by Sarah Adams
I look to my daddy, waiting to see if he’s going to perform a miracle and intervene. His menu seems to have only become more engrossing. Stephen King has nothing on this restaurant’s list of dinner options.
I sigh, mentally deciding to just say what needs to be said to get through this dinner as fast as possible. “I’m sorry I was late. I was across town training a little girl and the new service dog we just matched her with today. Training went a little later than I had anticipated, and I had to return the dog to her volunteers for the night.”
This is the part where a mother should say, “Oh, I’m so proud of you and the amazing work you do, darlin’!”
Not my mama. She looks bored to tears. “You wouldn’t have to be doing all this silly work if you would just take Tyler up on his offer.”
Silly work? I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from crying at the table. “I can’t believe we are still having this conversation. I’m not going to marry Tyler, Mama. You’ll just have to find some other way to secure the family business, because I don’t care to sacrifice my happiness for it.”
“Again. So dramatic. Tyler would make you plenty happy.”
“How? By parading me around on his arm at cocktail party after cocktail party for the rest of my life?”
She’s giving me a look that says she sees no issues with that scenario. Of course she doesn’t. We couldn’t be less alike if I were an alien freshly beamed down from space.
“Your daddy parades me around on his arm, and I happen to love it.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, Mama. But I’m not the same woman as you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you are. You’re a Jones just like the rest of us. Sooner or later, you’ll get bored with this feminism kick you’re on and come to your senses. I just hope that Tyler still wants you when you finally wise up.”
I want to scream. I want to stand up and scream. Maybe then she would finally hear my voice over the crazy ones talking in her head. “This is not a kick, Mama. This is my life, and you need to get used to it. I don’t want your money. Or Tyler’s money. And I sure as heck don't want to spend the rest of my life having to turn a blind eye when he grabs a cocktail waitress’ rear end.”
“Evelyn Grace, what a terrible thing to say about a man. Now, stop talking about Tyler like that before he overhears you.”
I frown. “What do you mean ‘before he hears me’?”
I look around, afraid that I’ll find Tyler standing right behind me. Not because I’m afraid of him overhearing me say I think he would be a no-good, cheating husband (I’ll say that to his face), but because I don’t want to have to spend any amount of time with him. Ever.
“Quit craning your neck like that. It makes you look like a giraffe hunting for leaves. Tyler is running late too, but you want to look your best when he arrives.”
“What?! You invited him tonight?!”
“Shhh. Lower your voice, young lady. We thought it would be a nice reunion for you two since you won’t spend any time with him. I can’t believe you haven’t even seen him since he moved back to town. Really, Evie, we raised you to have better manners than that.”
I am so angry I feel like my head might pop off my body. I push my chair back and shoot to my feet. Charlie does the same. He gives me the look that says, “Let’s do this, girl. I’ve got your back.”
He was at my feet during my weekly hour with my therapist; he knows I have her approval to leave when Mama starts putting me down. “I cannot believe you went behind my back and invited him here. Actually, no. I can believe it.” I shake my head. “I’m leaving. And until you can start learning to respect my wishes concerning me and Tyler, our family get-togethers are over.”
This is the scene in every movie where my mama realizes the errors of her ways. Her mouth should fall open, and she should reach out to grab my hand to keep me at the table. She should apologize and tell me all she wants is for us to have a good relationship.
Nope. Maybe when hell freezes over.
Mama just sits back in her chair and lifts her brows in a taunting expression. “You’re being childish again.” That line should sting. It doesn’t. She’s used it too many times to count, so it just rolls right off my back. Or maybe it rolls right off my long giraffe neck.
I gather my purse and push my chair in to the table, not even bothering to reply to her. I think I would have more luck convincing the brick wall outside to be proud of who I am than my own mother.
“Evelyn.” I pause and turn back around to the table. A false hope blooms in my chest that maybe she wants to make amends. How stupid. “And just what am I supposed to tell Tyler when he gets here to see you?” I stare at her, my mouth falling open a little. This woman is delusional.
“Tell him if he had been on time, he would have been able to watch my butt walk away himself.” I shouldn’t be the only one to be scolded for being late. But I know he’ll get off scot-free because he’s precious Tyler Murray. If we were to marry one day and he cheated on me, Mama would say it was because I wasn’t giving him enough of what he needed.
Daddy lowers his menu slightly to peek at me over the top. “That was a little too crude for my taste, Evie.”
Okay. Where is that nice waiter? I need to find him and ask him to hold me back before I jump over this table and fistfight my parents. I’ve never been one to resort to violence to solve a problem, but it’s never too late to start.
I turn around and raise a lackluster hand over my shoulder. “Have a lovely evening,” I say, in a bland tone that conveys that I mean absolutely none of it.
On my way out, I notice our trusty waiter headed toward my parents’ table with two drinks—the only two drinks my parents have ever ordered in the history of their lives: a glass of champagne and an old-fashioned.
I step into the waiter’s path, looking like I’m a gunslinger from the wild west. I wish I were wearing cowboy boots with spurs on the back so they could clink as I move. “Whoa, there. Are these going to the table I was just sitting at?”
I must have crazy eyes, because the waiter nods skeptically. He should be skeptical.
I give him my best John Wayne smile before I take my mama’s champagne off the tray and shotgun it like I’m a college frat boy with major insecurity issues and something to prove.
After the bubbles have sufficiently burned my throat and threatened to come out my nose, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and charge out of the restaurant just hoping to high heaven that I don’t bump into Tyler.
Here’s the problem with not having a car or a license. When you pull an epic move like storming out of a restaurant and downing your mama’s champagne on your way out the door, you’re then forced to sit on the sidewalk with your service dog and find a ride home before you have to encounter the man you’re avoiding. Not to mention the major buzz that’s setting in because I forgot I hadn’t eaten since the muffins at the Broadens’ house that morning.
I’m quickly scrolling through my phone, hoping to find that an Uber is only one street over and can pick me up, like, two minutes ago, but instead, I’m met with a disappointing twenty-minute wait. That won’t do.
I feel pathetic, small, and broken—basically, what I like to call the Melony Jones special—and I want more than anything to get in a car of my own and peel out of that restaurant parking lot, leaving glorious black tire streaks in my wake.
I dial the next best thing: Joanna. She’ll probably peel out just to make me smile.
She answers my call with, “It’s going that well, huh?” She knew that I was having dinner with my parents tonight.
“Can you come get me?” Suddenly, I’m twelve years old at summer camp, and I want to go home because the popular girls are picking on me.
I hear some shuffling on the other end of the line followed by the sound of keys jingling. “On my way; just drop me a pin with your location.”
I don’t mean to cry. I really don’t. But the fact that Jo knows nothing about the si
tuation and is likely in the middle of dinner with Gary, and she stops everything to come to my rescue, does me in. She acts like my best friend, my sister, my mama, and my grandmama all rolled up in one. Although, I would never liken her to my grandmama to her face because, hello, I don’t have a death wish.
I hear the sound of a garage door opening, followed by the closing of her car door, just before I notice a truck pull up in front of the restaurant and stop. The restaurant is on the main street, and the only cars that stop out front are either cars dropping someone off or picking someone up. Just then, the truck’s reverse lights come on, and I realize it’s backing up to stop right in front of me.
I might have been concerned that someone is clearly going out of their way to kidnap and murder me, but I think I’m a little too dizzy and buzzed to care. Instead, I openly inspect the lifted, dark-gray truck and blacked out wheels. The windows are so tinted that I can’t see inside. It’s not a bad truck to have to be abducted in.
Charlie’s ears perk up when the window starts to slowly roll down.
“Evie?” says Joanna. “Where should I head to?”
“Hang on,” I whisper, wishing that window would roll a little faster. “I think I’m being kidnapped.”
“What?!”
“Shhh.”
The window finishes its descent, and I peer inside the dark interior, not yet certain who my captor will be. A male voice calls out. “Evie?”
Imagine my surprise when the driver leans toward the passenger window, and I’m finally able to see the face of Jacob Broaden and his bright-blue eyes staring back at me. “Are you waiting for a ride?”
Of course he would drive a truck that only makes him look hotter. Of course he would. I wish he drove a minivan with an ugly stick-figure bumper sticker of him and his daughter wearing mouse-ear hats.
“Who is that?” Jo practically yells in my ear.
I pull my phone away with a wince, almost certain I will never fully regain my hearing from that, and ignore her. “I—well, sort of. I was just in the middle of finding one.”
“Lie!” Joanna shouts again. “You already found a ride, remember? Why are you lying to this man?”
“Shhh,” I hiss at Joanna.
She makes a valid point, though. Why am I acting like I don’t already have a ride?
“Hop in. Sam and I were just headed to dinner, but I can drop you off wherever you need to go first.”
Hop in? Well, that’s an idea. One that I should firmly decline. It wouldn’t be good for me to get in that man’s truck. I already have the teeniest bit of a crush on him (read: massive crush), and I know that nothing good can come of taking a ride with him.
All morning, I caught myself glancing at him when I should have been paying attention to Sam and Daisy. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t catch my glances, because he seemed to barely realize I existed. He hovered on the outskirts of the room, only participating when instructed. But even then, he barely spared me a single look. His attention was zeroed in on his daughter and Daisy, which, honestly, only made my attraction to him deepen.
He might have been flirting with me over those first few texts, but now he has made it perfectly clear that he is not interested in me. That’s fine. I’m not interested in him either. And I almost mean that.
“Oh, that’s okay! I’m good to catch a ride with my friend across town. You guys go on to dinner.” My smile is all stars and butterflies, but inside, I feel a little tremble. Why? Do I hope he fights for me? Or do I hope he drives off?
I am a human see-saw. Up and down I go. Take me with you. Leave me be.
“Who is this guy?” Joanna reminds me that she’s still glued to my ear. “He sounds sexy.” You have no idea.
“Come with us, Evie!” I hear Sam bellow from the backseat.
I want to step closer so I can see her, but I know that’s a bad idea too. I need to keep my butt over here, far away from this family that I can very well see myself growing attached to. I’m already going to be spending every day this week with them; I don’t need to heap more coals onto the already blazing fire.
“Yeah, come on,” Jacob says with a cool-guy wave. His other hand is draped over the steering wheel, and he looks so effortlessly sexy. “Don’t make your friend come all this way.”
His persistence is throwing me off. Just when I think I understand what’s happening with him, he turns the tables. Earlier today, he was Mr. I-Don’t-Care-About-You, and now I could almost swear I see a hopefulness in his eyes.
“Well…” I glance around and remember that Tyler will show up at any moment. I really don’t want to be here when that happens.
“For Pete’s sake, go with the hot man!” Joanna says, and I hear her garage closing again. What a traitor. “I’m officially retracting my offer to come pick you up.”
I turn my back briefly to Jacob and Sam and cup my hand around the mouth of the phone like I’ve seen people do in the movies. Apparently, this keeps anyone else from hearing what I’m saying. “Are you sure? I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.” I haven’t told Jo yet about my teeny-tiny, almost non-existent attraction to Jacob.
“If he’s half as cute as he sounds, I’d say it’s a fantastic idea. And besides, you need more friends under the age of sixty. Honey, it’s about time I kick you out of the nest. Fly, little Evie birdie, fly!”
I roll my eyes as she ends the call. I never get to end it first. One of these days, I’m going to end it mid-conversation just to throw her.
I turn around with a tense smile. “Well, my ride just bailed on me, so I think I have to take you up on your offer.”
Chapter Eight
JAKE
How am I doing in my attempt to keep Evie Jones at bay? Not great, considering she’s sitting in my passenger seat right now. I nearly ramped the curb when I saw her standing there with Charlie. She looked sad and concerned with her phone pressed to her ear. I threw the truck in park and almost sprang from my seat before I mentally grabbed myself by the collar and shook some sense into my sorry self.
“How are you?” I ask after Evie puts Charlie in the backseat with Sam and she buckles herself into the passenger seat.
This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. I saw this woman not even four hours ago, and I’m already feeling needy to know how she is? What she’s been doing since she left our house? Why she looks so sad?
“Fine.” She gives me the universal female answer for everything is horrible, but I resist asking any further questions, because I’m not her boyfriend. Never going to be.
Next time I date, it will be someone of average beauty and definitely not seven years younger than me.
“Thanks for giving me a ride,” says Evie.
“Happy to.” And I am. Actually, I’m way too happy to have her seated beside me. “Where am I headed?”
“Oh, here, I can type my address into your phone.” Her emerald eyes, along with her soft vanilla scent, hit me for the first time since she got in the truck. She’s saying normal words, and her tone is completely casual. And yet, my heart is racing as if she just whispered something dirty in my ear.
I hand my phone over to her, and once she’s done typing in her address, we set out toward her apartment. Because I have no idea how to talk to this woman without accidentally flirting, I do the same thing I’ve been practicing all day in her company: keep my mouth shut. I also squeeze the steering wheel, because out of the corner of my eye, I can see an impressive amount of her tan legs, and I swear to myself that I will not give in and look at them.
I WILL NOT.
After a minute of silence, Evie adjusts in her seat to turn around and look at Sam. I’m not sure why this takes me by surprise. “What do you think about your first day of training with Daisy?”
Man, I like her southern accent. I grew up here. I’m used to women all around me having accents. Hers is different, though. It’s sweeter, somehow.
“It was great. I wish she could have stayed with me tonight,” says Sam.
>
“I know. It’s sad to have to say goodbye to them at night, isn’t it? But until you’ve learned everything you need to know about how to interact with her, it’s better to let her sleep at her volunteer’s house. But you did so great today. I was really impressed with how quickly you caught on to all of the techniques.”
I catch Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror and see the moment Evie’s praise hits her bloodstream. She wants to smile. She wants to soak every ounce of that compliment up, wring it out, and then soak it up again. Other than my sisters, she hasn’t had a woman offer her praise like that since Natalie left. I feel as if I can see the void inside her and watch Evie’s words fill a small part of it.
“Thanks.” Sam pushes her unruly hair that I have a hard time brushing behind her ear and looks out the window. Only when her head is fully turned do I see the slight grin touch the corner of her mouth.
I’m torn. On the one hand, I want Sam to receive the praise she needs. But on the other hand, I’m scared to death of Evie. After this week, she’ll be gone, and it’ll just be me and Sam again.
Evie turns back to the front, and I hear her take in a deep breath through her nose. She lets it out like it’s the first one she’s taken all day.
“How was your dinner?” I ask, proud that it sounded innocuous enough. Polite. Business talk between two colleagues.
“Dinner?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
“Yeah, weren’t you just leaving that restaurant? I assumed you were eating there.”
“Oh.” She looks down at her lap. “I was supposed to, but…my company wasn’t so great, so I left before eating.”
My eyes slice to her, and my mouth goes rogue. “Was the guy a jerk to you?” I have no idea why I said that. I don’t even know if she was there with a guy.
One minute, I’m driving Miss Daisy, and the next, I’m a psycho-jealous boyfriend, fighting some random jerk wad in a bar because he looked at my girl wrong. I’ve never been that guy before. Not even with Natalie, and part of me wonders if we really ever loved each other.
