“The first time we met,” she begins, her eyes squinted in thought, remembering. “You came right up to me and asked me what I was drinking.”
The first time ever, I think, that I approached a woman at a bar instead of letting someone come to me. It had felt necessary that I talk to her. A tug, a pull—whatever you want to call it. I saw her sitting there and I wanted to be sitting right next to her.
“The bar we met in was empty. Do you remember?”
She nods. “There was a baseball game on the TV in the corner. I stopped in because I smelled the french fries from the street.” She grins. “The ones that you stole half of.”
I did steal half of them, after I was two shots of tequila deep and her hand found my thigh under the table. “I chose that bar because it was the least crowded place on the street.” Then I saw Evelyn and I didn’t want to go anywhere else. “Plus, everything gets quiet when I look at you.”
She gives me one slow blink, lashes fluttering. Her eyes dance between mine, bottom lip caught by her teeth. “Would it help?”
I rub the edge of the blanket again, the worn blue gray material soft under my touch. “Would what help?”
She tilts her head to the side and reaches over me to set her mug on the side table. Her hair brushes my forearm and I’m the one shivering.
“If I came with you,” she says. I swallow hard and become fascinated with the legs of the coffee table. “Would it help to have a friend with you? At trivia?”
I don’t want to be her friend. I want to be the exact opposite. I want to be the people we were when we were away from everyone else. I almost say it, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep the thought to myself.
“I don’t know,” I answer slowly. Probably not. I’m most comfortable with my family and even then, it’s a challenge for me to sit somewhere with so much sound around me. Trivia night is an … event. It almost always ends with Dane carting people to the drunk tank at the station. Last time, he had to put Becky Gardener in the back of his cruiser for launching a plate of chicken tenders across the room.
“I’ll go with you,” she says, just as slowly. “If you wanted to try.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVELYN
I grunt as I reach for the handle of the bakehouse door, seventeen layers of clothes thick and warm around me. Beckett had glared at me as he forced a sweatshirt over my head in the kitchen this morning—an old green, faded thing with a giant badger across the chest.
“Stay away from water today,” he ordered, lips tilted downward. I had gone to pull my hair loose from my collar but he had gotten there first, gathering it up in his fist. He had paused, just for a second, and then released it down my back.
There had been a handful of memories in that second. I could see it in the single flash of darkness in those bright eyes. He remembered, same as I did. His hands in my hair, tilting my head back as he guided me towards a bed with too many pillows. Sticky humidity against my skin. A deep, indulgent moan from me. A shaky exhale pressed right between my breasts from him.
The ribbon of silver bells above the door announces my arrival and successfully disrupts my little daydream.
Layla and Stella glance up from behind the counter, Stella’s face twisting in confusion at my marshmallow man layers. It’s not even cold today. I can feel a single bead of sweat slipping down my spine.
“Cute sweatshirt,” Layla says immediately, a sly grin on her full lips. She has a cake in front of her, white buttercream and hunter green icing. A trail of delicate, pale blue forget-me-nots cascade down the side, her hand poised above. She adjusts her grip on the bag and tilts her head to the side. “I like your new farm look. It suits you.”
It suits me too, when I’m not sweating half to death. I putter over to the countertop and pick up a broken cookie, Layla’s stack of imperfect discards on a tray for anyone to grab.
I’m supposed to be helping her with her weekend orders, but maybe I’ll eat all her scraps and call it a day. I feel like I’ve earned that.
“I saw the ambulance pull in yesterday.” Stella wipes her hands off on a towel and steps around the counter. “I was going to stop by if I didn’t see you today. Everything okay?”
The ambulance. God. I had never felt like more of an inconvenience than when Gus came rumbling into Beckett’s driveway with his red and white behemoth. At least he didn’t have the lights and sirens going. I’m pretty sure I would have crawled under the bed in the spare room and never come out.
“I’m okay. Beckett took good care of me.” With the blankets and his warm skin pressed to mine, his arms tight around me, his chin on my shoulder. I feel another flush of heat that has nothing to do with my layers. He hadn’t hesitated at all, instantly scooping me up and holding me close.
Layla snickers down at her cake, a practiced flick of her wrist as she pipes a tiny, perfect leaf on the corner. “I’m sure he did.”
I give her a look around a mouthful of oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. “Very mature of you.”
I finish my cookie and tuck my elbows into my chest, an attempt to pull my arms from the sleeves of my top two layers. The thick material bunches around my biceps and I make a helpless sound as I attempt to twist out.
Stella takes mercy on me and grips the hem. “I’m glad you were able to get to Beckett. It’s a long walk from the pond to the fields.”
Even longer when you’re soaking wet and shivering so badly you can hardly breathe. I lost my coat somewhere on the way, the thing so heavy with water it felt like seventy-five extra pounds of weight. I’ll have to go grab it at some point.
Stella tugs the sweatshirt up and over my head and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Movement. Oxygen. Sweet, sweet freedom. She drapes the jumble of cotton over a chair. “What were you doing out at the pond anyway? We really only ever use it in the summer.”
“Trying.” I offer in an explanation that makes absolutely no sense at all. But Stella always seems to read between the lines. The confusion on her face settles into a soft understanding, her hand squeezing at my arm once.
“Everything okay?”