“What would be the point? The job is finished. And I’m on the straight and narrow from here on out. No more illegal activities for me.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Going straight doesn’t mean you have to be finished with him. He’s morally gray, you’re morally gray. Plus he’s superhot and probably great in bed.”
“I give her three months before she’s calling me and saying, ‘Devon, so there’s this job . . . ’?” His high-pitched impression of my voice has me laughing as I roll my eyes.
“I give her one month,” Amy says.
I throw a couch pillow at both of them.
We stay in the cabin another three days while Devon digs through the rest of Mr. Smith’s files he copied from his computer. But this time away from the real world can’t last forever.
“Okay, ladies, I’m out,” Devon says, loaded down with his backpack and bag. His car is already packed with his equipment. He’s the first one to leave, and Amy and I take turns giving him hugs, but I’m the only one who follows him out to the porch.
“We did it,” I say.
His smile stretches across his face. “That we did.” He pauses before saying, “When you get over thinking you’re done with this life, let me know.”
“I am done,” I say, although it lacks conviction. “And we can get together for fun! It doesn’t always have to be work related.”
Devon walks to his car, laughing. “Of course we can. I’m ready when you are.” He throws his stuff in the back seat before taking off.
Amy is the next to leave. “You’ll text me when you get settled, right?” she asks me.
“Yes. And then I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I help her get her bags to the car, then we throw our arms around each other and stay there for a long moment.
Then she, too, is gone.
I stay a little longer at the cabin. There are things to do, plans to make, decisions to consider, but for one blessed week there is quiet.
Alias: Evie Porter—Four Months Ago
It’s Thursday and Ryan Sumner is right on time. He pulls up to the gas pump on the farthest side, just like always.
He’s a bit casual today, his usual button-down replaced with one of those pullover golf shirts with the logo of the local club. I wonder what made this Thursday different.
I tug my skirt up just a fraction higher and run my hands through my hair, making sure it falls just the way I want it to.
I knew coming in that this was going to be my most dangerous job. Mr. Smith sent me here to break me.
I’m going to play this one by the book. I won’t step out of line, won’t get ahead of the game. I will let it unfold around me. And wait for Mr. Smith to hit me with everything he’s got before I hit back.
“Hello,” I say, as I walk up to his car.
He’s startled but hides it quickly and easily. “Hey,” he replies, a grin spreading across his face. He’s cuter in person.
I tilt my head in the direction of my car, which is sitting off to the side, its left rear tire completely flat. “Any chance I can get some help with that? My dad taught me how to change my tire years ago, and in theory, I remember the basics, but it’s a little more daunting when you’re faced with it in real life.”
His smile grows and it lights up his whole face. And it’s a very lovely face indeed.
“Of course,” he says. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll pull around.”
I give him a high-wattage smile right back, then return to my car.
He parks beside me and eyes me when he gets out. I’m leaning against the side of the car, showing off in just the right way. Ryan goes to his trunk, retrieving his jack, before kneeling down in front of my flat tire. I crouch down beside him, his eyes lingering on my legs a few seconds like I hoped they would.
I know from my research that he likes to play golf and tennis, though he’s not exceptionally good at either one. I know he went to LSU and was social chair for his fraternity. I know he dated a girl through sophomore and junior year but that she broke it off before she left to study abroad.
“You look really familiar,” I say, as he loosens the first lug nut off my tire.
He glances at me and says, “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Did you know Callie Rogers? We were friends at LSU.”
From his expression, I know he recognizes the name but can’t place her. I studied the girls who had been in sororities around the same time he was there, girls who were tagged in posts of his friends’ friends but never with him. Their names would be familiar but not familiar enough that he would ever ask them about me.
“Was she friends with Marti Brighton?”
“Yes!”
“I think I met her a time or two when she was with Marti,” he says, then gets back to work.
Once the mutual connections have been made, I’m no longer thought of as a stranger and the conversation is easy. Even though Ryan has finished changing the tire, he lingers. We’re both leaning against the car now, turned toward each other.
“I should buy you a drink!” I say. “The least I can do for saving me.”
He leans in a few inches closer. “I’ll let you buy me a drink if I can buy you dinner.”
Ryan is smooth.
“I feel like I already know you, but we haven’t been officially introduced.” I hold my hand out, not far since we’re already so close. “I’m Evie Porter.”
His hand slides into mine. “Ryan Sumner.”
“Well, Ryan,” I say. “Drinks and dinner sound like a great idea.”
“Follow me?” he asks.
“Right behind you,” I answer.
We pull into a small bistro, and he’s at the driver’s-side door before I can open it. Ryan holds his hand out, helping me from the car.
We step inside the restaurant, where he asks for us to be seated on the patio. It’s still chilly outside this time of year even though we’re in Louisiana. My short skirt offers no protection, but I’m relieved when I see several heaters scattered around the area. Twinkle lights stretch between the trees that border the patio. It’s a dreamy spot for a first date.
We order wine and appetizers, and we talk and talk and talk. He leans toward me and I mirror him.
“Tell me more about you,” he says, just as our main course is served.
Thoughts about Mama and that small trailer we called home—that Mama made a home—wash over me, and for the first time, I don’t want to tell the first lie. I want to tell him how she taught me to sew and how we made dresses for every stuffed animal I had. How we had tea parties and acted like we were royalty. I wanted to tell him about the map of the world that hung on the wall. We would throw a dart and then learn everything we could about the place it landed on.
But I stick with the script and tell him my parents died in a car wreck and I’m just trying to find my way. I weave more truth than I should into the story. Give him more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone else.
His hand slides across the table and I steel myself for how good I know it will feel. And it feels good.
Too good.
So I pull away slightly. Not enough to make him feel rejected. Just enough to give myself some distance. I mentally wall up my emotions, brick by brick. Ryan Sumner is a job. One that won’t last. He’s charmed with Evie Porter, a figment of my imagination.
It’s time to remember exactly who she is and why she’s here.
It’s time to get to work.
Evie Porter—Present Day
Ryan is in the front yard pushing a lawn mower back and forth along his perfectly green grass. The sun is setting and the dying light is throwing a golden glow over the two-story white house, making it shimmer.
He spots me as he makes his second pass and kills the engine immediately. He’s wearing old, faded khaki shorts and a light blue tee that is frayed around the edges.
I’m on the sidewalk watching him watch me. Neither of us moves for several minutes.
It’s been three months since that morning in the hotel in Atlanta.
He meets me halfway. Grass trimmings coat his legs and shoes, and his hands are streaked with grease.