Forty-Four

The moment I wake up, I know three things for sure.

One is that sleeping only four hours is never a good idea if you’re approaching thirty.

Two is that Ethan is a gifted writer. Although some things in the novel were far-fetched, they didn’t take away from the beauty of the story or from hoping the characters would find a way to get past their heartbreaks and fears and just take a chance on each other. It’s hard to imagine all the twists and turns, drama, betrayal, and tragedy came from Ethan, but at the same time, it isn’t. A complicated, complex book. Just like him.

And three, which is strongly related to one… I overslept, missed my alarm, and now have only fifteen minutes to get ready. Ethan said eight-thirty.

I take a quick shower, put on my black pencil skirt and a light lavender shirt, grab my shoes—not Converse, although it’s tempting—and walk into the living room. The house is quiet. The door to Ethan’s bedroom is open, and he’s not there.

I hear something behind me and when I turn, Ethan is standing there, all dressed up. He bursts into laughter when he looks at me. Did I put my clothes backward or something? Then I realize what he’s looking at. We’re matching to a T like we’re one of those couples who go to weddings wearing coordinated clothes: black pants—black skirt, lavender shirt—lavender shirt.

I start laughing too. I’ve only seen him in short pants and basic tees until now. Except for that photo in the paper, but he looked like a completely different person there anyway, so I can’t even associate that image with this Ethan I know.

“Interesting choice of clothes,” he says with a snicker.

“Is lavender your color?” I ask.

“I hope not,” he says, smiling.

He grabs a set of car keys—they have a custom-made Mustang and a Porsche in the garage. Celine showed them to me and said she tinkered with both for years after getting the Mustang for almost nothing from its first owner and the Porsche at a car cemetery auction.

“Ready?” he asks.

Ethan gets in the shiny red Mustang. It seems brand new, although it’s from 1964.

“I wanted to thank you for doing this. I know I basically forced you, but you could’ve said no, and I appreciate you didn’t,” he says.

“Say no? Do you know Celine?” I ask and we both laugh. “By the way, she did a great job with this car. I heard it was a ruin when she got it.”

“She’s amazing. I wish she’d focus on this more. My sister is better than most mechanics I know. It’s because she’s technical but also creative and she does it with passion. She likes working at the café, but cars will always be her soft spot.”

“Why isn’t she doing it full time then?”

He shrugs. “A sense of duty, I guess. I told her I could take over Café Azure. I could hire a cook if she’s afraid I’ll mess up her recipes.”