for it and fire back a text to Ethan. What can I say? I have zero restraint.

Marisa: Shane?

I can’t help but giggle. He knows I have his number saved, but it’s so fun riling him up.

Ethan: Very funny. If Shane were texting you, he would’ve sent a dick pic and misspelled every other word.

Marisa: So you’re saying I’m not getting a dick pic? Darn.

A minute later a picture comes through and for a second, like a very, very split second, I worry he actually did send a dick pic. But then I remember I’m texting Ethan, and he would never.

A laugh bursts out of me as I open the picture, and it’s of a banana. A banana being held in a very suggestive pose, much like a man would actually take a dick pic, down low, by his crotch, his hand fisting it. I’m momentarily distracted by the prominent veins in his forearms. The fact that he knows exactly how all guys take dick pics makes me think he’s definitely taken one before. Maybe there’s a side to Ethan I’ve never seen.

Marisa: Comparing yourself to a banana? Someone’s cocky…get it

Ethan: You have the humor of a ten-year-old boy.

Marisa: Thank you. It’s one of my many positive attributes.

Ethan: What are you up to tonight?

My heartbeat quickens. Where is this going?

Marisa: Just having a night in, watching trashy TV. What are you doing tonight?

Ethan: Same as you, minus the trashy TV. I have the Discovery channel on for noise.

I smile into the phone. He’s such a dork, and I love it.

Marisa: Ok old man.

Marisa: Want some company?

I hold my breath, waiting for his response. So much for not begging for attention. Thankfully, he’s quick on the reply.

Ethan: Sure. I’ll come to you. Be there in about ten minutes.

My heart practically leaps out of my chest with excitement, which evolves into pure panic. I have almost no time to make myself look presentable and tidy up the place. Scrambling, I shove anything that’s lying around out of sight, jamming it into every nook and cranny I can find. The goal is to look like I don’t live here. There cannot be any evidence of life. Thankfully, my dad was able to make room in his garage for my boxes, so at least it’s not as cluttered.

Racking my brain, I mentally cycle through my inventory of clothing. I need to wear something that’s cute and put together while simultaneously looking casual and lounge-y. My current outfit of decade-old flannel pajama pants—ripping apart at the ass seam—and a stained band T-shirt aren’t exactly presentable. Strapped for time, I decide on a pair of flared leggings with a cropped tank top and an oversize, relaxed cardigan. Hopefully, it says I was totally already wearing this and definitely didn’t change just for you.

As I’m giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror, there’s a knock at the front door. A case of the jitters hits me. I wasn’t prepared to be this nervous. It’s Ethan. We’ve shared a motel room, we’ve kissed for crying out loud, but this feels like more. Just us two, hanging out, alone, with really no reason other than wanting each other’s company. It feels like a date. But it’s not a date, right? Because we’re friends. We’re just friends.

“Hey, come on in.”

My voice is too high. I need to calm down. Calm down, Marisa.

He walks in and holds up a bottle of wine and a box of Cheez-Its. “I brought sustenance.”

He remembered. I’m positive there’s a tinge of pink shading my cheeks right now.

“I thought you hated Cheez-Its?”

He sets the wine and box of crackers on the counter. “Oh, I do. They taste like vomit. But you like them, and I heard they pair well with Chardonnay, hence the bottle.”

Why does this feel like the nicest thing a man has ever done for me? Jesus, I’m easy to please.

“What are you going to eat?”

He opens his jacket and pulls out a bag of popcorn from the inside pocket. “Popcorn for me and vomit crackers for you, win win.”

I grab the popcorn bag from him and get it going in the microwave. I have no idea what to do, so I occupy myself in the kitchen, getting out bowls and glasses. I’m so nervous I could jump out of my skin. He walks in here with wine and Cheez-Its, and I’m ready to get down on my knees for the man. I need to get a handle on myself, and I need to do it now. We’re friends. He’s being friendly. Friends totally go out of their way to buy your favorite snack food, even if they themselves don’t like it. Right?

“It smells good in here,” Ethan comments.

My head gestures toward the vanilla candle I have burning on the coffee table. “It’s the candle. I bought it the other day at the farmers market.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. It smells like you in here. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” I giggle. If I wasn’t blushing already, I am now. “Um, thank you.” I turn away from him, opening a kitchen drawer. This is going to be a long night.

“Want to do the honors?” I ask, handing over the wine bottle opener.

He grabs the opener from me, and his hand lightly brushes against mine, causing my stomach to dip. Very, very long night.

“This is our 2013 Chardonnay. It was one of our best Chardonnay years.” He goes on to explain the tasting notes, but I can’t seem to hear him over the distraction of watching his arms twist the opener. His forearm muscles are really working at it. Somewhere between when he walked through the door and now, he slipped off his jacket. He looks practically obscene in a simple black T-shirt. I’ve never noticed a man’s arms so much in my life until I met Ethan. I think I’m developing a new obsession.

He hands me the glass, now filled with wine, pulling me out of my distracting thoughts. He’s watching me like he’s waiting to see my reaction to it, so I obey, because I’m completely weak for him, and take a sip of the wine. The cool liquid dances across my tongue, its buttery flavor lingering long after I’ve swallowed. It’s delicious, but I would expect nothing less.

“Better than the fruit juice you’re used to?” he teases, nudging his head to the crappy bottle of wine I have sitting on the counter.

“Slightly.” I smile so he knows I’m teasing him, and he shakes his head at me, walking off toward the couch with our snacks.

“Don’t make fun of me,” I say as I take a seat next to him, careful to distance myself by keeping one cushion between us. “But I may have purchased the entire season of that telenovela we started watching at the motel.”

He leans back and laughs. “Seriously?”

“See, I knew you were going to make fun of me.”

He starts swiping through his phone. “I’m not making fun of you.” He points his phone toward me, showing me the screen. “I did the same thing.”

The screen shows his online purchase of the entire first season.

Color me shocked. I thought he was just pacifying me by letting me watch it when we were in the motel. Brandon would do that in the beginning of our relationship, act like he enjoyed watching one of my shows only to tell me he actually couldn’t stand it once we were a few months in. It’s silly really, because who cares? It’s just a TV show. Except, I guess I did. He made my interests seem stupid simply because they weren’t his. From the shows I liked to the books I read, even down to my taste in music, he thought they were all ridiculous. He wanted to make me feel small for liking things he deemed too feminine to take seriously.

“You actually liked it?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah. I only stayed up all night watching it with you. I got invested. I have to know how it ends. Plus, I’m kind of fuzzy on some of the details, and I think it’s because we missed the first couple episodes.”

I must be staring at him with a weird expression because he says, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, put it on. The popcorn is getting cold. And start on episode one.”

I fiddle with the remote as Ethan gets settled. I try to ignore how aware I am of his weight pressing down on the couch, or how his scent is so much stronger when it’s trapped inside this tiny cottage, or that I want nothing more than to crawl into his arms and let myself get completely lost in him.

As the beginning credits start, Ethan clears his throat. “So, did you accept the job?”

My pulse stills. I was going to tell him. I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I turn to him, trying to look relaxed. “Yeah. I did.”

He nods and his lips lift, looking content. “Good. Congratulations.”

His genuine happiness for me shouldn’t hurt my feelings, yet a corner of my heart cracks as I force a smile. “Thanks.”

In the weeks that follow, Ethan and I fall into the rhythm of an unofficial routine. With harvest over, Ethan’s schedule is much more relaxed and back to regular business hours. No more early mornings or late nights. His weekends aren’t as chaotic either.

In a matter of days, we complete the entire novela we started with. From there, Ethan makes me watch Top Gun , which I only pretend to hate. And then I make him watch some of my favorite Nora Ephron movies, starting with Sleepless in Seattle and ending with When Harry Met Sally . I expected some protest, because most guys don’t enjoy sitting through chick flicks, but he happily watched and even got a little antsy with how long it took Sam and Annie to finally come face-to-face in Sleepless in Seattle .

Sometimes we’re at my cottage and sometimes we’re at his. I prefer his, because Goose joins us and he’s really good at keeping my feet warm. It started slowly, a night here, a night there, then two in a row, and so on and so on. Now it’s nearly every day, and I’m not sure what that means.

Long gone is the grumpy man I met, though he does still have his moments, but never with me. No, with me, he’s different. He pays attention to my likes and dislikes, learning that the only candy I’ll eat is chocolate, that I can make one cup of coffee last an entire day, and that my feet are always cold, but I refuse to wear socks. I learn about him, too. I find out about his aversion to most vegetables and tease him about it constantly. He tells me about how he never planned to follow in his dad’s footsteps. That he worries about disappointing his family if he makes a bad decision that hurts the business. He talks about living in Woodinville, and about the house he was supposed to build with his ex. That he’s relieved they didn’t get far in the process since he still hopes to build on the land someday. It reminds me of the conversation I had with Leanne about her dream of having all her children live nearby. I don’t bring it up to Ethan, though. I sense that sharing the house plans with me was a big enough step, and I don’t want to add any pressure.

We’ve grown a lot closer, but true to our agreement, we never cross the line. He stays on one side of the couch, and I stay on the other. We don’t touch. Ever. One time we almost grazed arms in the kitchen, but he leaped out of the way like I was a hot stove.

In some ways, this friendship feels a lot like voluntary torture. Because as much as I enjoy hanging out with him—in fact, he’s often the best part of my day—it’s not enough. I thought I had feelings for him when we had only kissed, but now that I know him, my feelings have grown from hesitant to undeniable. Ethan doesn’t seem to be suffering the way I am, though. Any feelings or interest he may have had are clearly dissolved.

“Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?” Ethan asks.

I press pause on Love Is Blind . “Yes, I do.” I can’t contain my excitement. I meant to tell him earlier, but I got distracted after I dove into my next project for the second edition of The Vine .

His brows raise. “You seem awfully spirited over one of the more boring holidays we have.”

I give a mock exasperated sigh. “I’m not excited about the actual holiday, silly. I’m excited because my mom is coming. She hasn’t been home for the holidays in years.”

His head cocks, and his eyes narrow slightly. “Your mom hasn’t been home for the holidays in years? Who were you spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with? Because I know it wasn’t with your dad.”

The harshness in his voice catches me off guard. I decide to shrug it off to a stressful work day, because it feels like it’s coming out of nowhere.

“With Hillary or my ex, Brandon.” Saying Brandon’s name out loud leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Are you mad or something?”

Ethan’s grip on his glass of water tightens. “What? No, I’m not mad. I’m just trying to understand how you’ve gone years without a family to spend the holidays with.”

This time his voice is much gentler, but his words hit all the same. Pity. He feels sorry for me.

“Not everyone has a giant family like yours.” My defenses are rising. “I’ve known Hillary’s family my entire life, so it wasn’t weird if I spent a holiday or two with them. And Brandon and I were together for four years. I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m being a dick. I’m sorry, it was a stressful day, and I’m not myself.”

Our eyes lock, an awkward dissonance settling in the air. His reaction has me feeling off kilter, and I don’t like the small seed of doubt starting to take root in my gut. Rather than dwell on it, I try to dissolve the stilted atmosphere.

“Can you please be excited for me? It actually works out perfectly because my dad is going to spend it with Jenn’s family in Spokane, and they were nice enough to lend me their house for my mom and I to celebrate in.”

He smiles softly. “I am. I’m excited for you. I promise.”

Some of the tension eases, but his initial reaction continues to linger in my mind.

“The reason I was asking,” he continues. “Is because my mom wanted me to let you know you’re more than welcome to join us. And now that your mom is coming, obviously, she’s also welcome.”

Thanksgiving with the Ledgers. If my mom wasn’t coming, I would love to spend the holiday with them. Growing up, I always imagined what it would be like to spend the holidays in a big family. The chaos, the mess, the conversations. I used to be so envious of my friends who had lots of siblings. As I grew older, I became more appreciative of the quiet relaxation of my family’s holidays, but a small part of me always wondered.

People assume I have a large family because my mom is Mexican, but that isn’t the case. My mom left her family behind in Mexico when she was a teenager and never looked back. I used to ask questions about them when I was younger, wondering why all my friends had aunts and uncles and grandparents and I only had my dad’s one living parent, my Grandpa Johnny, who passed away when I was eight. Eventually, I gave up, because the questions never got me anywhere, and I was still left wondering what became of that part of my family.

“Thank you for the invite, but I think we’re going to keep it just us two. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. I’m really wanting that alone time.”

He nods, understanding, and doesn’t press me any further. We resume the show, trying to get back to a comfortable place, but we never get there.