The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(76)

Somewhere off Point Judith, Ethan turns the boat into the wind and drops the sails, where they flap companionably. The boat bobs gently on the waves. “You hungry?” he asks. “I’m starving.”

“Sure,” I say, getting up to retrieve our lunch.

There are plates and cups in the cupboard. I make up two glasses of Del’s and unwrap the sandwiches. Ethan spreads a blanket on the deck. The wind has conveniently died down, and I pass the plates to him, then join him on deck, the shy feeling back.

“This is gorgeous,” he says, picking up a sandwich and surveying it.

“Thanks,” I say, flexing my hands.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yup,” I answer, swallowing. Then I decide to be honest. “I’m feeling a little nervous,” I admit.

“Afraid you’ll fall in?” he says with a grin.

“No.” I don’t say anymore, just look at him steadily, my hands buzzing.

He tilts his head, the wind stirring his hair. “It’s just me, Lucy,” he says gently.

“That’s the point.” I smile. “I’ll get over it. Don’t worry. This is great. Let’s talk about something else.”

He grins. “Sure.”

“How’s your job these days?” I take a bite of the sandwich. It’s awfully good, I have to admit.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t love it.” He pulls his sweater over his head, revealing a white cotton oxford, a sharp contrast to his tanned skin.

“Why are you doing it, then?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, just takes another bite and looks off to the horizon. “I want to be near Nicky,” he says eventually. “And the money’s really good. Which makes me a soulless corporate monster, according to my dad.” He grins. “But it’s nice to be able to give Nicky’s savings account a big check each month.”

“He doesn’t need it, you know,” I say, then bite my tongue. Parker once told me that upon his birth, Nicky automatically inherited ten million dollars from the family trust.

“I know,” Ethan says. “But I want to give something anyway. Even if it’s nothing compared to what Parker’s family has.”

“Well, the best thing you give him is you,” I say, earning another smile. My stomach flips, and my cheeks warm yet again. “And Ethan, you shouldn’t be in a job you don’t like.”

“Well, there is the torture-the-parents benefit. We can’t rule that out,” he replies, his voice light.

“Torturing your parents can’t feel good,” I say.

He takes a pull of his lemonade. “It feels okay,” he says evenly. “After all, they’ve tortured me a fair bit over the years, too.”

“How?” I ask.

He considers me before answering. “Compared with St. Jimmy, I’ll always be the next best thing.”

I swallow hard. “I’m sure that’s not true, Ethan,” I say. “You have to stop thinking that, because it’s just not true.”

He takes another bite of sandwich. “Well. You might be right. You talk to them more than I do.” He pauses. “Have you said anything to them about us?”

Once again, my throat works against the tightness that always seems to be there these days. “Um, no, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No. You said you wanted to wait, so I’m waiting.”

I take a deep breath. “Maybe I should be the one to say something. It might be easier, coming from me.”

“Sounds good.” A breeze ruffles his hair, and he says no more.

I realize I’ve finished my sandwich and start in on the chips. A seagull circles overhead, recognizing the label, apparently. I throw a chip into the water, where the bird instantly pounces.

“Now you’ve done it,” Ethan says. Sure enough, four more birds appear out of nowhere, circling and crying overhead. The boat rocks gently, and I lean against the mast.

“So what would you like to do for work?” I ask. “Go back to traveling and jumping out of airplanes and schmoozing?”

Ethan laughs. “Nah,” he answers. “Been there, done that.” He’s quiet a minute, tossing his own chips to the happy gulls, who wing in closer and closer circles to the boat. “I wouldn’t mind being a chef,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

“Really?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says. “Don’t forget where we met, Lucy.”

“Oh, I know,” I say. “But you quit. You dropped out before you finished.”

He nods. “Yes, I did,” he admits.

“So that would be great!” I exclaim. “You should take over Gianni’s. You know your dad thinks the cousin’s husband’s brother is a total screw-up.”

Ethan gives me a look. “Better the cousin’s husband’s brother than me, Luce,” he says.

“But you’re a fantastic cook! You’d be perfect! And it’s the family—”

“I’ll never be Jimmy,” Ethan interrupts. “And that’s what my parents really want.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Our chips are gone, and the gulls grow disgusted and leave. Ethan unwraps the cake. He holds it up in an offer, but I shake my head and watch, bemused, as he takes a bite. His eyes close in pleasure for a second, and I smile.