by Abby Brooks
“Don’t you look nice.” She lifted Larry off her lap and set him on the couch before standing. “Are you sure we’re not on a date? I mean, I think I see hair gel, Prescott.”
I gave her the onceover, then sniffed. “Is that perfume I’m getting?” I wafted the air towards my nose. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting a hint of perfume for this definitely-not-a-date.”
“I mean, maybe I just wanted to avoid smelling like a tequila factory after last night.”
“Sure.” I put a hand on the small of her back and started towards the door. “And maybe I used hair gel because I’m fussy about my appearance.”
If the name of the game was showing Evie my rut, the first stop would be Izzy’s candy shop. When we arrived, the sign in the window read “Closed,” but I pushed through the unlocked doors like I belonged—kind of like I’d done with Evie’s house earlier. I didn’t like the parallel but consoled myself knowing it would be the last time I used the key Ruth gave me.
The bells jangled with our entrance and I added my voice to the mix. “Izzy Prescott! Your brother has arrived, and he requires feeding!”
My darling sister swept out of the back, the annoyance on her face fading when she saw who I had in tow. “I’m all out of genius nuggets,” she said with a smirk for me and a smile for Evie, “but aren’t you two the cutest couple ever? I’m honored you chose to share your first date with me.” Izzy batted her eyelashes and grinned.
After what happened with Candace, dating was off my radar, especially with me being so far behind with work. I folded my elbows on the counter and leaned forward, trying to telepathically remind my sister Prescott men were terrible with relationships. “My new employee has taken on the monumental task of breaking through my writer’s block.”
“My boss informed me this was part of my job description approximately one hour ago.” Evie’s emphasis on the word “boss” was almost as heavy as mine on “employee.”
Izzy eyed us, her gaze calculating the perfect six feet of “not interested” between the two of us. “I see.”
Evie folded her hands behind her and shifted her weight, nodding emphatically. “The first step in my highly scientific approach is getting Alex to show me his butt…I mean rut!” Her eyes nearly exploded, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “His rut. I need him to show me his rut, so we know what to avoid. You know, switch up the energy and see what it unlocks.”
Score one for Prescott.
At least I’d made the right impression by strutting naked back to my bedroom.
Maybe, while I got myself off thinking about her crooked tank top and perfect ass, she’d be pleasuring herself to the memory of my naked backside.
Izzy snorted. “Genius nuggets. Drinks with Austin, Jude, and Jack…if he can find a sitter. Dinner at Overton’s. Walks with Morgan.” She held up a finger with each item, then gave them a wiggle. “There. I just saved you hours of boredom.” Her focus darted over my shoulder and she waved at the window. I turned in time to see Greta Macmillan cupping her fingers to the glass and groaned.
“You two are so busted,” Izzy said with a laugh. “The whole town’ll know you’re dating in the time it takes Greta to post to Facebook.”
“We’re not dating.” Evie and I spoke together, stepping away from each other as if more space between us would cement the fact that we were, indeed, just friends.
Izzy whipped out her phone, grinning as her fingers danced over the screen. “Not according to Greta Macmillan’s Facebook page.” She held out the device to show us a picture of me, leaning on the counter of Sweet Stuff, laughing at my sister’s joke while staring at Evie with something hotter than friendship.
I took the phone and enlarged the photo. “How did she post that so fast?”
Izzy shook her head. “The woman is a social savant. If only she could channel her powers for good.”
Once we were sure Greta had moved on, Evie and I stepped out of the shop into a crisp evening. She shivered as a breeze lifted her hair off her neck and I offered her my fleece, slipping it around her shoulders as Mr. and Mrs. Tarrington stared, whispering behind their hands.
“I’m afraid I’ve made you the talk of the town.” I lifted a chin toward the grinning couple. Isaac tipped his hat in our direction while Gwen raised a hand, then leaned into her husband and patted his arm. “Between Greta telling everyone you’re a lesbian, then catching you out with me…”
“Add that to the fact that I’m living in a haunted house…” Evie grinned and I swallowed down a touch of guilt. Maybe it would be better if I came clean on that topic…
Later. I’d do it later. “You really know how to make an entrance,” I said instead. “But I wouldn’t worry about it.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The gossip will die down in, oh, four to six years, or so.”
“Is that all?”
Opening the door to Overton’s, I stood back to let Evie enter first. The hostess—a bookish young woman with bright eyes—escorted us to my table, a quiet space big enough for my laptop on the nights I chose to bring it along. “I’ll return with your whiskey in just a sec, Mr. Prescott.” Bridget gave me a familiar smile as Evie and I took our seats. “And what can I get for you, Miss…”
“Please, call me Evie.” She snapped open the drink menu, then cast me a devilish look. “And do us a favor and scratch that whiskey. He’ll have a” —her eyes scanned the page— “Drunken Sailor, instead.”
I frowned. “I always have whiskey.” The finality in my voice should have ended the discussion, but Evie simply grinned and patted my arm.
“Sounds like a rut if I’ve ever heard one.” The quirk of her head. The glimmer in her eyes. If she wasn’t in the middle of bossing me around, she would have been adorable.
“Whiskey isn’t the problem.”
She arched a brow. “As the woman in charge of this situation, that’s my call. And I’m definitely sensing a rut…which is why you’ll have a Drunken Sailor tonight.”
Poor Bridget didn’t know what to do. She stared, feet rooted in place, until I had mercy on the poor girl. “Two Drunken Sailors, it is,” I said to her before turning to Evie. “If I’m taking this journey, you’re coming with me.”
“Can I just say you two are so cute,” Bridget said. “It’s nice to see you smiling, Mr. Prescott. Mrs. Macmillan’s right. You guys are gonna be Wildrose Landing’s power couple in no time. I can feel it.”
“Whatever we do,” Evie said as Bridget headed to the bar, “we will not play a drinking game involving people talking about Greta’s Facebook page.”
I laughed. She grinned. And I realized I hadn’t felt so comfortable with a woman in a long time.
I leaned in close. “I have to know…”
Evie mirrored the movement, folding her arms on the table and arching a brow. “Know what?”
“What you thought of my butt. I’ve always assumed it was pretty spectacular, but since I don’t exactly have a clear view, I thought I’d ask someone who did.”
Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “You did know I was watching.”
“Of course I knew.” I laughed as she shook her head. “Morgan only sings when he’s close to me, and he wouldn’t leave your side to come upstairs. Not with you being so generous with the ear scratching and all.”
“Is that what all the howling was? Singing?” Her smile sparkled with sarcasm.
“I happen to have a very good shower voice, thank you very much.”
“I was talking about the dog, but way to make things about you.”
“Speaking of me, don’t keep a man waiting. What’s the verdict on my butt?”
Evie sat back in her chair, grinning ear to ear. “I already have a history of sexually harassing my boss. If I told you what I thought when I saw you strutting down that hallway, you’d file a complaint in an instant.”
I couldn’t nail down her personality at all. That statement, while it was a massive stroke to my ego, seemed more in line with the confide
nt version of Evie McAllister that escorted me to my car all those years ago. And yet, she often seemed so unsure of herself, I couldn’t imagine she’d ever have the guts to say something that direct to my face. I didn’t know which version of her was the real her. Was she bold and brave? Or timid and shy?
Our drinks arrived, a tasty combination of gin, rum, ginger ale, and lime. As we placed our orders, a couple at another table caught my attention. The man was tucked into a suit, his tie so tight he had to be suffocating. His phone was out, and he tap, tap, tapped ferociously across the screen. His wife leaned her chin on her hands, staring into the belly of the restaurant, so sad, so alone, even though she sat across from someone who’d pledged his life to her. When her gaze met mine, she conjured a smile that reminded me of my mom.
I didn’t want that.
I couldn’t be that.
Not again.
My father nearly broke my mother. I nearly broke Candace. And I’d made a promise never to be that man again.
Evie sipped her drink and her face fell. “Oh, no…”
“What?” I sat back and crossed my ankle over my knee. “Did randomly choosing a drink off the menu backfire? Go figure.”
“Oh, it backfired, all right, but not the way you’re thinking. I like it. I like it too much.”
Just like I was starting to like her. Too much.
Eager to remind us both we weren’t actually dating, I fished in my bag for my outline, a piece of paper I kept with my laptop so I could make notes while I wrote.
It wasn’t there.
As Evie stared, I dug through the mess I’d yet to organize only to come up empty handed. A memory of several papers see-sawing to the ground as I dashed out of her kitchen danced through my head.
Fuck me.
If that outline wasn’t in my bag, there was only one place it could be…inside Evie’s house. My heart dropped to my stomach. I either needed to find it before she did or come clean on the whole ghost story once and for all.
Chapter Sixteen
Evie
I made it home without attempting to seduce Alex on my front porch and I counted that as a win. In fact, despite the strange start, I counted the entire day as a win. Spending time with him was so easy, it was hard to remember we’d just met. Conversation flowed naturally, twangs of chemistry kept things interesting, and the night was over before I was ready, especially because it ended on a slightly confusing note.
During our trip to Sweet Stuff and the first half of dinner, it definitely felt like we were flirting, and I’d been sure we’d end the night with another make out session. At some point, the focus switched back to work and the chemistry faded, leaving me to wonder if I’d been seeing things that weren’t there.
Which was a relief. (Kind of.)
I had too much going on in my life to start a relationship. (At least that was what self-help blogs had to say on the subject.)
After what happened with Drew, I swore I’d never date another writer again. (Though the two men were nothing alike.)
I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again as I contemplated texting Alex. I didn’t really have anything to say, but couldn’t get him out of my mind and wasn’t ready for our night to be over. With my phone in my hand, I made my way up to my darkened bedroom and flipped on a light, stopping in the middle of the room to tap out a text.
Me: Not to be weird or anything but I just wanted to say I had a really nice time with you. I was so nervous to move to Wildrose, but I’m not anymore. I can see why you like your rut so much. It’s pretty enjoyable.
I hit send and immediately wished I hadn’t as anxiety reminded me I should have left him alone. When the bouncing bubbles indicating he was typing a reply started, I heaved a sigh of relief. They danced for a long time, stopped, then started again. For as long as they teased me, I expected paragraphs, not the one-liner that finally appeared.
Alex: Listen…I have something to tell you and you might not like it.
That statement shot a different kind of adrenaline through my system. Me: Ummm…okay…
Alex: I just feel like it’s important that I’m honest about this.
Me: I’m all ears. Or eyes, I guess, since I’ll be reading whatever it is you have to say that’s more important than acknowledging we had a good time together and I’m glad I met you.
Alex: Evie… This is so much more important than that…
My heart pounded as I watched the bouncing dots of his incoming message.
Alex: You left your curtains open and I can see you right now.
I laughed as I looked up. Sure enough, the windows were bare, the inky blackness of night making me feel exposed. In case Alex was still watching, I waved, then pulled the curtains closed.
Me: Creeper. What are you doing staring into my bedroom?
Alex: Oh, now I’m a creeper because you’re an exhibitionist and I just happened to look out my window as I came into the room. Seems fair.
I laughed, said goodnight, then flopped onto the bed and stared dreamily at the ceiling. Lord and Master, Sir Alexander the Glorious just creeped on me in my very own bedroom…and I liked it. Combine that with the memory of our kiss, his fantastic ass, and the blistering chemistry I’d somehow ignored all day, and I wasn’t surprised at all when my hand slipped into my pants and I found myself wet and ready.
What did surprise me was the fantasy that followed. As I teased pleasure into my body, I imagined throwing open my windows and finding Alex staring out his. His chest was bare, and his dick was hard, and imaginary me slowly pulled off my shirt and dropped it to the floor. Swaying my hips and tweaking my nipples, I teased him until he unzipped his pants and stroked his cock while I danced.
The scene brought on an orgasm so intense I squeaked, then laughed as I softened into my pillows. “Maybe I’m more of an exhibitionist than I thought,” I murmured, then climbed to my feet and got ready for bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Evie
A week passed and Alex and I settled into a comfortable routine. If he had pages for me to read, he’d show up with hope on his face as he handed them over. When he didn’t have pages for me, he’d arrive with Morgan in tow. We’d start the morning with a walk on the beach and go from there.
He’d been right. Sharing his rut did feel an awful lot like dating. Drinks. Dinners. Long conversations about, well, everything. His curiosity was boundless and I was a new toy to turn over and over in his hands as he understood how it worked. I had to actively remind myself he wasn’t as interested in me as he seemed.
Not that I was complaining. Alex was easy to be around and his attention felt good, professional or not. I could think of worse ways to earn a living than hanging around a man as talented and driven as him. Part of me kept hoping his work ethic and general writerness would rub off on me and I’d find my way to writing again. The other part—the one I only let come out when I was alone in my bedroom—kept wondering what it would be like to give in to my fantasies about him.
But we won’t talk about that part.
Bad Evie for thinking that way about your boss. (Though anyone in my position would.)
And this particular morning, my position included sitting on the couch, nursing my coffee as I waited for Alex to arrive. A knock at the door sent my heart into a frenzy. My stomach shimmied with butterflies and I launched to my feet. My socks failed to gain traction on the hardwood floor, and I went down.
Hard.
“What the hell was that?” Alex’s voice sounded through the closed door. “Evie? Are you okay?”
Laughing, I pulled myself to my feet and opened the door, rubbing my sore hip. “I’m okay. Just slipped.”
He arched a questioning brow as Morgan wagged his tail in greeting. “I’m very sorry that happened to you.”
“It’s what I get for running in socks, though. No pages today?” I crouched to greet the Morganator and peeked up at Alex. His dark curls were untamed, standing proud in barely controlled chaos.
The stubble on his chin said he’d been up late, probably trying to write, and had been too tired to shave this morning. I’d never been one for scruff, but go figure, he pulled it off to a delightful degree. How was it fair that he could be so unbelievably good looking at all hours of the day?
“No pages.” He sighed deeply as he stared at his shoes. “Feel like taking a walk this morning?” Morgan’s tail went into overdrive at the mention of the W-word.
Alex’s eyes screamed desperation, which was typical on the days he wasn’t able to write. The deeper he fell into writer’s block, the more certain he was the affliction was permanent. His inability to work tormented him. At first, I thought it stemmed from his fear over finances. If he didn’t write, he didn’t eat. But lately, I’d started to wonder if it was more existential than that. Like, maybe, his intensity stemmed from something deeper. Something broken. Something he kept hidden from the world.
Or, maybe I was thinking too hard about the whole thing.
“A walk sounds great,” I said with a smile. “Just let me grab my shoes.”
He took my hand, his grip forceful but gentle, and my hormones reveled in the contact. “Careful now. Go slow, please.” He indicated my socks as humor danced in his eyes. “We don’t need you falling over twice in one day.”
I slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed my jacket, and we stepped into the kind of day I used to think only existed because of Photoshop. Who knew colors this strong and sunshine this bright existed without digital augmentation? The crunch of leaves under our feet died away as we made our way onto the beach, grass fading first into rocks and then into sand.