“It’s true,” Jake said, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice. Out of somebody else’s mouth, it did sound kind of like junior-high-speak.
“If only, if only”—Robbie raised a hand toward heaven—“she had done what you wanted, not carried through on what she’d promised, you maybe could have had life together.” Robbie laughed. “I love you, mate. Love you like the brother one of my sisters should have been, but if you can’t see what I’m talking about, you’re probably never going to have a relationship.”
“Yeah? You think you’re better at relationships?”
“Me?” Robbie said. “No. But I don’t want one. You do.”
“I don’t want just any relationship. I want one with Evie.”
“That’s the point,” Robbie said like he was pleased with himself.
Maybe this was salvageable. Maybe he’d talk to her.
Thunder rumbled again. “Don’t worry about the storm. I’m sure she’s fine,” Robbie said.
“Why are you sure of that?”
“If she’d so much as dented her fender, your mum would be on the phone with you. She’s that sort, your mum.”
“True.” The Delta Queen grapevine was always on high alert. For once, it made him feel better.
“Here’s something else that’s true. You stink. Go shower and let’s go get some food.”
“All right.” Surprisingly, that sounded like a good idea. By the time they finished eating, Evie ought to be back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hammer Time was emptier than Evans had ever seen it, probably because of the weather.
She sat in a booth across from Ava Grace and Emma Frances. They were talking pies, but not just any pies. Emma Frances needed pies that were common to the period when the first gala had been held in 1945 to celebrate the end of World War II. It wasn’t until 1947, when sugar rationing came to an end, that the tradition of the dessert buffet began. No one knew what the menu was for the first two galas, and wasn’t that a shame?
Evans had learned those little tidbits tonight and many, many other things. If this didn’t end soon, it was going to be too late to talk to Jake.
“I think I have it all.” Evans consulted her notes. “Would you mind if I read it back to you to be sure?”
“Please,” Emma Frances said.
“Four pecan, three lemon chess, two vanilla chess, three cherry, two coconut, and two pumpkin.”
“That’s right,” Emma Frances said. “I’m not sure we shouldn’t have some apple, but I associate apple with Thanksgiving.”
“You’re having pumpkin,” Ava Grace pointed out.
“That’s Skip’s favorite.” Emma Frances gave her daughter a little wink. “I think it’s going to be a special night for him.” Then she frowned. “Do you think we should have apple?”
Emma Frances had changed her mind so many times that Evans had spent the whole hour writing notes and had barely touched her grilled chicken sandwich.
“No,” Ava Grace said. “I think you’re having plenty. Remember all the cakes and candy, too.”
“I keep thinking about pecan tassies,” Emma Frances said. “They look pretty on a tiered pedestal and they are so Southern. Sometimes people just want a bite instead of a whole piece of pie. What do you think, Evans? Can you do those?”
“Sure, but if you want to do the tassies, you might want to cut out some of the pecan pies. They’re basically miniature pecan pies.”
“How many tassies would equal a pecan pie?”
Never in her existence had she been asked a question like that.
“Let me think.” She did some calculations in her head. “One pie serves eight. I’d think about three tassies is a serving. I’d say about two dozen should equal a pie.”
Emma Frances nodded. “Just to be safe, let’s do five dozen tassies and cut out one pie. I want to have enough. Even though everyone knows it’s just a dessert buffet, some people come without having dinner. I don’t want anyone to leave hungry.”
“I understand.” Evans made the note.
“I’ll bet Evans is hungry.” Ava Grace gave her a knowing look. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing.”
“And that’s my fault,” Emma Frances said. “You’ve spent the whole time writing.” She checked her watch. “Oh, no. Ava Grace, we have to go.” She looked at the check and put some cash in the folder. “I promised Evelyn I’d drop the minutes from the historical society meeting on our way home. She doesn’t do email, you know. Evans, your food must be cold. Why don’t you order something fresh to take with you?” She opened her wallet, ready to add more money to the check.
“No, no,” Evans said. “This is fine.” She didn’t want to wait for that. She was hungry, but she just wanted to finish the rest of her sandwich, go home to freshen up, and—please, God—straighten out things with Jake. “I’m just going to sit a minute and finish this, but don’t let me hold you two up.”
“Are you sure?” Emma Frances asked.
“Absolutely.” She held up her notes. “I’ll price this out and email you tomorrow. If you think of anything you want to change, give me a call.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Ava Grace said and ushered her mother out.
Evans pushed aside her notes and took a bite of her sandwich. Not as hot as it was two bites and forty minutes ago, but it filled the void in her stomach. She wondered idly if she could get away with not washing her hair. A ponytail wasn’t the best look, but it would take thirty minutes to wash and dry it.
And she didn’t want to wait another thirty minutes. In fact, she wanted to get on with it right now. She could eat on the way home.
She was wrapping her sandwich in a napkin when she heard Soup Carter’s voice. “Is this okay for you, Mr. Champagne? Mr. McTavish?”
Hell, hell, hell! Her heart pounded. She wasn’t ready, and they were going to walk by her any second.
But that second didn’t come.
“Fine, Soup,” Jake said. “And I’ve told you before. Call me Jake.”
“Aye, lad,” Robbie said. “You make me look around for my dad with all this Mr. stuff.”
There was movement and settling in the booth right behind her.
“The soup tonight is creamy chicken and mushroom,” Soup said.
“No thanks.” That was from Jake and he was the one back to back with her. The booths were high enough that, even if he turned his head, he wouldn’t know she was here. Theoretically, he or Robbie could have seen her before they sat down but, clearly, they had not.
“Tonight, our special is Memphis dry ribs, and our wings are half price.”
“Great,” Jake said. “Just what I want.”
“Me, too,” Robbie said. “Whole racks and two dozen wings.”
Should she go?
Her raincoat hung on a hook right beside her head. She quickly grabbed it and, with some effort, got herself into it and put up the hood while still seated. Now all she had to do was get out the door. This was working out okay. She could be waiting for him at his building when they got home. It would take them a while to eat all those ribs and wings, so she had time. She could even do smoky eyes.
She started to rise.
“What would you like to drink, Mr. Champagne—I mean, Jake?”
Better wait until Soup left. He would almost certainly call her by name and say goodnight.
“Just water, Soup.”
“I’ll get this in and your server will be right over with some bread.”
“No beer for you?” Robbie said. “I thought you’d want to drown your sorrows.”
That was interesting. Was he still upset? Had he told Robbie? She’d been poised to jump up and move quickly, but she relaxed back into her seat.
“I already did that,” Jake said. “Last night.”
Maybe he had been as mi
serable as she was.
“There are better ways to deal with sorrow,” Robbie said.
“None open to me,” Jake said.
“I was talking about working a jigsaw puzzle,” Robbie said. “Not chasing women.”
Jake laughed. “I didn’t happen to have one.”
“Look, Jake,” Robbie said seriously. “It’s time we called off this stupid bet—especially in view of what you told me.”
Bet? The two of them had a bet?
“No,” Jake said firmly. “A bet is a bet. I’ll see it through.”
“If we call it off, you can get on with your life and you won’t lose your lucky puck.”
He still had that puck? She hadn’t thought about it in years. They used to tease him about it. Once, when he was playing youth hockey, Christine had driven from Jackson all the way back to Cottonwood because he’d left it at home and insisted he had to have it. Blake had given it to him. If she remembered right, it was some sort of special commemorative souvenir. It had been important to him at the time and it must still be—doubly so now.
What had he been willing to risk it for?
“Not calling off the bet,” Jake said. “There’s no such thing. A bet ends in a win or a loss. You either see how it shakes out, or someone forfeits. I’m not forfeiting.”
“Stop being so stubborn. Calling it off isn’t forfeiting. We just say it never happened. I keep my St. Sebastian medal. You keep your puck.”
St. Sebastian medal? Jake wouldn’t care about that. The bet wasn’t about him wanting something. It was just about winning. But what had they bet?
“No,” Jake said. “I’ll see it through.”
“Okay. I forfeit. Here.”
“Stop it,” Jake said. “Put that back on.”
“I’m trying to help you here,” Robbie said. “The bet was stupid anyway.”
What, Robbie? What did the two of you bet?
“You only bet because I said you couldn’t do it,” Robbie went on.
“Only partly. There was more to it than that. I told you at the time.”
“It’s unnatural for a man to go without sex for three months.”
Robbie’s words worked their way into her gut like termites burrowing into wood.
At first, she couldn’t work out why, but she knew her universe had just shattered. She inclined her head to the side and waited to hear what Jake would say, but the next voice she heard was female.
“Hello, gentlemen! I’m Stacy and I’ve got some bread and drinks for you. Your food will be out soon.”
Damn, damn, damn. Now there was only small talk and the sound of dishes and glasses being moved around. Maybe they would resume their conversation when Stacy left.
And they did, but not on the same subject. They moved on to talk about some goalie from some other team and how they thought he was washed-up. She didn’t pay any attention to the details because her brain was too busy trying to put her universe back together again. This piece here, that piece there. When she’d finished it didn’t look like it had before.
For reasons that weren’t clear and didn’t matter anyhow, Jake had bet Robbie he could go without sex for three months. She had begun to think that there was a chance they would be together forever, but he had never wanted her at all, except for a little distraction and a chicken pot pie. Despite his past antics, he would not have had sex with the girl from back home unless it meant something—maybe everything. That’s why she’d been so eager; she’d needed assurance of a romance that wasn’t going to happen.
The signs had been there when he’d said things like, “I don’t know what’s happening here,”
“I can’t know or promise where we’ll end up,”
“I’m not asking for any promises.”
She had ignored it all, because she wanted his love so much. His motivation was obvious—at least to anyone who knew Jake. Jake had never done alone well. That’s why they’d always spent the most time together when they were younger when he was between girls. And that’s all it had been this time. He wanted someone to bide his time with until his lucky puck was safe and he’d won—someone who wouldn’t tempt him. Sure, he might have been aroused, but that was just hormones and friction.
Wasn’t winning the most important thing to Jake? Hadn’t it always been?
She threw off her hood, picked up her bag, and rose—but not quickly or silently like she’d planned. Then she turned around and walked to the table behind her.
Robbie saw her first and broke into a big grin. “Hello, lass! Come join us. Have some wings.”
Jake turned. In another time, in that universe that was hers before it shattered, she would have thought he looked pleased to see her. But she saw clearly now. That’s what happened when you thought you were going to get everything you’d ever wanted, but it all turned out to be one big joke.
Jake started to stand up—like her daddy always did, like Miss Violet had taught him.
“Don’t.” She was never going to be the woman he needed to stand up for.
“Evie, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, you always did, didn’t you? When you didn’t have someone better to talk to.” Cold calm settled over her. On another day, she might have been humiliated that she had been such a fool for wanting him and believing he wanted her, but that day was done.
Jake looked confused. “Not sure what you mean by that, but I needed to tell you—”
“Stop.” She would not raise her voice or make a scene, but she was going to have her say. “You don’t need to tell me anything, ever again.”
Jake’s expression went from confused to wary. He quickly glanced at Robbie and then right back at her. “Robbie, maybe you could—”
“Out of here.” Robbie started to rise.
“No, Robbie,” Evans said. “Sit.” Though Evans kept her voice quiet, her tone was cutting—enough that it scared Robbie back into his seat. “I won’t be here that long.”
“Evie,” Jake began.
She cut him off—something she could never remember doing before. She’d always been all too eager to hear what golden words would roll off his majestic tongue.
“I’ve been thinking about last Saturday night. You remember that, don’t you? When you brought my phone back?” He opened his mouth to speak again, but she plowed on. “You got yourself into quite the little pickle, didn’t you, Jake? Fixed it where you couldn’t run off with Delilah, or Jolene, or whatever the hell her name was. So spending a little postgame time with good-old convenient, sitting-on-ready Evie was preferable to watching reruns of the Golden Girls and getting your pill organizer ready for the week. Hell, you didn’t even plan it. You just stumbled into me because I dropped my phone. And if your mouth stumbled on to mine in the process, what the hell? You’ve survived better mouths than mine.”
His eyes widened and his face went red. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that, Jake.”
“Look, Evie, I was going to look for you. I was worried about you in the storm.”
Not enough to slow down his wing eating, apparently. “No need. I weathered it.” And she would weather this.
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday. If we can just go somewhere, if you’ll just hear me out—” He took a deep breath. “I want to fix things between us. We were headed to a good place. I want to be there again.”
“Great. Yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”
He smiled and made to get out of his seat.
“Hold it there, Sparky.” She clinched her fists in front of her. “I guess you didn’t catch the sarcasm because that was exactly what you expected me to say.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain it. I was always your go-to girl when you needed something—company, help with your algebra, or a ride
because you’d had too much tequila. And I made it easy for you. Then Channing came along and you didn’t need me anymore. Fine. I got used to it. Now, here you are again—wanting a distraction and chicken pot pie because you bet him”—she pointed to Robbie—“that you can go without sex for three months. Good old Evie. Always ready with plenty of free time and some baked goods. Well, no more. It’s on me that I always made it easy for you, but that day is done. Call up Marie Callender.”
“Evie, please!” His voice was a ragged whisper. Another time, that would have been enough to do her in. “Just hear me out.”
“Not going to happen.” She turned to go, but threw over her shoulder, “You can bet on that.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
One good thing had come from Evans’s brief almost-relationship—or was it more of an encounter?—with Jake. She had given Quentin and Ariel a chance, and all their lives were better for it. Or as good as hers could be right now.
“See what you think.” Quentin handed Evans a small slice of butterscotch bacon pie.
She was skeptical, but that didn’t last long. “Delicious,” she pronounced. The salty candied bacon was a perfect contrast to the sweet butterscotch. “Is there some maple hanging around there somewhere?”
He looked pleased. “Maple sugar. I candied the bacon with it and put just a little in the leaf lard crust.”
It was now eight days since she’d seen Jake. Her heart still hurt, but it got a little better every day.
She had no idea if he had tried to contact her. She’d blocked his number as soon as she’d gotten home that night. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but necessary because she couldn’t trust herself not to answer if he called.
After all, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from checking the Yellowhammer schedule. They’d had two home games early last week and then road games Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. She had not, however, kept up with the outcome of the games, let alone Jake’s stats.
She was rather proud of herself for that.
And she was proud of herself for facing that she wasn’t going to hear from him again. If there had been a tiny part of her that had hoped he would try to see her in person, that was history. If he hadn’t shown up in person before leaving town, he wasn’t going to do it now. And that was for the best.
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