Free No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) by Olivia Miles Page A

smile as she picked one up to study, and Ethan felt his blood still for a moment. He knew the photo, knew it well. It was one of the last memories he had of his father, a day on the lake, like so many others. He was eight in the photo, and he had a cast on his arm from falling out of a tree. He’d taken that day for granted, assumed that life would always be carefree, that people didn’t just leave you, but they did. Whether they were taken from you or they left on their own accord, nothing in life lasted forever.
    He eyed Claire, thinking of the tears she’d shed when her mother had died. He’d sat by her side, not knowing what to do or what to say, but somehow he knew that was enough for her. He understood. Not everyone did. That alone was some comfort, he supposed.
    “You resemble him,” she said, her smile a little hesitant, but something about the comment, the new perspective, made Ethan feel like just for a fleeting moment, a part of his father was alive again. “It’s the mouth. And the nose.”
    He swallowed hard, wanting her to put the photo down almost as much as he wanted her to keep talking. He never spoke of his father—at first it seemed too cruel, too insensitive toward his mother—but now, it was he who kept quiet when the man’s name was brought up, he who felt the strain of loss every time he walked into this house.
    Finally, Claire set the photo back on the desk, exactly where she’d found it. She was thoughtful that way, always careful not to overstep.
    “Now where are those yearbooks you promised to show me?” She tapped a finger against her mouth, looking around the room.
    “Hey, I never promised you that,” he said, flinching on the words for a moment. He never promised anything, but somehow, with Claire, it was always different. He gave in, didn’t resist, but then, she was different than other women. Different than most people.
    He made a grand show of sighing. “They’re in the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Don’t laugh,” he warned.
    Claire eagerly crouched down to retrieve the stack of books, starting with his freshman year and working in chronological order. She hooted in laughter when she saw his braces and bowl cut. “You were on the debate team?” she asked, eyes popping, as she stared up at him. “I don’t know why I envisioned you as football quarterback instead.”
    “I might have inflated my role on the football team,” Ethan said ruefully.
    “It charms the ladies, right?” Claire shook her head, smiling as she flipped to the next page. Ethan dropped beside her on the bed, taking in her familiar sweet scent that mingled with the warm summer air. The old house still didn’t have air-conditioning, and crickets croaked from the half-open window, filling the room with all those summer smells and sounds you didn’t find back in the city.
    He relaxed as she flicked through the book, getting caught up in the memories himself.
    “Do you ever keep in touch with anyone?” Claire asked, moving on to his senior yearbook.
    Ethan tensed. “Oh, a few that still live in town. The rest have moved on. You know how it is.”
    “Who’s the girl?” she asked, leaning forward to study the picture with interest.
    “Oh, just a prom date,” Ethan said coolly, but inside his blood was on fire. His chest began to pound as he waited for her to turn the page. He didn’t want to look at that picture, didn’t want to remember that face.
    “She’s pretty,” Claire remarked. “Another heart you broke along the way?”
    Ethan smiled tightly. “Something like that,” he managed.
    Only it was nothing like that. And it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Even with Claire.
    “I left my drink downstairs,” he said, suddenly needing to be out of that room, away from the small single bed and the photos and . . .all of it.
    She looked up at him in surprise. “Okay.”
    “Can I get you anything?” He was already walking to the door, eager to be away.
    “No,” she said,