Looking at surfboards online. When you get back, I want you to give me another surfing lesson.
I’d love that.
So it’s a date?
It’s a date.
* * *
Friday comes and there’s no delivery. Not like I’m really expecting one, but I still wait, just in case. But nothing comes, which is fine, because it’s totally my turn. And since Ethan’s recently upped his game, it’s time for me to do the same.
Because I’m thinking of him, I text him while I’m stopped at a red light on Prospect. I don’t get an answer right away, but I know he’s busy. He’s probably in a meeting or something.
Later that night I text him again. Nothing big, just the beginning of a joke I’d heard at work today. I figure I can deliver the punch line after I get his attention. But by the time I climb into bed, I still haven’t heard from him. It feels strange, but I remind myself that he’s juggling a lot of different things. I’m sure he’ll call when he gets a chance.
Which is why, when I turn off the light, I make sure the phone’s on my nightstand. We’ve talked every night after his meetings, no matter how late it is. I don’t want to take the chance of missing his call.
But the phone doesn’t ring that night.
Or the next morning.
Or the next afternoon.
And he never does answer the two texts I sent him.
I start to get worried. What if something happened to him? It’s not like we’re official or anything. No one would call me if he got hurt or sick or—
“You’re being ridiculous!” Tori tells me. “If anything happened to Ethan, it would make the news, and obviously that hasn’t happened. And the last time he texted you was to make a date to go surfing. He’s probably just busy. ”
“I know, I know. ”
And I do. He’s a busy guy whose job it is to keep a lot of different balls in the air at any given moment. Besides, I’m not a clingy girl. I never have been and I certainly don’t intend to start now. He’ll call me when he gets a chance. He always does.
Except Sunday rolls around and I still don’t hear from him. Before he left, he told me that he was due in around three and asked if he could pick me up around five for an early dinner. So even though he hasn’t called or texted or emailed (I checked), I get dressed for dinner anyway. Surely he’d call if he doesn’t plan to make it.
Except…he doesn’t show up. Maybe I should be mad, but at this point I’m more terrified than I am angry. Something has to be wrong. It has to be, because the Ethan I know would never behave like this. He’d never just shut me out like this without an explanation. Never cut me off so coldly and completely.
Plus it doesn’t make sense. Like Tori said, the last thing he did was arrange to take me surfing again. Unless he didn’t really want to and I pushed him into it. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I was too pushy—
No. I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to spend all night torturing myself over the inner workings of Ethan Frost’s brain. It’s seven-thirty—two and a half hours past the time he was supposed to pick me up. Four and a half hours past the time he was supposed to land. Surely if he’d actually gotten in today, he would have made it home from the airport by now.
Which means I’m going over there. One way or the other, I’m going to find out what’s going on with him. Even if it breaks my heart.
Chapter Twenty-six
There’s a light on in Ethan’s kitchen window when I pull up to the gate. I know the code from the couple of nights I slept over, so I don’t bother pushing the button to alert him that I’m here. I just punch in the five numbers and wait for the gate to swing open.
By the time I get to the top of the driveway, my heart is pounding like a metronome at high speed. My stomach hurts, my heart hurts, and I’m shaking so badly I can barely get the car door open. This is going to be bad. I can tell, can feel it deep down inside myself. No matter how much I try to tell myself that he just forgot about dinner, I know better. Ethan Frost doesn’t forget anything.
As I walk up to the house, I realize there are actually three or four lights on in the downstairs alone. So he’s definitely home. The knowledge only makes me feel worse. Not as bad as imagining he might not be alone does, but still. I’ll deal with that eventuality only if I have to.
I ring the doorbell, wait an acceptable amount of time for him to answer. When he doesn’t, I ring it a second time. A third time. Then I start pounding on the front door.
“Ethan! It’s me. Open the door. Please, Ethan. Open the door. ”
I feel like a stalker standing out here, like a crazy person who just won’t get the hint. But damn it, this isn’t fair. He’s the one who came after me. He’s the one who made me fall in love with him. He’s the one who did all of this. And if he wants out now, that’s fine. But he doesn’t get to just ignore me. He’s going to have to tell me to my face that he’s no longer interested. I’m still covered in fading hickeys from the man, for God’s sake. Surely I deserve that much consideration.
So I keep knocking, determined to keep it up until he answers. If nothing else, I want to know that he’s all right. That this is just about breaking up, not about something terrible having happened to him.