Page 6 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER SIX

Garrett

The buttery scent of popcorn filled the air as I carried the bowl from the kitchen and placed it on the coffee table.

Noah vibrated with impatience, perched on the couch with his legs folded under him.

He bounced as he rattled off every detail about Frozen —his favorite parts and characters, and how many times he’d seen it.

“Too many times,” I groaned and plopped onto the couch beside him.

“Not enough times,” Ethan countered. A grin tugged at his lips as he settled on the other side of Noah. Ethan nudged Noah with his elbow. “This is one of my favorites. I could quote the whole movie by heart—I’ve watched it about a thousand times with my niece. Let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

That earned him a beaming smile from Noah, who seemed thrilled to have found a fellow Frozen aficionado. I grabbed the remote, queued up the movie, and hit play.

The opening notes of “Frozen Heart” filled the room, the deep voices of the ice harvesters singing as they worked.

Noah narrated and explained every character and scene, like he was giving Ethan a personal tour of Arendelle.

Ethan hung on every word, nodded, and asked questions that only fueled Noah’s enthusiasm.

When Anna sang “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” Noah and Ethan joined in, loud and off-key.

Ethan, for all of his virtues, had a cringeworthy singing voice.

The two clicked their tongues like a clock, and Ethan flicked his eyes back and forth like Anna peeking through the keyhole.

That sent Noah into a fit of giggles, and I chuckled.

I noticed Ethan’s energy. He wasn’t just tolerating the movie for Noah’s sake—he was fully into it and dramatically gasped when Hans made his first appearance.

Noah solemnly declared, “He’s the bad guy.”

Ethan clutched his chest. “What? No! He seems so nice!” and earned another round of laughter from Noah.

My spirits lifted at their interactions, and I sat back and enjoyed the fun.

By the time the snow creature showed up, the intensity on the screen had Noah sliding closer to Ethan.

When the creature roared, Noah covered his eyes and snuggled into Ethan’s side.

Ethan froze for a moment and his hand hovered uncertainly above Noah’s back.

He glanced at me and his eyes silently asked, Is this okay?

I nodded, and Ethan gently rested his hand on Noah’s back. He rubbed small circles as he murmured, “It’s okay, bub. I’ve got you.”

The simple gesture punched me in the gut. I watched Ethan care for Noah so naturally and thoughtfully, and an ache stirred within me—an ache that was unfamiliar and yet settling.

For the rest of the movie, Noah stayed glued to the edge of his seat, practically shouting at the characters as if they could hear him. “No, Anna, don’t trust him!” He threw his hands up.

I gave Ethan a knowing look and mouthed, “See what I mean?”

Ethan smirked in return, but a fondness lit his eyes.

When the movie ended and everyone in Arendelle had their happy-ever-after, Noah flopped back on the couch like he’d just finished a marathon. “That was awesome.”

I couldn’t agree more, though my thoughts weren’t about the movie. Ethan fit so effortlessly into our little family dynamic, which left me with a tug to know him better.

“All right, kiddo.” I ruffled Noah’s hair. “Bedtime.”

Predictably, Noah groaned. “But I’m not tired!”

“You just flopped like a snowman melting in the sun.”

Noah frowned. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired. But can Mr. Ethan read me a story?” He turned to Ethan. “Pleeease?”

Ethan looked at me, his expression unsure, as if worried he was intruding upon our bedtime routine.

“Your call,” I said with a shrug.

Ethan nodded, smiling gently. “We can read the book I signed.”

“Yay!” Noah launched off the sofa and his feet pounded the floor as he disappeared down the hall, a whirlwind of renewed energy. His laugh trailed behind him and lit up the house.

“Brush your teeth and go potty!” I called after him.

A glum, “Okay, Daddy,” floated back, muffled by the distance.

Ethan’s mellow laugh followed me as I headed toward Noah’s room. The sound wrapped around me, low and warm.

Inside Noah’s room, I helped him into his dinosaur-print pajamas, the colors faded from countless washes but still his favorite. Ethan respected our privacy and waited quietly in the hallway. I appreciated his consideration. Noah wiggled eagerly when I handed him the book.

“You can come in now.” I glanced over my shoulder.

Ethan stepped inside, and his hesitant smile caught me off guard. Shy yet sincere, it sent a ripple through my chest. I furrowed my brows, confused by my reaction to Ethan. It had been so long since a man’s smile affected me.

Ethan tilted his head, and concern dimmed his expression. “Everything okay?”

I forced my features into something more neutral. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for doing this.” I stepped back to give him room. I leaned against the doorframe and tried to recover from the odd sensation.

“My pleasure.” He perched on the edge of Noah’s bed, his tall frame out of place in the cramped room overflowing with stuffed animals and storybooks. He cleared his throat theatrically, cracked opened the book, and tilted it so Noah could see the illustrations.

Then Ethan began to read. His voice dropped an octave, his tone resonant and deep, and he slipped seamlessly into the role of storyteller. He gave each animal a distinct form of speech, from a grumpy bear to a squeaky squirrel, and even added exaggerated gestures. The effect was magical.

Laughter bubbled out of me before I could stop it.

Ethan utterly captivated Noah. His giggles rang out, pure and light, as he clung to every word Ethan read. When Ethan reached the last page and closed the book with a dramatic flourish, Noah sighed in contentment.

But then mischief entered his eyes. “Another!” he begged.

I shook my head and bit back a grin. “That’s enough for tonight, buddy. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Noah’s shoulders slumped, and his lower lip pushed out in an overblown pout. “Aww.”

“Say thank you to Mr. Ethan for reading the story.” I crossed my arms.

Noah perked up, bright with a zeal that was equal parts gratitude and a stalling tactic. “Thank you, Mr. Ethan!”

Ethan stood and carefully placed the book on the shelf. “Goodnight, Noah. Sweet dreams,” he whispered. He retreated to the hallway to allow us to finish our bedtime routine.

I tucked Noah in, smoothed the blankets, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His dark hair smelled faintly of baby shampoo, and for a moment I lingered, overwhelmed by the quiet love that always seemed to swell in moments like these. “Sleep tight, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Daddy,” he murmured, already drifting off.

I shut off the lamp, made sure his nightlight cast a glow over the room, and pulled the door until only a crack remained open.

Ethan waited in the hall. A strange mix of gratitude and a deeper pang twisted in my chest. The house felt a little fuller, a little brighter. And it wasn’t because of Noah.

Ethan nodded briefly, a warm smile on his lips. He turned, made his way to the front door, and stepped into his shoes. “Thank you for a fun evening.”

I was reluctant to let him go, though I didn’t have the excuse of Noah’s invitation to prolong the evening.

A connection between us sparked in a way I hadn’t expected but couldn’t ignore.

Ethan made me laugh—not just polite chuckles, but genuine laughter.

His sharp mind kept me on my toes. And the way he’d been with Noah—kind, patient, and unhurried—had struck a chord.

It wasn’t just that I admired him. I liked him. I wanted to know more about the man.

The thought of the evening ending left a hollow ache, as if I’d be letting go of something that mattered before I even fully understood it. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye—not yet. My pulse picked up, and my words stumbled out. “Stay for a beer?”