27. Thorns

She’s so beautiful, she makes my heart skip several beats and feel too big for my chest. Nobody else would accuse her of outshining the bride, who wears a sparkly, fluffy white gown with dramatic make-up, but Evie is the one who captures and holds my attention. My little girl, my doll, the one that I love.

Her light purple dress hugs her body, hinting at all the curves I long to run my hands over. I want to kiss every inch of that girl, worship her body until she forgets all the issues that came between us. She’s still wearing her house key, I think, but the chain and key are tucked under the front of her dress. I want to take out the pendant, kiss it, make her mine.

I want to settle down with her and Lincoln and get a new house key for her to wear. We’ll plant a rose garden of our own and watches the blossoms sway in the breeze as we grow old together.

Evie says something to her mother and sister, then hurries over to Lincoln and me. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here for you,” Lincoln says.

“But I’m in a wedding.” She looks from me to him.

Keeping my gaze steady on hers, I say, “We’ll wait.”

“You two need to leave,” her mother says, hurrying forward.

“Francesca,” Lincoln says. “Good afternoon. Evie—Caleb and I will be nearby.”

Francesca folds her arms over her chest. “You have to leave this park.”

I’m tempted to say something about public spaces, but it’s Evie who speaks up.

“Mom, this is a park. They can be here, just like anyone else. The only place off-limits is the rose garden because we reserved it.”

“Mom, it’s almost time,” the bride says.

“You’re right.” Scowling at Link and me, Francesca takes the bride—Chloe—by the arm and marches her away to a hidden area, probably to wait for her cue to march.

Evie stands before us. “I have to go.”

“I know,” I say. “But when you’re done?—”

“I’ll come back,” she says.

“Hey! Hey!” A loud, male voice shouts.

Evie’s face pales as she looks past us toward the sound. Lincoln and I turn around. It’s that guy—Troy.

“Are these guys bothering you, Evelyn?” he asks, glaring at us both. He looks like he’s been drinking heavily, his eyes red-rimmed, his skin pasty. This is the groom, but his suit appears to have been borrowed from someone who isn’t even his size. “You two need to head out. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Actually, she does want to talk to them,” Evie says. “But I’ll come back after. Troy, aren’t you supposed to be up at the front, with the pastor? Getting married…to my sister?”

He visibly gulps and, shoulders hunched, walks back up the sidewalk to the separate entrance to the garden.

There’s so much I want to say to Evie, so many words. None of them would fix things immediately, but we’ve waited almost three weeks to talk to her. I want to get started now.

“I’ll talk to you both soon.” Evie gives Lincoln and me a long look.

I can’t read her expression, and it’s killing me.

* * *