Page 115 of Vows We Never Made

We head down to the beach near sundown and stroll along the sand, Ares walking calmly beside us. Ethan hasn’t bothered putting him on a leash—he’s too lazy to go chasing seagulls or get lost at his age.

One more thing I love about Portland’s best boy.

Though he won’t admit it, I think Ethan’s coming around to him, too, occasionally bending down to pat the old dog, sharing treats to encourage him to keep up.

It’s a struggle not to laugh when I catch him pulling out a secret dog cookie.

“You carry dog treats around now? Whoareyou?”

“He’s highly motivated by food,” Ethan grumbles. “I figure it’s sneak him a couple cookies, or I’ll have to lug him back.”

“Right.” I giggle.

“Anyway, you asked about the house…” And he fills me in on the remains of Leonidas’ estate.

It’s a long process involving a lot of people. Margot plus Hardass Holden and other former staff. They’re still cleaning it up and sorting through everything.

Eventually, when everything’s done, the old mansion will be sold, but I’m not sensing any great rush.

“Wilkes still has unfinished business with the will before the house goes on the market. My cousin, Cleo, she’s big into art and I guess he left her some treasure that’s very hush-hush. Glad it isn’t my problem,” he says with a shrug. “The old man left enough on my plate.”

His hesitation makes sense, all things considered, but there’s still a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Will you miss the place? The memories, I mean? I know it won’t be the same without Leo around…”

“I love the old house, but it hasn’t felt the same for a long time,” he admits. “We spent our best summers there. You, me, Margot, and Cleo. But I have my own place, Margot does too, and it doesn’t make sense to keep it around purely for nostalgia. The place costs a pretty penny to run. Even if we started offering tours as a historic home, the maintenance would be insane.”

“That’s a shame, Ethan. I’ll miss it.”

“End of an era,” he agrees.

As we dig our toes into the sand, just like we did in New York, I reach out and take his hand.

Hesitantly at first, still thinking he’ll pull away.

If mind-blowing sex isn’t too intimate, this totally is, but he squeezes my fingers, twisting so our fingers are linked.

After everything else we’ve done, it shouldn’t feel like a big deal.

But somehow, it’s intense and real, the way we’re palm to palm, fingers intertwined, a tingle racing through my skin.

Oh no.

It’s nothing, it’s nothing.

Just a fling.

Just a silly, impulsive ruse.

Not that I’d know what a fling should feel like.

This is kinda my first, keeping things casual.

“Shit, there it is. When I talked to Holden yesterday, he said it was still around. I thought he was joking.” Ethan slows, nodding at an abandoned, washed-up fishing ship half-buried in a sand dune.

I recognize it instantly, the same old boat, only a little more worn by time and the elements.

When we were kids, we’d explore this spot and build giant sandcastles. Margot and I would hide out in the shade from the hull while I weaved elaborate stories about pirate treasures and ghost crews trapped in its ruins.