Page 39 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

Or that would do it.

Almost choking on her coffee now, unrelated to her anxiety, Julia put the mug down a bit too forcefully on the arm of the chair and whipped around, her hand still on her chest in a way that she hoped looked like he had surprised her and not as if she was desperately trying to take air into her lungs.

“Yes,” she wheezed, then cleared her throat and just nodded instead, the safer option.

Ethan had changed his outfit slightly, a navy pullover now atop his crisp dress shirt. The air was cool, cool enough for a jacket in her mind, but she remembered how he’d always run hot and would most likely be fine dressed the way he was. It was she who had always tended to be freezing, no matter what the season, which once upon a time conveniently meant most of his sweaters had become hers.

The errant thought reminded her that she still had some of his clothes buried deep in the back of her closet, only to come out on the coldest of winter nights when all the blankets wouldn’t suffice or on the days when she was too sick to move from her bed and Maggie or Maggie’s mom would bring her soup and check her temperature as though she were eleven years old again and staying home from school. (Not that she’d had a mother to do that then, but she’d heard that such things were common for most other eleven-year-old girls.)

Those were the times when the faded sweatshirts would come out and she’d snuggle up into them, so much comfier than anything else she owned, damn him, and they would make her feel better just for that brief moment in time—the liminal space where she was able to exist between the real friendship of the past and the broken one of the present.

Schrödinger’s ruined-friendship sweater—if she didn’t acknowledge that the friendship was over, she could still wear the sweater given to her in friendship.

“Are you okay?”

Oh no. He was inspecting her closely—too closely. She knew the physical effects of a panic attack like this, even just the potential onset of one. She probably looked pale and clammy. Her hands, perhaps even her whole body, were shaky and tremulous.

Ethan had never known this side of her, never even seen it, since it hadn’t really existed before the implosion of their friendship. She didn’t know what he thought he was witnessing in this moment, but whatever she did, she had to make absolutely certain that he didn’t figure it out for what it was.

“Yes, fine.” She waved a hand, as though her voice were always this hoarse. “Just choked a bit on my coffee, but I’m fine. Went down the wrong way. You know how it goes.” She shrugged, trying to keep her expression passive.

He eyed her carefully, not missing a single detail. She clasped her hands together tightly and forced herself to make eye contact with him, hoping the slight twitching of her eyelids was not obvious.

She would have stood up as well, to give herself a modicum of stature—she was already small enough without also having to sit in his presence—but she honestly wasn’t sure if her legs would be able to hold her.

Ethan continued to regard her slowly, taking her in from her hairline down and then back up again. Finally, he nodded. “All right. Well, those two are ready to go if you are.”

“Yup!”Can I actually stay here and take a quick nap in this chair?Even having bypassed a traditional episode, the sheer willpower of swallowing this one down at the onset—an ability she hadn’t even known she had—was exhausting, and she already felt drained. Certainly not up for a midday jaunt into town, where she would see all the familiar vendors and townies and would be asked all the same questions about how business was going and what was on tap next for Donwell Cottage and when did she need more soaps and so on and so forth.

But this was the deal she had made, thepromise, and even if promises didn’t mean anything to Ethan, they meant something to her, damn it.

“Let’s do this,” she said finally, lifting her cold coffee to her lips and taking another quick sip for fortification before standing up slowly on shaky legs. Ethan’s laser focus was on her once more, but this time it appeared more centered on her leg, encased in Maggie’s old ankle boot, rather than an assessment of how good she was at standing.

“Yeah, not sure walking is a great plan,” he said eventually, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can you even move at all in that thing?”

She tested her movement, walking gingerly toward the front door, still not feeling strong enough for a confident stride, before balancing for a brief moment on one leg and then stupidly almost collapsing.

Ethan was at her side in a heartbeat, his hand on her biceps before she could even register his nearness, steadying her.

She cleared her throat and swayed back slightly, away fromhim. Could she walk all the way into town on that ankle, in that boot? If it was a matter of urgency, sure. But was it the best idea to potentially incapacitate herself even further considering the week they had ahead of them? Probably not.

“No,” she admitted begrudgingly in a tone that was almost reminiscent of defeat. She saw Ethan’s brows shoot up at that and realized she may have sounded even more down than she’d intended. Still, it was the truth, and she needed to just own it at this point. “I can walk around town, but I should probably avoid the walktotown. If you guys want to try it on your own, I can just get Norman to take me—”

“Try what?”

Both Ethan and Julia turned at the voice sounding behind them. They were greeted by the sight of Noah and Katy, dressed as if they had just stepped out of a magazine ad. Not high fashion, but the kind that showed off quietly expensive outdoor chic. Flannels, tall socks, and boots that were likely costlier than Julia’s mortgage, even though they were made to look rugged and serviceable.

“Er—” Both she and Ethan seemed nonplussed by the appearance of the celebrities in all their finery, but Julia was the first to speak. “Nothing, just—about walking to town. I’m not sure if I can do it.” She gestured down to her ankle boot, chagrined. “Although you two look perfectly dressed for a nice long hike.”

“Ugh, no.” Katy groaned, gesturing to her own feet. “These boots arenotmade for walking.”

Julia noticed then that the boots, though outdoorsy in style and deliberately giving a worn-in look at a glance, actually had an impractical heel. On closer inspection, the leather didn’thave a single crease near the toes or ankles. It was likely her first time even wearing them.

Overall, Katy’s outfit was more reminiscent of a photo op at the apple orchard than a hike through the woods. She looked painfully stylish in a way that Julia knew she would never be able to achieve, even while admiring the other woman’s oversized houndstooth blazer with a creamy white top underneath, tucked into fitted dark jeans. She also wore a wide-brimmed hat that completed the outfit, though Julia couldn’t imagine anything she would need less in town.

It was the kind of outfit that Julia would never think to put together herself—would never buy, not each piece individually or as part of a set—but that she still coveted, wishing she had the sense of style (or the stylist) required to create such an ensemble. Her own getup of boyfriend jeans, white T-shirt, and old, formerly white Converse (and ankle boot) felt painfully juvenile in comparison, despite the fact that she probably had a good six or seven years on her resident celebrities.

Noah, for his part, looked like the perfect male counterpart to Katy. Black-and-green flannel shirt underneath a camel-colored jacket, mocha-brown slacks tapered at the ankles, and running shoes that looked like the ones Julia’s dad used to wear but that she now knew cost ten times what he’d paid for them back then. Even Ethan, with his hemmed slacks, the precisely ironed shirt, the messy yet coiffed perfection of his current hair style, appeared to fit in with the celebrities more than she did.