Apparently, he couldn’t bear to hear Eve Brown criticized. Not even by herself. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, because manners were useful things, and he’d read somewhere that it was good to start positive before telling someone off. “But Eve, I think it’s time we had a serious conversation—”
“Boo,” she interrupted. “You know I hate serious conversations.”
“No,” he said sharply, turning to look at her. “No, you don’t. Stop acting like you do. Even the brightest, lightest things still have substance.”
She was quiet for a moment, clearly surprised. “I—well—”
“And this is exactly what I wanted to talk about. Eve . . .” He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed, corralling his feelings into actual, useful words. Sometimes her presence made that kind of thing easy, but sometimes, when he was drowning in all the emotions he felt for her, it was incredibly hard. “Eve,” he repeated, “I know you think you need to improve yourself, or grow up, or whatever else. But there is nothing wrong with you. You’re just . . . a bit different, that’s all. You’re just sensitive enough for the world to seem too fast and too loud. And you’re—you’re hurt, I think. You’re used to flinching in case you get hurt again. I’m the same, for different reasons, but still. The fact is, you’re smart, you’re creative, you’re dedicated, and you care about people. You’d do anything for anyone, even if you were terrified, as long as it was right. And what matters more than that? Tell me one thing, honestly, that matters more than that.” Expressing this stuff felt a bit like digging for gold; Jacob labored for what felt like hours (but was actually thirty seconds), and in the end he was mildly exhausted and utterly elated because—
There. There was his gold: Eve’s smile.
“You’re very complimentary, this evening,” she murmured. “I wonder why?”
He rolled his eyes.
And she, just like he’d known she would, sobered up after a moment. “Thank you, Jacob,” she said softly. “If you’d said something like that to me last month, I might not have believed you. But I’m starting to see sides of myself I didn’t even know were there. So maybe I’ll believe you after all.” She was teasing, but behind her smile he saw it: a burgeoning trust. Not in him, but in herself. “I . . . I suppose I never really thought of doing nice things for people as a skill. At least, not until I came here, and you offered to pay me for it.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re changing your mind,” he said, “because it absolutely is a skill. I should know. I have to work on it a lot.”
She laughed, and it was like little bubbles of sunlight popping against his skin.
“Your abilities,” he said slowly, “lie in the places people usually overlook. So you’ve been convinced you don’t have any at all. But you’re smart, and you’re capable, and if people struggle to see that, it’s their problem, not yours.” He really hadn’t meant to bring this next topic up, but the words spilled from his mouth without permission. “You know, Eve, you’re—we’re—different. And . . .” He cleared his throat, started again. “Do you feel like things are different when you’re with me? The way we communicate?”
“Well, yes,” she said pertly. “I imagine that’s how we ended up in bed.”
She had him there. “I wasn’t talking about that difference. I meant—you like the fact that I’m straightforward. You say it all the time. Do other people feel . . . less straightforward to you?”
Jacob expected her to reply with confusion, with more questions, with—something ordinary. But she wasn’t ordinary. She was Eve. Which is why she shocked the shit out of him by replying calmly, “Oh, I see. Yes, it feels different—rather like talking to my sisters. Easier and familiar, probably because we’re both on the autistic spectrum.”
His surprise dissolved almost instantly into of-fucking-course laughter. “You already knew.”
“Well, no,” she corrected, “not before I met you. You’ve made me notice my own behavior more. So I did some research and drew the obvious conclusion: it’s likely that I, like you, am autistic. I assume most of my family is, actually, which would explain why almost everyone finds us incredibly strange. It’s an interesting development, but also . . .” She smiled a little, her gaze on the ceiling as she spoke. “I already know who I am and how I am. In fact, I’m learning more about that every day. Having a name for some of those things is satisfying. That’s all.”
Jacob absorbed that for a moment, biting back a smile of his own. “You’re so . . .”
“What?” she asked, rising on one elbow to look at him. The lavender fall of her hair spilled across his chest, and her eyes were like starlit night. “I’m so what?”
“Perfect,” he finished. “Eve Brown, you are absolutely perfect to me.”
She beamed, so obviously happy it made his heart squeeze. Then she kissed him, and that was perfect, too. They were always perfect together, these days, and most of Jacob believed they always would be.
But a tiny little part of him—the young, cold, worthless part—still wasn’t quite convinced. That part had a long memory, and it was filled with loss.
He’d work on that part, Jacob decided. He’d work on it for her.
Chapter Nineteen
Eve was singing.
She’d been singing ever since last night, in fact, and having a jolly good time of it. Today, instead of humming her usual absent-minded refrains, she let every ounce of her joy shine through her voice, creating her own backing track. Luckily, Jacob didn’t seem to mind.
She looked up from the blueberry-and-lemon sponge cake she was icing to gaze at him like a moony, devoted cow. Fortunately, he was studying the Gingerbread Festival event map he’d brought down to the kitchen, and therefore completely missed her heart eyes. She took advantage of the moment to explore his now-familiar face: the golden gleam of his severely parted hair, the deep furrow of his lovely scowl, the sunshine-colored lashes hiding his stormy gray gaze. Beautiful, beautiful man. She was of half a mind to drag him upstairs to the store cupboard and have her wicked way with him before high tea.
Again.
Just as Eve began to seriously consider the idea, the kitchen door swung open, shattering her thoughts. She jumped, dropped her icing bag directly on top of the almost finished cake, and released a deep sigh. “Oh, fudge.”
Jacob saw the mess she’d made of her cake and leapt to his feet with a determined expression. Apparently, he thought he could rescue her from ruined icing like a knight in shining armor. She was tempted to let him try, just to see what happened.
Then Mont, who was leaning in the open doorway with a smirk on his face, finally spoke. “Hm. Well, now. Whatcha doing down here, Jake?” There was more than a little triumph in his voice.
Jacob scowled at his friend. “Stop the Jake shit.” His tone softened as he approached Eve. “How’s the cake?”
“Oh, you know,” she replied, deeply annoyed with herself as she picked the bag out of the icing. “Splotchy. Slightly dented. Ever so appetizing.” She bit her lower lip, her gaze flicking to the clock as she considered her options. “Maybe I can cover up the, er . . . indent with something.”
“Something like this?” Jacob asked, and then he reached over her shoulder to snag the glass of fresh-cut lavender she’d placed on the table that morning.
She stared at the flowers for a moment before a slow smile spread over her face. “Yes. Something exactly like that. Thanks, darling, you’re a peach.” She popped up on her toes and kissed him—just a quick, sweet press of their mouths, already familiar after a single day. Then she remembered Mont, froze, and pulled back sharply—or tried to. But Jacob caught her by the hip, surprise and pleasure merging in his gaze.
Eve blushed. She wasn’t embarrassed, or anything; she just got rather warm when he looked at her like that.
He held her close a moment longer, ducking his head to murmur in her ear. “You kissed me.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “I’ve kissed you many times since last
night, in case you’d forgotten.”
His voice dropped an octave. “I hadn’t forgotten.”
“Right here, guys,” Mont said from the doorway. “Literally standing right here.”
“Shut up,” Jacob advised, before turning his attention back to Eve. “You kissed me in public.”
“Does Mont count as public?”
“Interesting question,” Mont drawled.
Jacob, who had apparently decided to ignore his best friend, continued. “I like you kissing me in public. We should do that more. Whenever we want. Like a couple. Do you agree that we’re a couple?”
Eve laughed softly, letting her head fall forward against his shoulder. She’d sort of thought last night made them a couple—not the sex, but rather, all the lovely mushy things she’d managed to make him say. Of course, Jacob was more black and white than that. He needed actual, clear-cut words, and she was happy to give them to him.
But for Eve, even the air between them was everything. It was so absolutely everything that she’d decided, once and for all, to stay in Skybriar. She was going to tell Florence to fuck off—albeit more professionally, since Eve was now associated with Castell Cottage and had certain standards of behavior to uphold. She was going to forget about little Freddy’s cursed bloody birthday party . . .
And then she was going to make a trip home and tell her parents in person that she was sorry, and that she was changing, and that she believed in her own power now. That the things she did—feeding people, helping people, making them feel good—were just as important as counting money or writing contracts. That she respected her own skills enough to use them, fear of failure be damned.
She’d inform her parents, honestly, that she’d found something she loved. (And someone, too, but she’d likely keep that part to herself for now.)
Maybe they wouldn’t believe her—she could barely believe it, sometimes—but she knew it was the truth. Because when she thought about leaving Castell Cottage, about making it a temporary blip in her past, something inside her said calmly but firmly, No.
And when she thought about leaving Jacob, the voice became a hundred times louder.
So, “Yes,” she whispered in his ear. “We are absolutely a couple.”
He grinned at her as if she’d just single-handedly disinfected and restocked every bathroom in the building, and then he grabbed her about the waist as if they’d spent the last six years apart, dragged her against his body, and kissed her breathless.
“Jesus Christ,” Mont muttered, but he actually sounded quite pleased.
He sounded less pleased a moment later when he cleared his throat and said, “Er, not to interrupt, you two, but it looks like there’s a goose outside.”
* * *
Eve had learned many things since arriving at Castell Cottage, but it seemed her education was far from complete. Case in point: she had no idea of the grave threat posed by certain waterfowl until Jacob dragged her outside and told her sternly, “Ducks are little shits. Geese are worse. Swans are worst.”
“Ah,” she said, “right.” She was still faintly dizzy from all the semipublic kissing—and of course, Jacob’s We’re a couple moment, which she had found adorable.
Being this happy should be illegal. Even the goose couldn’t dampen her mood.
But it was certainly dampening the mood of Castell Cottage, if the scene on the gravel driveway was anything to go by. A big, gray goose waddled toward Mr. Packard, who’d checked into the Daisy Room with his wife just that morning. At the time, Mr. Packard had been a calm but friendly man in a nice check shirt. At present, he was a pink and nervous man climbing on top of his own car.
“Get it!” he shouted. Then he pointed at the goose, as if anyone could mistake his meaning.
“Are geese dangerous?” Eve asked no one in particular. It wasn’t a question she’d thought much on before, but Mr. Packard looked liable to lose control of his bladder, so she was forced to wonder.
“Sometimes,” Mont smiled, just as Jacob said grimly, “They are a great danger to the peace and dignity of my establishment, yes.”
“A goose can break an arm if it really gets going,” Mont went on, “but Jacob’s arm is already broken, so he’ll be fine.”
Eve was horrified. “He has another arm to break!”
“Yeah, but that’d be really bad luck.”
“Stop winding her up,” Jacob scowled. “It’s not going to break my arm. It’s just a goose. This isn’t its territory. It has no reason to resort to arm-breaking, and I’m sure even geese can be reasonable.” That said, he stormed off toward said goose with steel in his spine.
“If you’re sure,” Eve called after him. “Good luck, darling. Godspeed, et cetera.”
He waved.
“So,” Mont said as they watched Jacob approach the creature. “You and Jacob, huh?”
She felt herself flush. “I suppose so.”
“I’m pleased, to be honest with you.”
“I knew I liked you.”
“Go on,” Jacob was shouting, waving his cast around like a battering ram. “Be off with you!”
“Just go steady with him,” Mont said quietly.
Eve dragged her gaze away from the sight of a goose all but fleeing Jacob’s broken arm. “Hm?”
“He’s not as tough as he seems.” Mont’s voice was quiet, his own eyes on the goose, his focus clearly elsewhere. “That’s all. He’s not as tough as he seems.”
The goose exited the gate and waddled right. Eve opened her mouth to tell Mont that she knew, that she’d be awfully careful, that Jacob’s fragile brilliance was quite safe in her hands.
Then she heard a familiar voice floating through the air. Familiar, but impossible, of course.
“Is this it?” the voice asked. And then, “Dear Lord, Martin, was that a goose?”
Eve stiffened, then forced herself to relax. Her mother couldn’t possibly be here. That voice clearly belonged to some other lady. A lady accompanied by a man with the same name as Eve’s father.
That’s what she told herself, right up until the moment her mother stepped through Castell Cottage’s front gate, pushed her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses up onto her forehead, pressed a hand to her chest, and cried, “Eve!”
Then the rest of the family, oh my goodness, crowded behind her—Dad, of course, and Gigi, and Shivani, and even Chloe and Danika, hovering at the back. It was a veritable ambush of relatives, which, in Eve’s experience, did not bode well.
It didn’t bode well at all.
“Oh, fudge,” she said.
Beside her, Mont squinted at Gigi. “Is that Garnet Brown?!”
* * *
Jacob wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Eve’s family, but this . . . Well, actually, he thought, as he looked around his packed dining room, this wasn’t a surprise at all.
Eve’s relatives all had an untouchable air of glamour and certainty, that healthy gloss of attractiveness that surrounded people who had access to the best of everything—food, clothes, whatever. He’d seen people like this many times before, but the part that threw him off was: they all seemed to like each other. It was hard to put his finger on how he knew that. Something about the way they’d walked as a group, making space for one another, steps almost in synch, like a pack rather than a simple group of relatives. Or the way they’d bickered through awkward hellos and made odd little comments to each other as Jacob had herded them inside like sheep.
Whatever the case, he could see the love between them like heat shimmering in the air. It made sense, of course, that Eve had been raised at the heart of a family like this. She’d learned her softness from somewhere, after all.
Jacob studied them now, since he’d run out of conversation shortly after Hello, and since Eve wasn’t here to ease the way for him. There was the mother, sitting stiffly by the window in a pristine suit, her sharp, hazel eyes examining every inch of the room. Probably looking for faults, which shouldn’t worry Jacob; his establishment had no faults
, the occasional trespass of waterfowl aside. But he still felt a twinge of nervous worry in his gut, because, well . . . this was Eve’s mother, and she had the same sharpness about her that Aunt Lucy had, which suggested—among other things—very high standards.
And there was Eve’s father, a man who radiated warmth and appeared never to leave his wife’s side. He didn’t look much like Eve, what with the bald head and mustache and all, but he had the . . . the feel of Eve. He’d nodded and smiled, earlier, as Jacob had led them all in here to wait. And right now, he had a hand on the mother’s shoulder, like he could share calm through his touch the way Eve spread happiness through her smiles.
To Jacob’s right sat the sisters; pretty, different, close. They were whispering together in the corner, shooting him suspicious looks. The one with the blue glasses looked particularly murderous. The one with the purple hair seemed dispassionately curious, like a scientist who would dissect him if she thought it worth her while.
And then there was the grandmother, and the other older lady who seemed to be her partner. They were the only ones who weren’t pointedly ignoring him. Jacob rather wished they would.
“So,” the grandmother said. She was wearing enormous sunglasses and, unlike the mother, hadn’t bothered to remove them indoors. “You own this place, do you, darling?”
“I do, madam.”
“Oh, darling. How sweet. Did you hear that, Shivani? But no, no, you must call me Gigi. And this is my darling Shivani, and over there is Joy, having an embolism, and that is Martin, having a quieter embolism, and huddled in the corner like a pair of witches are Chloe and Danika. There, now, we’re all introduced and terribly intimate.” Gigi smiled beautifully, all white teeth and fine-boned beauty, before producing a cigarette from . . . somewhere. Jacob must have missed the source. “Can I smoke, darling?”
Act Your Age, Eve Brown Page 26
