by Sarah Adams
I think Evie finds my comment amusing. She relaxes into her seat, and I can tell she’s fighting a grin by the way she’s biting her lips together. “Uh, no. I was actually having dinner with my parents. But someone was…never mind.”
My grip on the wheel relaxes. I see Evie’s fingers (and bright-yellow nails) creep toward the release button for the center console. For a second, I think she is going to open it and look inside, but she catches me looking at her hand and pulls it away. All day, I caught her peeking around corners of the house when she thought I wasn’t looking. I think I even heard her open a cupboard in the guest bathroom at one point. She wouldn’t have found anything fun in there. I keep all my personal items in my bathroom.
Maybe I should find it creepy that she was searching my house. I don’t. Actually, it makes me smile, because I know she’s as curious about me as I am about her—even though I really shouldn’t be. I wish I could put her out of my head.
Speaking of curiosity, I want to ask her more about her parents and this mysterious someone she stopped talking about, but Sam chimes in from the backseat before I get the chance.
“If you haven’t eaten, you could come with Daddy and me to dinner.”
I try to flash Sam a look in the rearview mirror that says no she absolutely cannot!
Evie is not coming with us to dinner. I can’t handle any more hours with this beautiful woman than I already am. After spending the first half of the day together, I feel like I’ve been staring at the sun. I shut my eyes, and the image of her face is burned there. I might never see properly again.
Also, she made Sam laugh ten times today. Ten. I kept a tally.
Yeah, Evie’s not the only one being creepy.
I realize belatedly that Evie saw me give Sam that look. I try to play it off and smile at Evie, but she just chuckles a laugh that sounds like she’s giving me the middle finger in her head. She thinks I don’t like her all that much, and although it’s kind of torturing me, I’m also okay with her thinking that, because I’ve been working hard to give her that impression all day.
“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’m actually pretty tired, and I think I heard Charlie’s stomach growl earlier. I should get home and feed him.”
“You sure? You’re welcome to join us.” I’m all politeness now that I know I’m in no danger of her accepting.
She makes a guttural noise that says she knows what I’m doing. I glance up at her in time to see her lips mouth liar liar, pants on fire. She smirks and turns her face to look out the side window. I like that she never lets me get away with my rudeness.
Five minutes later, we are pulling up outside of a classic Charleston-style, tall and skinny house in the center of town. It’s not bad. A little old and outdated, but it looks like a pretty nice place, all in all. I wonder what it looks like inside. Does she have feminine throw pillows sprinkled around the living room? Is she tidy or messy? Somehow, I instinctively know that she’s messy. Evie just seems like the sort of woman to kick off her shoes haphazardly as she walks into her apartment and drop her purse somewhere random that she’ll forget by the morning. I definitely have her pegged as an “unfasten her bra, pull it out her sleeve, and toss it over the back of a couch before she’s even made it fully into the house” kind of woman.
I really want to walk her to her door and find out if I’m right.
Seeing me inspect her house, she says, “This isn’t my house. I rent out their detached studio apartment around back.”
Oh. Now I’m even more curious.
She gathers her purse and slings it over her shoulder. I notice that her hair gets caught under the strap, and I’m reaching up to pull it free when I notice Evie’s eyes widen.
Bad hand!
I drop it and quickly turn to open my door. I’m getting out now. Why am I getting out? What am I supposed to do once Evie comes around to this side of the truck? Do we hug? Definitely not. Do we shake hands? That would be strange. Suddenly, I’m thirteen, I’ve just discovered that girls exist, and I have no idea how to act around them.
I hear Sam call out a goodbye from the backseat and watch Evie wave toward Sam when she and Charlie round the truck. If I’m not mistaken, she gives one appreciative glance to my truck before meeting my eyes. What would I do if she gave me that same look? I’m losing it.
“Well,”—she adjusts her hair out from under her purse strap—“thanks for the ride. Should I Venmo you some money for gas?” Wow. She really thinks I’m an A-hole.
I shake my head and stuff my hands in my pockets. “Not necessary. Glad to help out.”
She’s fidgeting, awkward, and won’t make eye contact with me. Oh, right. She thinks I don’t like her. Is she waiting for me to apologize for the look in the car? I should…but I don’t because I’m afraid it would undo all the work I’ve done to keep her at bay.
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you two tomorrow, then.” Her tone is clipped, and I’m 99.9% sure she wishes I was dead.
“Right. Yeah. Sounds good.”
I wish she would smile at me. I just want one for the road. She looks over my shoulder toward Sam’s window, and then her face lights up with a smile that melts my insides. She looks back to me, and her smile drops. No smiles for you, big jerk. And then she and Charlie disappear around the house.
When I’m back in the truck and buckling up, Sam says, “She saw you make that face, you know.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you want her to come to dinner?”
At least a hundred answers fly through my mind, but I can’t tell my ten-year-old daughter any of them. “Because…I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable having to eat with us.”
“I think she would have liked to come.”
I flip my turn signal and move into traffic, pretending not to be overly curious about Sam’s statement. “Oh yeah? Why do you think that?”
“Because she peeks at you as much as you peek at her.”
Never mind the fact that statement makes me sound like a massive creeper…
I look at Sam in the rearview mirror and see her satisfied smirk. “We’re just friends, kiddo. There’s nothing else between Evie and me.”
“Well then, you should have made her come with us. Friends eat dinner together.”
The problem is, I don’t want to be friends with Evie. I want to take her on a date, and run my hands through her long hair, and find out if her lips feel as soft as they look.
Chapter Nine
EVIE
I’m sitting at the venue Jo and I booked for the fundraiser benefit, waiting for the caterer to meet me so we can go over the menu, when my phone buzzes.
JO: You need to go shopping.
EVIE: Because you hate my clothes?
JO: Because you need a new dress for the benefit. Something short and black.
EVIE: I was thinking I would wear my silver one again.
JO: Exactly. That dress has seen better days. You need to go shopping. Let’s go Friday.
Ugh. I hate that Jo is right. That silver dress is the last connection I’ve had with my old life. I’m pretty sure when Mama bought me that dress, it cost more than all of my current wardrobe piled together. But just because it was expensive back then, doesn’t mean it still looks expensive now—unless peplum dresses that have shrunk a few too many sizes in the dryer have suddenly come back in style.
EVIE: Fine. You win. I’ll buy a new dress. But it has to be from somewhere that I can use a 20% off coupon.
JO: No way, missy. You haven’t let me buy you anything all year. This is my treat.
That’s true, too. Jo is always trying to buy me things, but I don’t let her. I can’t exactly be a pioneer, forging my own path in life, if I’m constantly letting someone go in front of me and whack down all the weeds. I have to do it. I have to get my hands dirty.
But since this night is really important for our company, and I have invited quite an impressive list of people that I’m hoping will give us loads of money
, I decide to give in this once and let her spoil me.
EVIE: If I let you buy me a dress, does that mean I have to let you pick it too? Because anytime you dress me up, I end up looking less like a lady and more like a lady of the night.
JO: *Pretty Woman gif*
EVIE: Does that mean yes?
JO: *Another Pretty Woman gif*
EVIE: You’re hopeless.
JO: And you’re more prudish than my Grandma Sue.
EVIE: I love you.
JO: I love you too.
I hear the door to the venue open, and I look up with a smile on my face. My smile immediately falls at the sight of my caterer walking beside my mama, as buddy-buddy as I’ve ever seen two people. They are laughing about something, and Mama gives the caterer a playful smack across the arm. “Monica, you’re so bad. I had no idea that you were capable of being so conniving.”
The woman beams at Mama. “That’s only because you’ve never harassed my servers and then tried to get out of paying me for my services.”
What in the name of Sam Hill is my mama doing here with my caterer?
I stand up with an angry scowl on my face. “Mama, what are you doing here?”
“Now, is that any way to greet your mother?” She’s smiling like she does when she’s trying to fool everyone around us into thinking we’re a happy, do-anything-for-each-other family. We’re not. And honestly, I’m so done pretending.
I cross my arms. “How do you two know each other?”
Poor Monica sees my face and starts looking worried. She takes a small step back to let my mother take the lead. “Did you not know? I’ve been using Monica’s catering company for years. She provides the most delicious food for all of the Powder Society’s functions.”
I want to groan. Of course I picked the one caterer in town that was tied to Melony Jones.
“I think it’s safe to say that I did not know that.” Or else I would not have used her. “But how did you know we were meeting today?”
Mama smiles a syrupy sweet smile to Monica over her shoulder. “Will you give us a minute, Mon?” Mon! Bleh. Excuse me while I go fire my caterer immediately.
Monica leaves my mama and me alone together. I spot the fire alarm only a few feet away, and I consider pulling it.
“Now, Evelyn Grace, can you please try, for one moment, to not treat me like some sort of almighty tormenter in front of my caterer?”
“My caterer! She’s my caterer today! I’m just trying to figure out what the heck you’re doing here.” I’m as close as cat's breath to purposely spilling my coffee all over my mama’s pink linen dress.
She sticks her nose in the air a little higher. “If you must know, Monica and I were together yesterday, discussing the menu for an upcoming Powder Society meeting, and she mentioned that she was meeting with a client today by the name of Jones and wondered if I was related to an Evie.” Oh, yeah…Monica’s got to go. “I told her you were my daughter, and she mentioned your fundraiser. Imagine my embarrassment when I had to pretend like I knew what she was talking about! My own daughter not inviting me to a fundraiser she is hosting!” She’s shaking her head, and honestly, that pity card she’s trying to fly in front of my face is looking pretty flimsy these days.
“Mama, you have made it perfectly clear that you do not support my decision to work for Southern Service Paws. So, excuse me if I didn’t think it would interest you to be invited.”
“We are the Joneses, Evelyn Grace! We go to every fundraiser in town. Imagine how it would look if word got out that I wasn’t even invited to my own daughter’s event?”
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the mother that raised me. She is putting up a big fight, not because she’s hurt that I didn’t want her at the fundraiser, but because she’s afraid of what people would think. This is so classic Melony Jones. It’s how she’s acted every single day of my life.
Maybe I should move to a new town. Somewhere far away where the Jones name means nothing.
But I relent because I don’t have the time to go eighteen rounds with her. “Fine, Mama. Consider this your and Daddy’s official invitation. It’s Satur—”
Mama holds up her hand and then starts rifling through her purse. “Don’t bother. I already have all the details on this laser-printed invitation I took off of Deborah’s fridge.” She levels me with a frosty scowl. “Because Deborah and her family received one.”
I knew she would mention something about the printing. Mama is the queen of event planning. She would rather saw off her arm to pay for the finest engraved linen invitations than have to settle for mere laser printing.
I gesture toward the invite. “So, apparently you didn’t have to do too much acting when Monica told you about the event since you had already stolen that invitation from one of your friends. Remind me, do they teach theft in cotillion? It’s been so long I don’t remember.”
Mama’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Now that’s enough sass from you, young lady. Like it or not, your daddy and I will be at the benefit.” She tucks her stolen invite back into her Coach purse.
She turns away and starts swinging her hips as she walks toward the door, and without looking back, she gets one final punch in. “By the way, I already talked with Monica, and the drumsticks you originally ordered will never work for a black-tie event. I had her change the menu to salmon and chicken cutlets. If you want people to give like millionaires, don’t expect them to eat with their fingers like cavemen.”
I’m looking around for something I can throw at this woman, but whether because of the good Lord’s mercy or my own bad luck, there’s nothing nearby.
She pauses with her hand on the door. “Oh, and I expect you to send a proper invitation to Tyler and his parents.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that as soon as pigs fly.”
Mama swivels her lazy frown back at me. “I raised you to have more class than that. This is proof you’ve been spending too much time with that Joanna woman. Act like a southern lady, dear. Not a backwoods bumpkin.”
I watch her disappear through the door and hear her chuckle with Monica on the other side of it. I wonder if this is how the rest of my life is going to be. Will I ever be outside of my mama’s reach in this town? Is there anyone who works within the state of South Carolina who hasn’t worked for Melony Jones in some fashion?
Southern Service Paws is usually my safe haven, but now it feels like Mama has wiggled her way in the back door somehow.
I despise the idea of accepting my parents’ money or using their name in any way, but I do know that if word spreads around town that they are attending the benefit, all the other elitists will come too. No one wants to be the couple that didn’t attend the same event as Melony and Harold Jones. And likely, if they see my mama offering up a check, the money will pour in like manna from heaven. Now that I think about it, it was selfish of me not to invite them in the first place.
For the sake of the company, I can lay down my pride long enough to add my parents’ names to the guest list. But under no circumstances will I be adding Tyler Murray’s name. I’m not that selfless.
I pick up my phone and see that Joanna has texted me again. Just seeing her name on the screen helps my shoulders relax and my breathing to normalize. She has given me a place in this world that I never expected to have; the least I can do is help the company she loves thrive.
JO: After we find you a dress, we need to find you a date.
EVIE: I have one. I need to buy Charlie a tux, though.
JO: I was thinking more along the lines of that sexy dad that gave you a ride home last night.
EVIE: You’ve never even seen him.
JO: I don’t have to. When a man has a timber to his voice like that man’s, he has no choice but to be sexy. Bring him!
EVIE: No. He doesn’t like me. Besides, shouldn’t you be discouraging any fraternization between me and our clients?
JO: We’re not a PR team for a presidential candidate. Fraternize all night if you
want :)
Dang it. I was really hoping she would ban any thoughts of making out with Jacob Broaden. It would be easier to swallow his rejection if I knew I couldn’t have him even if he did like me.
Chapter Ten
EVIE
I sling my purse over my shoulder and gather Charlie’s leash. It’s been a long day of training at Sam’s house, and she’s honestly done amazing. She’s picked up the techniques so quickly that I’m considering asking her to drop out of elementary school and come to work for me as a trainer.
Sam approaches me slowly as I gather my things, her bare toes scuffing the plush rug. She’s after something. She glances toward the kitchen where Jacob disappeared a moment ago and then back to me.
“Spill it,” I tell her when she works up the nerve to meet my eyes.
She smiles—something she’s started doing more and more over the past two days—and asks, “Do you think…well…there’s this birthday slumber party at one of my friend’s house coming up…”
“Mmhmm,” I say, setting my purse down and giving Sam my full attention. “Go on.”
“Do you think Daisy will be ready by then to go with me…you know…if I can convince my daddy?”
“I don’t see why not. I think you and Daisy are bonding quickly.” And that’s the truth. I’ve been impressed with how attentive Daisy has been to Sam. Anytime Sam simulates a seizure, Daisy has snapped into action immediately, rolling Sam onto her side and going to alert Jacob before returning to Sam’s side and licking her face until the “seizure” subsides.
“Oh, great.” Sam doesn’t look relieved, though. This conversation wasn’t really about asking if Daisy will be ready or not.
“Are you sure that’s all you wanted to talk about?”
“No.” Sam gives me a crooked grin that has seriously started to melt my heart.
I learned this morning when I asked if Sam’s mama could come around sometime during the next week to get acclimated with Daisy that the woman left a year ago and there is no chance of her coming back into their life. Jacob is single—a fact that doesn’t affect me whatsoever—and Sam is essentially motherless. I don’t know where this incredibly stupid woman has gone, or why she left, but I know that she left this fragile family devastated.
