Page 17 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

I nodded, trying not to get distracted by the way the golden glow of the lights lit up the red highlights in his hair. “That makes sense. Did you have any say in who they cast to play Jake?”

Ethan turned to the oven and pulled out a tray of perfectly browned garlic bread. The scent hit me like a tsunami—garlic, butter, a hint of herbs. My mouth watered at the delicious aroma.

“No.” He set the tray on a butcher block on the counter. “But I met Brock Mitchell. They invited me to the first day of filming.”

“No shi—oot?” I caught myself and instinctively glanced around the kitchen.

Ethan chuckled, low and warm. “You can swear around me. Noah’s not here.”

“Best to stay in the habit,” I muttered and tried to ignore the way his laughter did funny things to my stomach.

He picked up his phone, swiped the screen, and gave it to me. His hand brushed mine briefly with a spark of temptation.

I squinted at the photo. There he was, standing next to Brock Mitchell, who looked like he could toss Ethan over his shoulder without breaking a sweat.

Ethan wasn’t small—tall and fit in a way that suggested he exercised—but Mitchell made him look almost fragile.

Almost. But I only had eyes for Ethan. Ethan’s wide smile in the picture was what really caught my eye, a smile I rarely saw under the current circumstances. It made my breath hitch.

“Wow,” I managed, handing the phone back. “He makes a great Jake Slate.”

Ethan grabbed a knife and started slicing the garlic bread. “I know, right? They did a good job with the casting.”

I picked up the basket he’d filled with bread; the warmth radiated through the fabric napkin in my hands. “When does the show come out?”

“They’re wrapping up filming in Ontario. It’ll be streaming next fall.” He plated generous squares of lasagna, the cheese stretching and oozing. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

We carried everything to the table and sat.

As soon as I took my first bite, I couldn’t stop the groan of appreciation that escaped me.

The lasagna was rich, cheesy, and full of flavor, the kind of comfort food that was like a soft bed after a long day.

“Much better than mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.” I savored another forkful.

“You haven’t tasted my homemade mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

I raised an eyebrow. “Going to show me up, huh?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughed, and the sound lit up the room.

Over dinner, we talked about the first Jake Slate book. Ethan’s passion was obvious as he described the plot twists and character development, his face animated with every word. I hung on every sentence, more invested than I cared to admit.

“I don’t plan much when I write.” He leaned back in his chair. “The story unfolds as I go. The twist for the first book hit me during a walk in Central Park—an hour away from my computer. I had to stop and type up notes on my phone before I lost it.”

“Walks seem to inspire you.”

His gaze turned distant. “I never thought about it, but yeah, I guess they do. There’s something about the mindless rhythm of my footsteps. It stimulates my thought processes.”

We lingered over the meal and traded stories. I told him about Noah’s adventures, and Ethan’s snickers filled the pauses between my tales.

“One Christmas.” I grinned at the memory. “He insisted on wearing his little suit to my parents’ house. Used his tie as a napkin for the entire dinner.”

Ethan chuckled. “What else are ties for?”

Cleaning up afterward felt strangely natural. We moved around each other in the kitchen like we’d been doing it for years, anticipating each other’s movements without a word. There was something…easy about it, something that made me ache in a way I wasn’t ready to name.

We carried bowls of Cherry Garcia to the couch. I sank into the cushions, the rich sweetness of the ice cream a perfect end to the meal. Ethan sat close, and his shoulder brushed mine just enough to remind me he was there. Too close, and yet not close enough.

And that was the problem. Ethan wasn’t just someone I was getting to know. He was becoming someone I couldn’t stop thinking about. And I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Ethan placed his bowl on the coffee table and picked up the TV remote. “Want to watch a thriller?”

“Absolutely. Turn it on, and let’s see if it holds up to your book.”

Ethan snorted a laugh. “My books aren’t the gold standard.”

I waved my spoon in the air and flashed a crooked grin. “Pick one, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

As Ethan navigated through the streaming options, I noticed the faint crease between his brows. He always looked so serious when he focused, and it tugged at something deep inside me—something I was still grappling with.

He paused on a title. “Have you seen this one? It’s about a detective searching for a woman who vanished.”

“Right up my alley. Let’s do it.” I finished the last spoonful of melting ice cream, savoring the sweet flavor as I set my bowl next to Ethan’s on the table.

The movie opened with a man in shadows stalking a woman. Ethan stiffened beside me, his fingers whitening around the remote. The tension in the room was palpable, and I felt an urge to reassure him.

“Maybe we should watch something else,” I offered quietly. My hand hovered over his thigh for a moment before I finally let it rest there, the contact soothing me as much as I hoped it would soothe him. My pulse hammered in my ears. Would he be all right with my touch? Or was I crossing a line?

He glanced at me and, to my immense relief, gave my hand a firm squeeze. “I’m okay,” he said, soft but steady.

I pulled my hand back, reassured, but when the man on-screen grabbed the woman, Ethan’s muscles tautened. I slid my arm along the back of the sofa and let it span his shoulders. His body was rigid at first, but then he leaned into me, the subtle weight of his trust making my chest tighten.

My heart thundered, not from the suspense of the movie but from the sheer gravity of the moment.

This wasn’t just about comforting Ethan; it was about what it meant for me—for us.

My mind swirled with questions, doubts, and a cautious thrill at the realization that I’d taken a step toward acknowledging the part of myself I’d suppressed.

“…inciting incident.”

Ethan’s voice broke through my haze. I blinked and glanced at him. “Sorry, what?” I cleared my throat to remove the tremor in my voice.

“That was just the inciting incident. Now we’re into the exposition and the introduction of crucial story elements.” He turned his head, and his eyes caught mine. Husky and low, he said, “But the rising action and climax are coming, so leave your arm there.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Well, when you put it like that…” I dared to let my hand fall to his shoulders, the solid warmth of him under my touch a mix of comfort and exhilaration.

Ethan’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and his gaze held mine for a beat too long. The sudden blare of a siren on the screen made us both flinch and broke the spell.

As the movie progressed, Ethan leaned against my side, his nearness welcome. He pointed out the beats of the story, his insights fascinating and eye-opening. I knew I’d never watch a movie the same way again.

By the time the movie reached its heart-pounding climax, I was fully engrossed. My palms were damp, and my heart raced—not just from the suspense, but from the subtle, quiet intimacy of Ethan pressed against me. The relief was almost overwhelming when the detective found the woman alive.

Ethan leaned forward to grab the remote and turn off the TV. I reluctantly dropped my arm from his shoulders, the loss of contact disheartening.

“Well, that gave Jake Slate a run for his money.” I broke the silence.

Ethan grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I smirked and leaned back into the couch. “Your books are still the gold standard.”

“Have you read any other thrillers?” he teased and arched an eyebrow.

I scratched my temple, sheepish. “Well…no.”

Ethan burst into laughter. His belly laugh was infectious, and I chuckled at my own expense.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, laughter still bubbling up from deep within. “Oh, God. I needed that.” His shoulders shook with residual sniggers, his face lit with an ease I hadn’t seen in days.

I watched Ethan laugh, truly laugh, and it made my chest feel buoyant, as if I were finally doing something to lift the weight he carried. I couldn’t find his stalker yet, couldn’t give him the peace he deserved—but I could give him this. A few hours of safety, distraction, and companionship.

I sobered quickly at the thought of his stalker, but for Ethan’s sake, I kept a smile on my face. I vowed silently that I would solve his case, no matter how many leads went cold. He deserved to live without looking over his shoulder.

A rude yawn escaped before I could catch it. I stifled it quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I muttered and rubbed the back of my neck. I didn’t want the evening to end. Being here, with Ethan, felt right in a way I hadn’t expected.

Ethan’s hand landed gently on my knee, and his warmth cut through the fabric of my jeans.

“You must have had a long day. Don’t let me keep you,” he said, ever thoughtful.

He had a way of putting others first, even when he had every right to focus on himself.

It was one of the many things I admired about him.

I stood reluctantly and stretched my arms overhead to shake off the pull of exhaustion.

“I do need to get to bed,” I admitted. “Noah’s coming home early tomorrow morning, and we’ve got his classmate’s birthday party in the afternoon.

” I rolled my eyes as if it were a burden.

“Ten five-year-olds and their parents? Pure chaos.”

Ethan’s grin was knowing, and his lips quirked upward just enough to make my heart stutter. “You can’t fool me,” he said, low and warm. “You love being a dad. All of it.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I’d do anything for that boy.” I smiled, unable to hide my love for my son. I moved toward the entryway, and Ethan shadowed me.

I turned to thank him for the evening and caught his gaze.

My breath hitched at the intensity I found there—longing, desire, and something deeper that sent a shiver down my spine.

My heart thudded, and I wavered as the air between us thickened.

He was waiting for me to decide, his stillness an invitation.

Did I want to take a further step toward the decision I wrestled with?

The answer came faster than I anticipated. Yes. I wanted it more than I could put into words.

My gaze dropped to his mouth, framed by his trim beard. Red highlights threaded through the bristles. My fingers itched to touch him, to feel the softness of that beard, to press against the fullness of his lips and taste whatever sweetness lingered there.

I swallowed hard, and my voice dropped into a register I barely recognized. “May I kiss you?”

Ethan didn’t answer right away, but his eyes darkened and his lips parted just slightly. He stepped closer, close enough that his heat seeped into me. His hand rose, hesitated for a moment, and then cupped my jaw. His thumb brushed lightly along the curve of my cheek.

“Yes,” he whispered as his breath mingled with mine.

I closed the remaining distance and captured his lips in a tentative kiss, gentle and testing.

His lips were soft and yielding, and the unfamiliar texture of his beard sent a thrill skittering across my skin.

Beard to stubble, man to man. So different from the silky skin of a woman’s mouth, and yet thrilling.

Ethan pressed closer. The kiss deepened, and his fingers slid into my hair as mine gripped his waist.

My heart pounded furiously, and each beat thundered with the realization that this—this moment—was changing something fundamental inside me. Kissing Ethan felt like crossing a threshold, like finding a part of myself I’d been missing.

When we finally pulled apart, our breaths mixing, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Ethan’s gaze searched mine, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly swollen. Sexy . Passionate. Stunning. More than stunning—he looked like someone I wanted to protect, cherish.

I cleared my throat, my voice thick with emotion. “That…was worth the wait.”

Ethan’s laugh was quiet, a little shy. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

The words settled in my chest where they belonged. We were on the cusp of something momentous.

But I’d utterly failed at keeping the evening casual.