Chapter 10

"Ikid you not, Topher. I had to threaten him with old school 80s Madonna if he didn't go home. The man was barely holding himself up. Stubborn to the core." I turned the sign to Closed on Skinner's door and made sure it was locked so no one could come in while I tidied up. It had been a long day with just me and the part-timer, and I was ready for a glass of wine and the baby back ribs I indulged in whenever I brought dinner home. There were two things I wouldn't eat in public because of the mess: barbeque ribs and Buffalo wings. At home, though, I ripped into those suckers like a werewolf tore into its prey during a full moon. At least, that was what the shifters who were given mind-altering injections did in the last book I read.

Topher laughed into the phone. "Oh, you're a genius. Threaten him with something he can't stand while making sure it's something you love. That must have made Lloyd hightail it outta there."

"Well, as fast as a man with a fever could. I spent the next hour disinfecting everything I could think of. And then I had to text Enzo and reschedule just in case I'm taken down by the same thing my dad has."

"Hmm…I'll avoid focusing on the Enzo comment, which you know is really hard for me to do."

"I'm mildly impressed considering the inquisition I was subjected to after the birthday party." I honestly didn't blame my friends for the rapid-fire questions they'd had after I told them who was at the party. I hadn't been that scared shitless in years. Enzo obviously had no idea what I'd walked into, but when I'd felt the warmth of his body move closer to mine and the palm of his hand press against my lower back, I'd been so fucking grateful that he was there in that moment. He felt like the bridge between my past and the present. One that held me up while also reassuring me with just the press of his hand that everything would be okay. That he was there for me, even though he had no idea what was happening.

"Hey, you can't just tell us you ran into one of Drake's victims and expect us to let it go."

I rolled my eyes, regardless of the fact he couldn't see. "Victims? Isn't that a tad dramatic?"

"Ev,"—uh oh, Serious Topher has entered the chat—"that asshole knew what you were going through with your mom and still had no fucking problem cheating on you. No remorse for the way he treated you. He knew all that shit he was doing behind your back would break your heart, even more than it already was, and he did it anyway. And that other guy was dragged into it and shit on in the process. So, yes, victims, as in people who were hurt by the actions of a spineless, narcissistic, shit-on-the-bottom-of-your-shoe, low-life piece of?—"

"Okay, you made your point."

He chuckled. "I sure as fuck did. How was the rest of your day?"

I snorted at the ability my friend had to shift gears so quickly. "Well, the good news is, there weren't many customers."

"What's the bad news?"

"There weren't many customers." I yawned into the phone as I made sure the desk in the office was organized. "The day dragged on. Why is it that a slow day almost makes me as tired as a busy day?"

"Because when it's busy, you're so physically stressed out, you don't have time to think, and when it's not busy, you're mentally stressed out because you have too much time to think."

"That…actually makes a lot of sense."

Topher huffed. "Don't sound so surprised."

I laughed and grabbed the bag with my dinner and the soup I'd ordered for my dad that Reed had delivered across the parking lot for me. Out of habit, I'd called him Reedy or Not, and even though it brought out that blush I loved so much, the second it left my mouth, it just felt…wrong. Why didn't he ever ask me to stop calling him that? I felt a pang of guilt but told myself I'd be mindful of calling him Reed in the future.

"Locking the front door now," I said to Topher as I left the store, then made my way to my car, sighing when I was finally inside with the doors locked. "Thanks for talking to me while I closed up."

"You know I hate when you're there at night by yourself."

"I hate this time of year. It's barely past six and it's already dark."

"You could've asked Neil to stay, but knowing you, you were ready for him to go home." Topher's laugh rang through the phone speaker.

"The guy is nice, but man, can he talk. I can tell you everything his wife's allergic to, when his last colonoscopy was, and the car he drove in high school." I listened to Topher laugh for a second. "And should I really know that he loves mashed potatoes, but he skips the gravy because it gives him the runs? The runs, Topher!"

Topher was cackling in my ear. "You can't make this stuff up."

"Nope. Alright, I'm at the pharmacy. I'll talk to you later."

"Later."

After hanging up, I went into the pharmacy for some decongestant—my dad and I rarely got sick, so I was sure he didn't have any—then drove the ten minutes it took to get to my dad's house. I pulled up by the curb, turning the ignition off and sat there, staring at the house that used to be my home. It hadn't felt like that since my mom passed away. I didn't go there often enough, but it was hard to see all the memories when I walked in the door. My dad hadn't touched a thing. Her silk flowers were still in vases on the side table and on top of the bookshelf in the living room. Her apron still hung on the hook in the kitchen. Almost two years had passed and I swore I could still smell her perfume. Considering she'd worn it for decades, it seemed completely logical to me that the scent would be embedded in the walls and furniture cushions.

I took a couple of deep breaths and forced myself to get out of the car. Still having a key to the front door, I let myself in. "Dad? It's me. I brought you some soup and cold and flu medicine."

My dad shuffled out of his bedroom down the hall and slowly made his way to the recliner in the living room, looking weaker than he had in years. "You didn't have to do that."

"Who else is going to take care of you?" The question hung in the air between us, both of us knowing who would've taken care of him in the past.

He gave a slight nod then sat down with a groan and extended the footrest. "You better not get too close. I don't want you to get sick." Before I even had a chance to get the warm and fuzzies, he added, "We can't both be sick. We'll have to close the store."

"Of course," I mumbled to myself and walked into the kitchen.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Are you ready for the soup now, or do you want me to put it in the fridge?"

"I think I'll wait a bit. Could you get me a glass of ice water, though?"

"Yep. I can do that." I opened the fridge and put the soup inside. Grabbing a glass out of the cabinet, I brought it to the freezer and opened the door, confused by what was in there. Microwave dinners. Boxes and boxes of microwave dinners. I filled the glass with ice and set it down on the counter. Out of curiosity, I opened the fridge again and really took stock of its contents. A block of cheddar cheese, a half-gallon of milk, two apples, and an open bottle of premade iced tea… I yanked open the pantry cabinet where my mom had kept all the dry goods and snacks. Crackers and cans of soup.

"Is this all you have to eat? Why didn't you ask me to go to the store for you? I could've stopped on my way here." I filled the glass with water and carried it into the living room.

"What more do I need?"

"Dad…"

"Can you toss me the blanket from the back of the couch?"

In a huff, I grabbed the blue and green plaid throw blanket and handed it to him. "Do you know how much sodium is in those microwave dinners and cans of soup?"

"You know I can't cook to save my life. They're easy. Besides, it's just me here. There's no point in wasting food." As if to say the conversation was over, he clicked the TV on and turned it to the Game Show Network.

I didn't think my dad was aiming for my chest, but he'd hit the mark dead-on. Hearing him say that he lived there alone made it all too real and too painful. She was gone. This house would never be the same. I didn't think I would, either.

"Can you lock up on your way out, Ev?"

"Guess that means I've been dismissed," I mumbled and turned for the door.

"What was that?" he asked, but his attention was on the show.

"Nothing. I'll call you tomorrow to see how you're feeling."

I made the drive home on autopilot, picturing my dad's freezer and the TV tray next to his recliner that looked like it'd seen better days. As much as it hurt that we didn't have the same relationship my mom and I'd had, it hurt more thinking about how lonely that house had felt. Sure, it was missing the presence of my mom, but it was hard not to notice how quiet it had been, or how my dad obviously had a routine that consisted of frozen lasagna and Family Feud.

I turned into my apartment complex and killed the engine. Checking my surroundings—because I watched too many terrifying documentaries not to—I grabbed my dinner and got out of the car. Quickly, I let myself in the main door, making sure it closed securely behind me. Honestly, I hated living alone—except for my cat—but losing my mom changed a lot. My dad's house didn't feel like home anymore without her there. It had been too painful for me to stay there, but I'd never considered that I was the real reason my dad was alone in that house.

After unlocking my apartment door and securely shutting myself inside, I crossed the small living room to the equally tiny kitchen, setting my food down on the counter. I felt Chanel—affectionately named after my mom's favorite perfume—weave her fluffy white body around my legs and purr. Squatting down, I gave her the love she deserved.

As soon as I stood up, Chanel sauntered over to her favorite windowsill and made herself comfortable. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I ate some of my dinner and then put the rest in the fridge. Despite trying not to, I spent the next couple of hours going over the scene at my dad's house, thinking about him and the way he was apparently living.

Calling one of my best friends crossed my mind, but doing that meant getting another lecture about how my mom would want me to visit with my dad more. I didn't see the point. We worked together. I saw my dad practically every day, but nosy best friends didn't think it was the same. So, on a whim, I pulled up a certain contact in my phone and hit the Call button.

"Hello?" Enzo seemed kind of confused, but hopefully not in an annoyed way.

Still, it made me inexplicably defensive. "Sorry. You busy? I hope it's okay that I'm calling you. I mean, you took me to your friend's birthday party. I should be able to call you without it being weird." I took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Is it weird?" I hated how meek my voice sounded on that last part. We still texted several times a day since the birthday party. We'd even made plans to get together…even though I'd had to cancel them this morning…but we'd never spoken on the phone.

"Weren't you the one who said to stop calling it weird? What's wrong, Evian? Are you okay?" He seemed genuinely concerned, which helped calm me down while also making me feel like an asshole for snapping at him.

I was silent for a few seconds, trying to figure out where to start. We hadn't jumped into the deep end of the family drama pool yet. I could only assume he was having trouble with his family since he'd sort of closed up after I asked about them at dinner. I got the message: Topic off limits. That didn't mean I couldn't talk to him about mine, did it?

"My mom passed away almost two years ago. Some days are harder than others." I was sure the tremble in my voice helped him realize I was anything but okay.

"Shit. I'm sorry." His deep voice vibrated through the speaker of my phone. "We lost my dad four years ago." I didn't expect to hear that, but it made it easier to keep going.

"Thanks. I'm sorry about your dad, too." Now that I'd blurted that out, I didn't know what to say. I hated answering the question of how she died, but it was inevitable that people asked once they found out.

But Enzo wasn't just anyone. It turned out he knew what I was feeling and, instead, softly said, "Tell me about her." I could hear movement on his end of the phone, then the distinct hiss of a bottle opening.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and refrained from bursting into tears on the phone with the man, even though I had a feeling he'd understand if I did. "She was my best friend. I have Lucas, Stacey, and Topher, and they've been there for me since we were five, but as far as navigating this world, knowing from such a young age that I was different? That was all her. She was everything a queer kid could ask for. Supported all my dreams, cheered me on, encouraged me to follow my passion…" I tried to take a moment to compose myself.

"She sounds amazing," he whispered with more pain than I was expecting, then paused and cleared his throat. "Everyone hopes for parents like that. People deserve that, you know? Like, if I'm a good person, shouldn't I have— Shouldn't people with good hearts have that?"

There was definitely a deeper layer in what he'd said that he obviously wasn't going to elaborate on. Now that I knew his dad was no longer alive, I had a feeling it had something to do with his mom. I didn't call to make him unleash things he didn't want to talk about, though.

"They should." I stretched out on the couch and sighed. "My dad and I get along okay. If I need something, I know without a doubt he'd be there for me. I'd be there for him, too. That's where I just came from, actually."

"Right. You said he came down with something."

"I brought him some soup and stuff from the pharmacy. I don't go there often. Don't judge me. I work with him so I see him all the time."

He laughed into the phone. "Sounds like you're judging yourself."

"Well, fuck. You had to go there, huh?" Despite his words hitting a nerve, I laughed. "Why did I call you again?" The big cheesy grin on my face was reminder enough. I didn't want someone to coddle me, but I also didn't want someone to cuddle me. I needed to vent and the way this conversation was going, I'd chosen the right person.

"Because talking to someone removed from the situation is easier than talking to best friends you've known for years who, most likely, grew up around your parents." Not a question, but a straightforward answer.

"Damn, you and Topher are fucking insightful tonight."

"He's the one with the tattoos?"

"Yeah. Why?" Okay, that might have been a bit prickly, but seriously, why did he remember that?

He huffed a raspy laugh. "I like tattoos. He has tattoos."

"I'm thinking about getting a tattoo," I blurted.

"Oh yeah? Of what? Where?"

Backed myself into a corner with that one. "I'm not sure yet, hence why I'm still thinking about it, and it'll be in a place I don't show friends, so you'll have to take my word for it."

He huffed a laugh. "Fair enough."

"I still don't get how you remembered that Topher was the one with tattoos." I didn't know why I was pushing this, or why it felt like there was an annoying buzzing under my skin.

"There were only three of them. I work in my family's restaurant. Remembering faces and names is how we get repeat customers." His whispered, "Fuck," let me know he'd said something he hadn't wanted to. Surprisingly, he corrected himself, letting me in on a little glimpse of his life. "I used to work in my family's restaurant. I don't work there anymore." He bitterly spat the words like they tasted bad in his mouth.

Considering I'd called needing an ear and not the other way around—and the fact that he seemed disappointed in himself for even saying that much—I skated past his admission. "Back to me, because let's face it, I'm all about me…" He laughed like I wanted him to.

"I don't think that's true, but go on."

Well, damn. That comment caught me off guard. I blew out a breath and forced myself to get up and walk around my apartment, checking window locks and gently scooting Chanel off her favorite windowsill so I could pull all the curtains closed. I did the same thing in my bedroom before putting Enzo on speaker so I could change out of my work clothes.

"His freezer is full of microwave dinners, Enzo."

He sucked in a breath. "Sacrilege."

"All he has are frozen meals and cans of soup loaded with sodium, crackers and cheese, and a couple of drinks." I pulled on my silky lavender sleep shirt and pants then crawled into my comfy bed. "There was a snack tray set up next to his recliner with an empty container from one of those meals. It all looked so…sad. My mom was amazing in the kitchen. She loved to cook and bake. I'd get home from school and smell freshly baked cookies or homemade bread. Do you know what we never once ate?"

"Let me guess. Frozen meals?" I heard shuffling on his end of the line and the sound of the door closing. "I'm putting you on mute so you don't have to hear me piss and brush my teeth. Keep going."

I barked out a laugh. "I think we just leveled up our friendship again. Anyway, I left there feeling some sort of way. Guilty? Sad? Maybe both? You know what, throw angry as hellin there, too. I have no fucking idea what's going through his mind, but he sure as hell isn't taking care of himself."

Enzo took himself off mute long enough to say, "Have you asked him?" around what I assumed was his toothbrush, then the line went silent again.

"It's not that easy. We've never had a close relationship. He never understood me the way my mom did. Fuck, I miss her so much."

The silence ended and he said, "In my experience, you're always going to miss her, but as the years go by, the day-to-day will get easier." It sounded like fabric moving and then his voice became deeper, raspier, teasing my brain and making it even harder not to picture him getting into bed. Naked. Friends, Evian. "Listen, I'm the last person to tell you how to get a parent…your dad…to understand you. Or even show he gives a shit, for that matter, but you said he'd be there for you if you needed him, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, why does that only apply to emergencies? You need him now. Need him to be someone you can talk to about her. Hell, maybe he needs that too but he just doesn't know it. Maybe he doesn't know how to say it. Some things are fucking hard to say out loud, Ev."

The nickname caught me off guard. Only my best friends called me that, but I liked hearing it from his mouth. A heartbeat passed, then another, before I took a chance and said, "I'm a good listener, too, just in case you're wondering. It's not exactly easy to pour my heart out to you, but maybe we'll get to a point when you can say those difficult things to me. This guy once told me that it's easier to talk to someone removed from the situation."

He snorted. "That guy sounds brilliant."

"Eh. He has his moments." Instead of putting myself on mute, I said, "Hang on a second," then left my phone on the bed and rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and did a half-assed job of wiping my makeup off with a cleansing cloth before slapping some moisturizer on. Morning Evian was going to be so pissed at me, but Night-time Evian talking to an intriguing man said fuck it and hurried back to his bed to pick up his phone. "Okay, I'm back."

I wasn't going to dissect exactly why I settled into bed, eager to hear the sound of his voice. It was stupid. It was presumptuous. It was?—

His deep rasp vibrated through the speaker. "When did you know you wanted to be a clothing designer?"

Sexy. As. Hell.

Enzo's baritone in my ear did things to me it absolutely should not be doing. I rolled to my side, ignoring the way my body was reacting to the timbre of his voice. What did he ask me? Oh, right… "I've pretty much known from as far back as I can remember. My mom used to buy me beautiful fabric to practice on. When I got old enough, Santa left my first sewing machine under the tree. She knew me so well. Encouraged me. I have a picture of that sewing machine somewhere. Me with a big toothless grin and my mom sitting behind me on the couch with an equally big smile."

"I'd like to see that." His timbre was shifting to something soft and sleepy.

"If you're lucky, I might show it to you." Jesus, was I flirting with him? My voice sounded tired but normal, and I didn't come up with some cringy nickname for him, so I was still in the clear, right?

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're gonna show me."

Danger! Danger! He's not flirting with you.

"What makes you so sure?" I whispered, my heart beating so fast. What was it about whispering to someone that made it feel so intimate?

"I've got my ways," he said, his voice low-pitched, relaxed.

Shit. My cock perked up and all but shouted, "Show me your ways! I'm ready!" Apparently, it had not gotten the message that Enzo was our friend and no more. "You do?"

"Yeah. It involves pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes. It also involves coming up with a cringy—I mean, clever nickname for you. Something like…Eviany."

There was a beat of silence and then we both cracked up. "Oh my god, that was so bad."

"Hey, I don't make the rules." He sounded tired and I realized I'd kept him on the phone for way longer than I'd intended to.

"Thanks for letting me vent. I'm gonna let you get some sleep." And I was absolutely not going to dream about him.

"Anytime. Night, Eviany."

I snorted a laugh. "Night, Enzy."

His laugh tickled my ear through the phone. "Never say that again."

I ended the call and stared at the ceiling of my bedroom. There was something about Enzo that calmed me. Talking to him was so easy, but I had to remind myself not to make this something it wasn't. There'd be no pouty lips or fluttering anything.

I sucked in a breath as it hit me.

It involves pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes.He'd said that.

…it also involves coming up with a cringy—I mean, clever nickname for you.

Night, Eviany.

"He was totally flirting with me, Chanel." She gave me an uninterested look then put her fluffy head back down. I laughed into my pillow, so fucking giddy, until I came to my senses. Enzo was a friend, and a pretty damn good one at that, but he hadn't really opened up to me, yet.

I regretted making those promises to Stacey. Forget you're not looking for anything. Forget he doesn't live here. Forget how you've been hurt in the past.

Bottom line was, eventually he would go back to California and leaving my heart completely unprotected was a hard no. Plus, even if I let myself forget all those things, there was one thing I had to remember: There was no guarantee he wanted me that way.

I looked at my cat curled up in the chair in the corner of my room. "I'm beginning to resent the word friends, Chanel." Groaning, I pulled the blanket up over my head and tried to push Enzo from my mind completely.