CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BECKETT
I wake to Evelyn sprawled across me, her thigh tossed over my hips and her nose at my shoulder. I smooth my hand down her bare back and watch as she shifts closer, a single beam of morning light dancing down her skin. I chase the light with my touch, my thumb easing over brown skin and her nose scrunches, a huff in her sleep as she rolls and settles again.
I love how she looks beneath my sheets—the gentle curve of her hip and the dip at her waist. The graceful line of her arm across her bare breasts. She looks like a piece of art. Painted with oils and pressed into canvas with rough fingertips. Bold strokes of burnished gold and rich plum and deep, forest green.
Despite my insistence that all we’d do is sleep, I woke up before dawn to soft fingers grazing against my stomach, searching kisses in the dark. I had pulled her over me and touched her until she was breathless, hands tugging at my clothes. A lick of heat curls against the base of my spine as I remember the sound she made as I sunk into her that second time. A low moan. Pure, unadulterated relief.
Desire pulses hot and I dig the palms of my hands against my eyes until I see spots. I need to get out of this bed if I have any hope of getting anything done today. I still feel desperate for her, needy for her sounds and touches and body.
For the way she looks at me. For her laugh and smile and careful attention.
I flip back the blankets and slip from the bed, Evie immediately rolling into my space. I drop a kiss between her shoulder blades.
Her hand tangles briefly in my hair, a gentle tug and then a soothing rub with the pads of her fingers against my scalp. A deep, satisfied sound rumbles low in my chest. Evie grins into the pillow.
“Like a cat,” she mumbles.
I nudge my head further into her hand playfully and she pushes me away. “Pancakes,” she says with a sigh. “Bacon.” She still hasn’t bothered with opening her eyes.
“Alright,” I trace the swell of her cheek with my thumb. I want to bottle up this moment, her body soft and sweet beneath my sheets, the sounds of the house settling around us. Tree branches scratching at the windows and floorboards yawning in the hallway. “Let’s start with coffee and go from there.”
I’d make her pancakes and bacon and a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet—anything she wanted if she told me she wanted to stay. But I push that thought away as quickly as it enters my mind. Bury it deep. It’s wishful thinking in the worst of ways. Evie is too big to be contained by a place like Lovelight. Far too bright to be tucked away on a small-town farm. I won’t have her lose her shine because—because I can’t stand to see her go.
I glance at her smile tucked into my pillow, her fingertips tracing mindless lines against my tattoos.
“Meet you in the kitchen,” she tells me, already halfway back to sleep, foot twitching out from beneath the flannel blankets. I pull the curtains closed on my way out the door and scoop my discarded pants from the floor, stepping into them as I wander down the hall. The cats ignore me completely, content with their place in the sun beneath the window.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Comet rolls onto her back, her tiny paw waving briefly in the air.
I busy myself with starting the coffee and setting out the ingredients for pancakes, a deep soreness between my shoulder blades and in the back of my thighs. I have two twin scratch marks at the curve of my ribs—a souvenir from the second time, when I pressed my thumb between her legs and her hands curled into fists against my sides.
Sleeping with Evelyn last night probably wasn’t the best idea. I’m only falling deeper into this thing between us. I’m afraid that when she leaves this time, she’s going to be taking all of the important parts of me with her.
But I’m tired of holding myself back. Tired of pretending I don’t want her in every possible way. On my porch and at my table and in my bed. I’ve never been so greedy for a woman in my entire life.
It’s Evie.
I never stood a chance.
I want to talk to her about her day and then fuck her senseless up against the wall. I want to make her grilled cheese and tomato soup and then spread her out on my table.
A light, musical ring interrupts my thoughts and I glance over my shoulder at the table. Evelyn’s laptop is propped open at the corner, a spiral notebook just beneath. My eyes shift down the hall and back again, the ring cutting off abruptly.
It begins again a moment later.
I know she doesn’t have her phone. It’s still at the bottom of the pond, likely making a fine home with one of the boat oars Luka dropped in two summers ago. I take a step closer and squint at the screen. A tiny box in the corner tells me Josie is calling. I’ve heard her name before from Evelyn, a friendly affection in her voice.
My hand hovers over the trackpad and I tap answer before I can talk myself out of it. I’ll take a message, hang up, and make us some damn pancakes.
A woman’s face instantly appears on the screen. Short black hair. A Metallica sweatshirt. Wide brown eyes that blink and then grow wider.
“Holy shit,” says a tinny voice from the speaker.
My reflection appears in the top left side of the screen, arm braced against the edge of the table and hand still hovering over the keyboard. I am … not wearing a shirt. Pretty sure you can see Evie’s scratch marks across my chest. I push up off the table and stand there like an idiot, hesitantly waving the spatula in greeting.
Did not know this was a video call.
“Um, hello.”
Socked feet shuffle down the hallway. Evie appears in the entrance to the kitchen wearing one of my flannels, half-buttoned and barely skimming her thighs. She has her knit—I exhale a shaky breath and grab the back of the chair—she has her cable knit socks pulled to her knees. I’m torn between the desire to burn those fucking things and have her wear nothing but those, her knees hugging my ears and her hands in my hair.
“Hey,” she mumbles, scooting her way over to me and brushing a brief kiss to the underside of my jaw. Her arms curl around my waist and she hugs me tight. It’s the sort of easy affection I’ve been craving from her, and I can’t appreciate it because I’m frozen in front of the camera, staring like a deer in headlights over Evie’s head. If the kitchen floor could swallow me whole, that would be great.
I knew I shouldn’t have answered the fucking call.
“My, my, my. Look what we have here.”
Evie jumps, face snapping towards the computer. My hands grip her hips in silent apology.
“I didn’t know it was a video call,” I whisper, just for her.
Evelyn blinks. The woman on the screen stares wordlessly at us both and then steeples her fingers together. She taps them lightly, looking like a movie villain. A slow grin starts at the edge of her mouth until her whole face looks fit to burst with unrestrained glee.
It’s terrifying.
“So many things are beginning to make sense,” she says with a weird aristocratic accent. Evie sighs and pats once at my chest, tipping her head back to look up at me. She has a faint blush on her cheeks, but she has a smile, too. Her eyes trail down my torso and land on the thin scratches on my side. The flush on her cheeks trips a shade darker.
“Why don’t you go put a shirt on?”
“No need to on my account,” comes the voice from the screen.
“I’m gonna go put a shirt on,” I agree. I place the spatula on the table and make a quick exit, retreating to the safety of my bedroom.
Once the door clicks shut behind me, I pull a flannel from the top drawer without bothering to look at it, taking my time to do up the buttons. It’s for the best that I'm not standing awkwardly behind Evie during a phone call with her friend. I’m not trying to make anything difficult for her. I don’t want her to feel any pressure, from me or anyone else. She puts enough on herself.
I rub the palm of my hand against the back of my neck, frustrated. With the situation but mostly with myself, at my inability to just—say what I want.
I know what I want.
I glance at the bed—the twisted sheets and the faint indent in the pillow next to mine.
But I know it’s selfish to want it.
The door cracks open and Evie pokes her head around the corner, her hair a tangled mess and falling over her shoulders. She smiles gently at me when she sees me standing in the middle of the room and opens the door further. She places a coffee mug on the edge of the dresser like we do this every day.
I wish we did.
I clear my throat. “Everything okay?”
She nods and crosses her arms over her chest as she leans up against the doorframe, an easy smile on her face. All I can do is stare at the buttons of the shirt she stole, the sides barely covering the swell of her breasts. It would be so easy to hook my finger there, pull her to me and forget the mess in my head.
How long is she staying? What will happen when she goes?
How far gone am I and do I even care?
It would all disappear with my mouth on hers.
Half of me expects her to push the conversation, demand that we talk through everything we cracked wide open last night. But she keeps her eyes on me, gaze warm and honest and kind. There’s a faded line pressed from the corner of her eye to the curve of her jaw, a crease from my pillow imprinted against her cheek.
I want her like this every single morning.
“You left your phone on the counter,” she tells me, uncrossing her arms and edging further in the room. “Mabel called and said you’re late.”
I groan. I forgot I volunteered to help her today. Spring wedding season is chaotic at the greenery, and she’s too short to do the arches by herself. I glance down the long line of Evie’s body propped up against the dresser and groan again.
I had plans this morning. Pancakes and syrup with the doors to the porch thrown open wide. The sun on her skin and the tempting line of her throat. I rub at my chest and ignore the low flare of disappointment.
She grins and turns, bending at the waist for the third drawer down. I make a helpless sound as the swell of her hips and the curve of her ass are put on display and she gives me a little shimmy, legs rocking back and forth.
“I’ll go with you,” she tells me over her shoulder, pulling out a pair of jeans and tossing them in my direction. “I’ve got to drop off website stuff for her anyway.”
“You’re still doing that stuff around town?” Social media, a majority of it. But helping Alex stock books on the back shelves, too. Taking a turn on the cash register at the hardware store. Christopher had been beside himself, telling anyone who would listen about the celebrity who wanted to work at his store.
She’s been sharing her sunshine with anyone who needs some light, even as she struggles herself. She’s open and warm and kind and it’s so easy to picture her here. To want her to stay.
She hums in affirmation, a balled up pair of socks soaring through the air and narrowly missing my head. I reach back and grab them off the bed.
She rockets back up on her feet and sets her hands on her hips. Bossy, in every line of her body. Gorgeous, too. “But if we’re skipping breakfast here, I’m gonna want bacon on the way.”
I ease and settle. We’ll figure everything out in time, for better or worse. Worrying about it isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“We can do that.”
The back parking lot of the greenery is full when we arrive, a spike of anxiety making me fidget in my seat. This is not how I wanted to spend my morning with Evelyn. In fact, this is not how I want to spend any morning—ever. I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face for volunteering.
I can feel Evie’s eyes on me, watching me carefully as I maneuver the truck into one of the back alleyways. I reluctantly put it into park and she slips a piece of bacon out of the styrofoam container on her lap, offering me half.
“They like seeing you, you know.”
I bite into the bacon, keeping my gaze firmly locked on the large floral wreath over the door. It usually takes me between five and seven minutes to convince myself to get out of the car. “Who does?”
“Everyone. The town.”
I grunt.
“I just—” I turn to look at her, the bright morning light making her skin glow. She has pink on her neck from where my stubble brushed against her, the edge of a hickey peeking out from beneath her shirt. I give into temptation and reach over, thumbing once at the mark before pulling her collar over it. She turns her head and brushes a kiss against the constellation on the back of my hand. Argo Navis. The mighty ship.
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” she confesses. “Sitting by yourself in that big house. I hate thinking of you lonely.”
She means when she leaves. I slip my hand out of her grip and rub my palm against my thigh. She’s busy planning for her exit while I’m still out in the fields with her, my hands on her bare skin and my heart in my throat.
Disappointment punches me in the gut, a cheap shot that steals the air out of my lungs. All morning I’ve been trying to think of the right words to tell her I want her around and she’s thinking about where she’ll go next. I let out a slow breath and reach for the handle of the door.
“Alright,” I scratch at my nose and push everything back into place. Shoulders back, chin up, crumbling walls held up by toothpicks. “Let’s go in then.”
She stops me with her hand on my wrist, the styrofoam boxes placed neatly in the backseat. Her thumb rubs once against my skin and she smiles gently at me. There’s a secret there, in the set of her mouth. Comfort and a little bit of coercion, too. All the best things about Evie.
She rummages around in her bag and emerges with her hand wrapped tight around something, shuffling up on her knees to lean over the center console. She cups my jaw in one hand and reaches for my temple with the other, a small foam earplug held carefully between thumb and forefinger. She gently fits it into place against my ear, thumb smoothing along my jaw as the sound muffles around me. It’s like slipping underwater in the bath, warm water rushing over head.
She guides my head to the left and fits the other into place. She holds my face when she’s done, thumbs brushing under my eyes. She leans forward and drags a gentle kiss across my mouth. Let me take care of you, her kiss says.
I want her to. More than anything, I want her to.
“For the sound,” she explains, her voice muffled but still there. “To make it easier.”
I swallow around the words that burn unfamiliar in the back of my throat and settle for squeezing her hand in mine. But I wonder if she knows. If she can read it on my face.
I didn’t realize falling in love could be so simple. Bacon in a takeout container and earplugs in the bottom of a handbag.
I make a decision sitting in the front seat of my truck, my thumb across her knuckles. I don’t know what we’re doing, how long it’ll last, when she’ll leave again. But I’ll take all her pieces while I have her.
I’ll take whatever she can give me, for as long as she can.
The earplugs help, but Evelyn helps more.
She keeps her touches light and reassuring against the back of my arm as we twist flowers and vines around the sturdy legs of an arch. Half of the entire town is crammed into Mabel’s greenhouse space, bundles of fresh flowers and rolls of chicken wire and dense green foam on every flat surface. Loud conversation and bodies brushing close. I’ve seen glimpses of Mabel, hurrying between stations, a flurry of activity as she arranges and rearranges and sends people out the door.
“These are beautiful,” Evelyn fluffs some baby’s breath near the top of the arch and drags a fingertip over the petal of a pale pink peony, the bloom still clustered tight. Standing on the step stool, her ass is right above my face. I could bite at the top of her thigh if I wanted to. She turns and looks down at me, a sly smile curving her lips up. I don’t bother looking away from her ass.
I reach out a hand and help her down. “They are.”
Mabel is incredible at what she does. Her floral business has been slowly expanding over the past couple of years and this might be her biggest wedding yet. I look at all the arrangements spread out over the greenhouse, Gus standing by the door with what looks like five bouquets balanced in his massive hands, a patient look on his kind face as Mabel talks animatedly in front of him. He nods and jerks his head out front to where the ambulance is waiting, back doors propped open.
“I think Gus is trying to drop off flowers at a wedding in an ambulance.”
Evelyn hops off the last step of the stool but doesn’t drop my hand. I squeeze her fingers with mine, a tiny, white bloom stuck to her pinky.
“He might need the ambulance in a second.”
I laugh and Evelyn glances up at me, a wide smile on her pretty face. I forget that we’re in the middle of town in a crowded greenhouse. I forget that Cindy Croswell is standing three feet behind us, sneaking a peek through a bundle of eucalyptus.
All I know is that I want to kiss Evelyn while she has jasmine caught in her hair and I’ve got this feeling in my chest. Like someone kicked me out of an airplane. Total free fall. No parachute.
So I do.
I cup my hand around the back of her neck and tug her into me, a soft oh pressed against my mouth and her hands flat against my chest. I keep it chaste and easy, a gentle brush back and forth. A quick nip at her bottom lip. Her hands curl into fists as she sways into me, a light admonishment with the rap of her knuckles against my collarbone.
“Everyone can see,” she whispers against my mouth, not moving an inch. The sound is muted by the foam in my ears, but I can hear her all the same. I can also hear Cindy Croswell drop everything she’s holding right behind us and go rushing towards the supply closet where Becky Gardener disappeared ten minutes ago.
I bump my nose against hers. “I don’t care.”
Her smile widens into a grin, her brown eyes shining. This close, I can see flecks of gold in them. She thumbs at my jaw. “Those earplugs made you bold, farmer boy.”
I shrug and lean back, carding my hand through the length of her hair. For once, I don’t mind the attention. I’m not going to lose a moment with Evelyn just because someone might be watching. Though there is a lot of whispering going on all of a sudden, furtive glances in between ceramic vases and rose gold twinkle lights.
“Ah,” I see her point now. Gus and Mabel have abandoned their argument on the sidewalk and are standing with their faces pressed against the window. I wince. Everything in the greenhouse has come to a comical standstill. The whispers start like a hornet’s nest a second later. “Alright, well. Can’t take it back now.”
“Do you want to?” I look back down at her, the way her smile is slipping from her lips. “Take it back?”
I shake my head. I really don’t. I want everyone in this nosy-ass town to know. I’m half-tempted to dig my cell out of my back pocket and ring up the phone tree.
Relieved, Evie takes my hand and squeezes. “Good. Because I think we just went the Inglewild version of viral.”