Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

BECKETT

I wake up face down in my bed, two cats burrowed between my shoulder blades and my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I groan and fight not to fling the damn thing right out the window. I was having a dream about Evelyn and those socks she was wearing on the back porch—the ones that go all the way up to her knees. In my dream, she was only wearing those socks, a coy smile on her dark red lips.

I’m a creature of habit, and I can feel myself making new habits with Evelyn in my space. I’m used to having her here now—I like it, even. I like hearing her move around on the other side of the house in the middle of the night, a muffled curse under her breath when she runs into something in the dark. I like listening to her talk to the cats, arguments with Prancer about who has a right to the big fluffy scarf she loops around her neck. I like her shoes in the hallway and her bag on one of the hooks by the door. Her tube of lipstick on the kitchen counter and her hair ties forgotten on the edge of the sink.

I roll over in bed and Comet and Vixen voice their protest, finding another place in the blankets to curl up in. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes until I see spots.

I shouldn’t like anything.

I certainly shouldn’t like dreaming about her. Pretty sure that crosses some sort of line in the tremulous friend truce we’ve slowly pieced together.

But my brain hasn’t gotten the memo. Every night is a free-for-all of vivid fantasies. Evelyn in the giant tub, bubbles sliding down her neck. Evelyn in the kitchen, bent over my countertop. Evelyn up against the bookshelf by the fireplace, her hands curling around the edges.

My phone vibrates again and I blindly slap around my nightstand. Predawn light flirts with the edges of my window in a shadow of gray.

4:32 am

Nessa: You’re needed at trivia this week.

Nessa: I don’t want to hear a single complaint or excuse.

Nessa: One of the categories is botany.

I frown at my phone.

4:41 am

Beckett: What are you doing up so early?

Beckett: And no.

My family has a trivia team for the bar’s monthly competitions. They’re scary competitive about it. Harper almost threw a chair through the front window when she got a question wrong about Boyz II Men.

4:42 am

Nessa: Early rehearsal before work.

Nessa: You have 72-hours to come to terms with this reality. Harper can’t make it.

I rack my brain for an appropriate excuse.

4:43 am

Beckett: I’m not registered.

I know for a fact all team members need to be registered at the start of the trivia season. Caleb had to intervene in a dispute last year when Gus and Monty pulled Luka in for the Bruce Willis category without any clearance.

I sit up in bed and swing my legs over the edge, the floorboards cold beneath my feet. It’s been unseasonably chilly this March. I glance at the window, and then back down to my phone when it buzzes again.

4:45 am

Nessa: Oh, sweet brother of mine.

Nessa: We register you every year for exactly this reason.

Nessa: Now is your time to shine.

Nessa: The category is BOTANY.

4:47 am

Beckett: Our father is also a farmer.

4:49 am

Nessa: See you this weekend.

I don’t bother with a response. I know if I don’t show up to trivia, Nessa will appear at my house—probably with Harper—and physically drag me there kicking and screaming. It’s happened before and it’ll likely happen again.

I don’t like going to trivia. I don’t like spending my time in a crowded room that smells like beer and hot wings, a television on in every corner and an old record player that anyone can change whenever they want. For some insane reason, Jesse loves playing ABBA. It’s overwhelming, and at least seven people try to talk to me every time.

I go through the motions of getting ready for the day, the edges of my dream clinging to my thoughts. In my dream, I had been tracing the gentle slope between her shoulder and neck, my finger tracing soft brown skin. I shuffle down the hallway while pulling my flannel over my shoulders and indulge. Would she still taste like citrus if I pressed my tongue to her skin? Would she still hiccup my name?

The clink of the coffee pot distracts me, a warm glow of light coming from the kitchen.

Evelyn stands with her back to me at the counter, Prancer nuzzling her head into her hip. She hums and pets her hand down the cat’s back, whispering something with a laugh as Prancer pushes harder into her. I glance at the countertop. Two mugs sitting out, steaming with coffee.

My heart gives a heavy thump in my chest.

Perfect.

Her tongue swipes at her bottom lip as she turns her back and grabs the two mugs from the countertop. I wish she would keep staring at me, wish she would press her hands beneath this flannel and dig her nails into my skin.

She hands me a mug, her fingertips brushing mine as I curl my hand around warm ceramic.

I nod. She could tell me to put on a hot dog costume and do the merengue down the front steps and I’d probably agree.

I scratch at the back of my head roughly, squinting out over the fields. The transplants will be here soon for planting, and we’ll be all hands on deck for dig day. I prefer to dig by hand (like a lunatic, as Layla likes to say) and of course, Stella has made it into a thing. Music, snacks, a bunch of people who are frankly unhelpful with the whole process. Caleb might be a good deputy, but he digs the most lopsided holes I’ve ever seen in my life.

But it makes Stella happy, so dig day it is.

We’re doing spacing today, marking the distance between each tree. It’ll be easier for people to dig if everything is already placed where it should be. I learned that the hard way when Charlie thought it would be “cool” to make his own “private forest” in the last field we did. I now have several clumps of trees growing way too close to one another, throwing off the balance of the whole thing.

I hesitate and her eyes narrow into slits. I forgot how demanding she can be.

I forgot how much I like it.

Her eyes narrow further. “Don’t pander to me.”

Poor Brian Hargraves never saw Nessa coming. One second he was lobbing kernels of corn at the back of my head as I walked towards the bus and the next Nessa had speared him to the ground like she was an MMA fighter.

The smile wobbles on Evelyn’s face. “Kids made fun of you at school?”

Having trouble talking to other people combined with working on a farm made me an easy target. It was never anything too malicious. Easy enough to block out.

And everyone stopped talking shit when I suddenly grew six inches my junior year, my body bulking up from early mornings at the produce farm.

I clear my throat and nod towards the field of dirt stretched out behind us. Soon enough it will be dotted with small bundles of green, the youngest trees we’ve ever had. They’ll grow here for five years before they’ll be ready for their homes in front of fireplaces and in large windows, decorated with tinsel and lights.

She takes off toward the far side of the field, ponytail swinging behind her. I watch as she stops at the very edge, digs her shovel into the earth, and neatly tosses it to the side. Five and half steps forward. Again.

I don’t know what it says about me that I’m getting turned on by a woman shoveling dirt. Probably nothing good.

He holds up his fist for me to pound and I stare at him.

And only because he told me he strained his wrist the third morning. He complained enough that I ripped the shovel right out of his hands.

I hand him my shovel and point in the opposite direction of where Evelyn is working. The last thing she needs is Jeremy being … Jeremy around her. He squints at her in the distance, her spine curved over the shovel. She presses her boot to the blade, pivots down, and lifts with her shoulder. I make a pained sound under my breath.

I don’t even know how he can tell who she is from this far away. She’s wearing thick athletic pants that mold to her curves like a second skin and an oversized white t-shirt. A sweatshirt overtop with a stitched outline of Half Dome on the bottom edge. She couldn’t be more inconspicuous if she tried.

Though the pants certainly leave an impression. I’m sure they’ll have a starring role in my dreams tonight. I want to smooth my palms over the shiny material, tug the waistband with my teeth.

He nods slowly. “Gotta feed the Gram, you know?”

I don’t know. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

If anything, I get a lot of stares and a few whispers, but that’s probably because I don’t bother showing up to anything. Nessa’s invitation to trivia feels like a burr caught in my shoe.

I grab him by the scruff of his neck before he can go too far and push him in the opposite direction of Evelyn. “Start here instead. You can get your phone after.”

He pouts at me. “Your sense of responsibility is super inspiring and all, but—”

I shake my head. “Dig your holes, and then you’re spending the morning with Stella in her office.”

He perks up at that. “Yeah?”

Yeah. Stella doesn’t think all the manual labor is conducive to shaping him into an upstanding young adult. Or something. She wants him to spend time in the office with her, see how we run things from the business side. You probably don’t even talk to him, do you?

Not if I can help it, I told her.

I point out into the distance. “Off you go.”

He gives me a petulant look. “I see how it is. Put the woman and the minor to work while you kick back. I see you, boss man.” He splits his fingers and points at his eyes and then mine.

This fucking kid.

Jeremy drags himself to his corner and I spare a glance in Evelyn’s direction. I watch as she swipes the back of her arm across her brow, her hands curling around the bottom edge of her sweatshirt and lifting. I see a flash of brown skin, the top edge of those tight pants.

I pick up the other discarded shovel and turn to the southeast corner.

Sal’s laugh booms out of him, his hands busy plucking green beans from the stem as he answers Evelyn’s question. “No. Absolutely not. My dad is a mechanic and my mother kills everything she touches. I don’t let her anywhere near my houseplants when she visits.”

I grunt and jerk at a plant too roughly, a couple of leaves coming with the green beans. It’s been like this all day. Evelyn has been uncovering the life story of everyone she meets, charming them with her smiles and her laugh until they’re putty in her hands. She spotted Jeremy across the field during digging this morning and waved. Ten minutes later, and the sly little shit was belly laughing with her, neither of them digging a single hole. Barney came rumbling up with his tractor and after a five-minute conversation where she propped her hip against the wheel well, he was blushing and inviting her to poker night.

She is bright laughter and easy smiles. Genuine interest and affection that leaves you feeling like you’re floating with the clouds. That’s the magic of Evelyn, I guess. She shines so bright she casts everyone around her in that same glow.

I want to feel that light, too. But all I’ve gotten is hesitant smiles and a carefully maintained bit of space between us.

Evelyn glances at the collection of leaves and beans strangled in my hands. She’s got dirt up to her elbows and on the curve of her jaw, hair falling out of her smooth ponytail.

She looks beautiful.

I give into temptation and reach out my hand, thumbing at a stubborn streak of mud just under her chin. Everything would be alright if I could stop my brain for a half a second, remind myself that she’s not here to stay. She sent that message clear enough the last two times she disappeared from my life without a word. Evelyn is like a spring storm. She appears without warning, makes everything around her bloom, and then leaves with the wind.

But I can’t keep myself from touching her. I fan my fingers out against the side of her jaw and she sways into me, stumbling closer. I want to press my thumb to her chin and guide her mouth open. I want to curl my hand around the back of her neck and pull her into me. I want to feel that heat bloom deep in my chest as I lower my mouth down on hers.

Instead, I settle for this. Slow, careful touches against her warm skin. I slip my thumb down the line of her throat and rub gently at a stubborn streak of dirt, back and forth. Her skin is so soft, it's like touching silk. She swallows and I drag my eyes to hers. We stare at each other for the length of one shared inhale, my hand against her throat. I wonder if she’s thinking about my hands on her skin in that hotel room. If she’s remembering, too.

A deep breath rattles in my chest and I drop my hand to my side.

Sal throws his hand up in the air, a tsch under his breath. He continues to move down the line of plants without looking up once. “Don’t mind him. He’s always like that.”

Evelyn’s eyes slant towards me, a secret in the smile that curls at her lips. Finally, a smile just for me. “Not always,” she mutters, mischief with a touch of heat. I remember another time my thumb was at her throat, her legs hugging my hips and her palms pressed tight to my shoulder blades. I shift on my feet.

I watch the top of Sal’s hat as he continues to bob down the neat line of bright green, smack dab in the middle of the field. “I’m good. Not much left to do today.”

I brush my palms on my jeans, two twin streaks of dirt. Evelyn follows after Sal, hands working in the leaves. I grind the heel of my boot down in the dirt and trace the curve of her spine with my eyes. “You wanna stay here or come back with me?”

I take off my hat and scrub my hand against the back of my head, making a mess of my hair. Come back with me pounds a beat in my skull and presses sharp right behind my eyes. If I could pull that thought right out of my head and bury it under these beans, I would.

I take the longest, coldest shower of my life.

Watching her in the fields today had been torture. She fits here, with her boots in the dirt and her hand shading her eyes against the rising sun, calling out to me over the wide stretch of land. She fits on my back porch with her legs curled under her, chin on her knee, asking seventeen questions a minute.

Evelyn is not here for you, I tell myself as I stand beneath the stream of cold water. I close my eyes and ignore the pull of wanting—the rising warmth in my chest that’s a whole lot more dangerous than any feelings of lust. She came here for something that isn’t you.

She probably fits everywhere she goes. That’s the magic of Evelyn. She can find a comfortable nook for herself in every coffee shop, food stand, and hole-in-the-wall she visits.

Me, meanwhile. I fit here. Only here. On this stretch of land where I can go entire days without talking to a single person.

My phone begins to buzz on the counter by the sink and I groan, knocking my head against the shower wall. I had plans to disappear into the greenhouse tonight, lose myself in trimming and planting until the image of Evelyn laughing next to the tractor fades out of my mind. Until I can look at her and not … not want so damn much.

I slam my hand on the shower handle and it gives an answering croak of protest. If I’m not careful, this house will be in pieces by the time Evelyn decides to leave. That thought doesn’t do anything to ease my dark mood and when I finally manage to answer the phone, I’m thoroughly agitated, a shiver working over my body from the icy water.

A beat of silence. “Is that how you answer the phone for your sister?”

I hang up the phone and slam it down on my dresser. It immediately starts ringing again. I suck in a deep breath through my nose as I pull on my clothes and answer on the third ring.

She hums. “That’s better.” I hear the low melody of a piano in the background. She must be at the studio. “You never answered my text about trivia.”

I grunt and continue to not answer her about trivia. I grab a t-shirt from the top drawer of my dresser, an old faded one with an angry badger stretched across the chest. Luka’s mom is head of the PTA at the high school and I buy a shirt every year. I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t.

I ignore her. “What’s going on with Harper?”

There’s a lengthy pause. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I look up at the ceiling and beg for patience. I’m already mad. So it’s not a lie when I say: “I won’t get mad.”

She pauses and I pull my shirt over my head. “She was seeing Carter again,” she says slowly, dragging out each word with reluctance. A hot flash of anger immediately grabs me by the throat. “And he broke things off with her over the weekend.”

I knew it. I fucking knew it. Every single time Harper has had that look on her face, it’s been because of one man. A stupid fuckboy with blonde highlights and a fucking puka shell necklace. “What did he say to her?”

Nessa sighs. “I don’t - “

I make a frustrated sound into the phone.

I take a deep breath in. Let it out slowly. I tap the speaker button and pull up my text messages.

I brace my hands on the edge of the dresser and flex my fingers twice. She’s right. Dane did threaten to arrest us after the last time.

And I’m pretty sure we used the last of Stella’s face paint.

She answers with a shaky sigh against me, fingertips digging just slightly into my skin. Her nose nudges up, the brush of her lips just below my ear. My entire body goes rigid.

I hang up the phone and slip it into my back pocket, leaning back and looking down at Evelyn plastered against my front. She’s cleaned the dirt off of her face and all that’s left is a rosy glow from a day spent outside, her hair curling at the edges. I thumb a strand behind her ear.

That’s twice today I haven’t been able to keep my hands off of her. I feel trapped between holding her at a safe distance and tugging her closer. A pendulum swinging endlessly back and forth.

I step back and clear my throat. I scoop my keys off the kitchen counter and try to scoop some of the feelings playing Plinko inside of my chest back where they belong.

Evelyn blinks at me. Without a second of hesitation, she reaches for the discarded sweatshirt slung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. She pulls it over her head, arms punching through the sleeves, her hands lifting her long ponytail to pull it from the collar.

She slips her feet back into the shoes she kicked off right at the end of the hallway and gestures towards the door with a nod.