The Wrong Kind of Right

chapter 11

I didn't cry about it, which felt like its own small victory.

I just got quiet. Efficient. I showed up at the boatyard on time, did the work, made polite conversation with customers, and made sure there was always a clipboard or a crate or something between me and Ethan whenever the day allowed for it. He noticed. Of course he noticed. He wasn't stupid, whatever else he was.

"You're mad," he said on the second day, cornering me by the inventory shelves when there was finally no one else around.

"I'm not mad. I'm fine."

"That's the same tone you used on my mother when she asked if you liked her lasagna."

"I didn't like the lasagna."

"I know. That's my point."

I almost laughed, which annoyed me, because I didn't want to be charmed out of being upset. "Look, it's fine, Ethan. We got caught up in a storm. People say things, do things, almost-do things, in storms. It doesn't have to be a whole conversation."

"Doesn't it?"

"You made it very clear it didn't mean anything by not doing it."

Something flickered across his face — guilt, maybe, or frustration at being caught in his own contradiction. "That's not — I didn't say it didn't mean anything."

"You didn't have to. You just left."

He didn't have a comeback for that, which told me everything I needed to know. I grabbed the box I'd come for and walked past him, and he let me go, which somehow hurt more than if he'd tried to stop me.

That night at dinner, we were both too polite, too careful, passing dishes and making small talk with his mother like nothing had shifted between us, and I caught Maya watching us with narrowed, suspicious eyes across the table, clearly cataloging the tension neither of us was doing a good job hiding.

Later, alone in the guest room, I sat on the edge of the bed I'd started to think of as mine and let myself finally feel it — not anger, exactly, but the familiar, old ache of almost-love slipping through my fingers before I even got a real grip on it. Like watching my parents' marriage all over again, just smaller, faster, more personal.

I'm not doing this again, I told myself. I'm not spending a whole summer waiting for someone to decide if I'm worth the risk.

I meant it when I said it.

I had no idea how quickly I'd be tested on that promise.