Chapter Four

All day Saturday, Evelyn worked with a bundle of nerves rolling in her stomach. The damn awards ceremony shouldn't matter. She'd never even been nominated before, so that should be enough, but it wasn't. She wanted to win, but she wished it were for any other episode. All week, they'd been looking at footage from last year's show as she tried to decide what would work for part of the follow-up.

She'd been tight-lipped around Harry, not wanting him to shoot her ideas down. Trent, the show's host, was on board with whatever she told him to do. He was easy to work with, so she couldn't complain about him, per se. But she didn't particularly like him, either. She didn't know what was wrong with her lately. Nothing fit quite right.

Stepping into her sleek black gown, she worried she might not be able to zip it up. Everything in her life was a little off. A knock sounded as she slid into her heels, the back of her dress still gaping. A second later, the door opened, and Owen came in.

Damn he looks good in a tux.

"Wow. You're ready?"

"Just about. You don't have to look so shocked. I left the studio early to make sure I was on time." In fact, Harry had shoved her out the door early in the afternoon. It was as if no one trusted her to show up as scheduled.

He looked her up and down, the sensation raking across her nerves, setting them on fire.

"You look amazing."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself. Can you zip me up?" She turned her back to him.

He tugged at the material, and she instinctively sucked in. They were silent as he slid the zipper up, his fingers grazing her skin. When it neared the top, he paused and swept her hair to the side. He stepped closer, close enough that his breath caressed her neck as he clasped the top.

Her dress was completely fastened, but neither of them moved. His hands felt so natural on her body. Fuck. She had to stop thinking like that.

Stepping away, she stuffed her purse with her phone, keys, ID, and some cash.

"How was your date last night?"

She paused at the question. "What date?"

"Late drinks?"

"Oh, that. It wasn't a date. I told you I was meeting a friend."

He looked at her with a raised brow.

"A friend. That wasn't code for a fuck buddy. Grant was an assistant producer on Trent Talks the first couple years. He moved on, and we haven't seen each other in a long time. He wanted to meet for a drink. It was only one drink. I didn't get there till late. We caught up. Then I came home. Alone." Why did she feel like she was defending her social life to Owen?

Her explanation made him look relieved. Which was even more bizarre than her needing to defend her choices. What the hell was going on with them?

"How long does this thing go tonight?" he asked.

"Like eleven-ish? Why?"

"Just curious. I'm guessing that since you're nominated this year, you'll want to stay for the whole thing."

In past years, they'd always cut out early and found decent food to eat to make up for whatever rubber chicken banquet food they'd been served. "Let's play it by ear. If I don't win, I'll be ready to leave early."

He tugged at his tie and crooked his elbow for her to take. "Hmm. Now I don't know which is worse—to wish you don't win so we can leave early or wish that you do, knowing I'll be stuck there all night."

She took his arm. "There's a stocked bar."

"I can't drink too much. I'm working tomorrow."

"Party pooper."

He led her from the condo to his car. They drove to the banquet in silence, Evelyn's nerves increasing with each passing mile.

"You okay?" Owen finally asked as he pulled up to the valet stand.

"Nervous. I've always wanted the nomination, but I never considered how nerve-racking it would be."

The valet opened her door. A moment later, Owen took her hand. "You'll be fine."

Having him in her corner made her believe it. Inside the hall, they found their table, where they'd be sitting with everyone else from Trent Talks . Although this award was small compared to the Emmys, it was well-attended, with a few famous faces milling around.

She grabbed champagne from the first tray she could find. Then she led Owen through the throngs of people to decide who she wanted to talk to. Over the course of the week she'd spent some time reviewing other executive producers who might be interested in her pitch. She'd enjoyed working with Harry, but she wasn't about to let her career stagnate. She was ready for something different.

She barely made it five steps when she heard Owen grunt. When she turned to see what the problem was, Donald came up to her, arms open wide.

"Donald? What are you doing here?"

"You think I'd miss this, Evie?" He folded her into his arms, pulling her hand from Owen's in the process. "I'm so proud of you."

Over Donald's shoulder, she saw Owen cross his arms on his chest. Being in her ex's embrace offered nowhere near the warmth she'd had holding Owen's hand. She forced a smile at Owen that she hoped was apologetic.

When Donald released her, she reached over and pulled Owen close. "You remember Owen, don't you?"

Donald extended a hand. "Of course. The firefighter, right?"

Owen nodded. His hand hesitantly came across and shook Donald's.

Instead of addressing the tension between the men, she said, "I think I have the follow-up to the shooting episode solved. I've got a lineup of experts who can talk about the long-term effects of such trauma. I've got a few staff members who can talk about how the school is different now. I think it'll work. But don't say anything to Harry yet. I want to get parts filmed before he shoots the idea down."

"Evie, of course he's going to shoot that down. You need to bring the kids in. Nothing will have the emotional impact kids do."

Owen flinched beside her.

"I can't do that to those kids," she said quietly.

"If you want to make your mark, sweetie, you need to go big. Someone is going to run the story. Why not you?"

Because it'll make me feel dirty. "I'll think about it."

She looked past Donald and added, "There are some people I want to talk to. See you later."

Turning away, Owen was at her side. "Why the hell do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look for his approval. You're good at what you do. You don't need his input."

"I wasn't looking for his approval."

"Oh yeah? Then why is he the only person you talked to about your plans for the show? I asked you to tell me and I got nothing. He didn't even ask. You just jumped, fawning all over him."

She pulled him to a stop. "I don't fawn over anyone. Donald is a heavy hitter in this industry. He knows what works and what doesn't. I respect his opinion."

"Looks like more than respect."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She drained her glass and grabbed another from a passing waiter.

His face was stony. "Whenever you talk to him or he's around, you turn into a simpering little girl."

Her hand tightened on the glass, and she tensed every muscle to prevent herself from dumping the champagne over his head.

As if he knew what she was thinking, his face softened. His palm came to her face. "You are a beautiful, strong woman who can take on anything. I hate that he makes you doubt yourself. You don't need him."

She wanted to stay mad, but something about the look in his eyes melted her. He was always in her corner no matter what.

"Please don't be mad at me. I'm not trying to piss you off. I don't like him. And I despise when he calls you Evie, like some little girl."

Taking a deep breath, she said, "You don't have to like him. And I don't simper around him. Hell, I don't ever simper. As far as the nickname goes, when we met, I sometimes used it. I no longer do."

As she spoke, her back straightened and she felt more like herself.

"There she is." He took his hand away from her face with a smile.

Just like that, they were back to normal. It was one of the many things she loved about her relationship with him. They could say anything to each other and be okay.

"It's almost dinnertime. Let's go back to the table."

He looked confused. "I thought there was someone you wanted to talk to."

"Nope. I wanted to get away from Donald."

He chuckled, and they wound their way back to their table.

She didn't want to think about whether Owen had a point about her relationship with Donald. She and Donald had remained friends after the divorce. She never knew when they might cross paths professionally, and she couldn't afford to appear to be difficult to work with. Since she didn't have any hard feelings—at least not in many years—there was no reason they couldn't be friends.

When her marriage had ended, it was mostly because she'd felt like it was a business relationship. Donald had always pushed her to do more, meet more people, get more exposure. He'd acted like a business manager more than a husband, so they'd grown apart. That had been bad enough, but her anger had come when Donald had moved on to someone else and from the outside, it'd appeared she had everything Evelyn had wanted.

It wasn't until years later, after Donald's second divorce, that Evelyn realized that Donald didn't have it in him to be a husband, a true supportive partner. But he was a pretty good friend to have in this business.

As they took their seats, Evelyn introduced Owen to Harry and his wife, as well as the others at the table. Unless someone from their station was nominated, Harry rarely attended the ceremony. She couldn't remember if Owen had met him before. It didn't take long before Harry was on her again about the follow-up.

She tensed and took another sip of champagne. "We film this week. I'll send you something as soon as I have it. It'll be ready to air on the anniversary. Have I ever missed a deadline?"

"Well, no," Harry blustered.

Under the table, Owen placed a hand on her knee, a silent show of support. She shot him a quick smile of thanks. For the rest of the meal, people made small talk about current events and the state of the city. Just as she relaxed, the emcee stepped to the mic and began the awards ceremony.

Evelyn realized that she should've eaten more of the rubber chicken, because the alcohol in her stomach was gearing up for revolt with each passing moment.

…

Owen sat silently, feeling helpless as he watched Evelyn. She wasn't herself at all tonight, and he didn't know how to help her. She shifted in her seat to fully face the stage, and Owen draped his arm around the back of her chair. She leaned into his shoulder.

They started giving out awards, and everyone politely clapped. In the past, she'd offered comments on each nominee and winner, complete with snark. Tonight, she sat like a robot. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'd pay fifty bucks for someone to break out in bad karaoke right now."

Evelyn snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth.

He tilted his chin toward the stage. "He looks like a guy who could really belt out ‘All By Myself.' No wait. Even better, ‘All Out of Love.'"

Her shoulders shook, and he knew he'd accomplished what he'd wanted. She was relaxing.

She leaned back, her lips brushing his cheek as she said, "Love me some Air Supply."

He stared into her eyes. "I'll be sure to play some on the ride home."

"Thank you."

"It's why you brought me. Comic relief."

"You're way more than comic relief. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

His chest tightened as he considered the weight of what they were to each other. He wouldn't want her to be here with some other man. This was his place. But he only said, "You'd handle it."

"I'd probably be puking in the corner."

"You start puking, you're on your own."

More applause engulfed the room, and they returned their attention to the stage. Through the next three awards, they whispered karaoke suggestions for each presenter and nominee. Then it was time for the producer award.

As they flashed clips of each episode on a big screen, Evelyn stiffened again. Color drained from her face. He took her hand as they made their way through each nominee.

When the presenter called her name, Evelyn didn't move. A spotlight swung to their table, and he squinted. She was frozen. With a nudge, he said "Hey, babe. You won."

His words got her moving. She stood and went to the stage to accept the award. As the applause died, she spoke quietly into the mic. Her eyes found his even with the bright lights blazing down on her. He swelled with pride.

"Thank you for this. I almost don't have words for how much this means." She pulled out a slip of paper and held it up. "Luckily, I came prepared."

The audience chuckled, but Owen saw the slight flutter of her hands.

"I'm proud of the work I do," she continued. "This episode was, hands down, the most difficult thing I've ever done in this industry. It was a story that needed to be told, but I wish it wasn't possible to tell. No one, especially children, should have to experience this kind of trauma." She held up the glass statue. "I'd gladly give this up to never have to witness such tragedy again." She looked over the crowd. "As people, we have to do better. Thank you."

She left the stage, and it took a while for her to get back to the table. Congratulations came to her in quiet tones as the next awards were handed out. She politely whispered her thanks and sagged against him. He put his arm around her, offering whatever support he could.

When the awards were over, music played, and people took to the dance floor. Evelyn had another glass of champagne in her hand.

She nodded to their tablemates. "I'm going to make my rounds. I'll be back."

"Don't take too long," her boss said. "We need to talk about what's next."

She took Owen's hand and led him away from the table. "I want to pitch to some other executives while riding this win. Harry wants more of that, and it'll kill me."

"It's okay for you to look for another job with your boss in the room?"

She shrugged. "I don't care. I have an idea for a great show. Harry doesn't want to listen. I'll find someone who will."

He looked at the glass in her hand. "Are you sober enough for that?"

"We're all tipsy. I'll be fine."

He stood by and watched her work the room. It was the only way to describe it. He'd been to industry events with her before, and schmoozing was constant in this world. But tonight she was in rare form. She sought people out and was a low-key salesperson. She pitched her idea to people, and they made tentative plans for meetings. While pitching, she managed to be both businesslike and chatty. It put him a little on edge because he didn't like her phoniness, but he accepted that was how business was done. By the time they'd made their circuit back in the direction of the table, Evelyn grabbed another glass of champagne.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom. You okay to get back to the table alone?"

"I'm not drunk. Just fuzzy enough to numb the disgust I feel at myself for the episode that won me the award I've coveted for years."

He watched as she wove through the crowd, and then he ducked out to the bathroom. He hated coming to these functions with her. So many of the people were fake—their bodies, their personalities, even their manners. He had a hard time reconciling the Evelyn he knew with the woman he saw at things like this. She knew how to play the game, but he wasn't good at navigating it. He was grateful he was nothing more than a visitor to this world.

When he got back to the ballroom, he didn't see her at the table. He sure as hell didn't want to sit and chat with her colleagues, so he walked the perimeter of the room looking for her. He found her on the dance floor in the arms of her ex, and he resisted the urge to pull the man away. She had a right to dance with whomever she wanted, but he didn't have to like it.

He came closer, and the look on her face made him think she wasn't a willing participant in the dance. Her eyes were sharp and although he couldn't hear what she was saying, she was not happy. He came up behind Donald and tapped his shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

Donald released his grip on her and turned to face Owen. "You might want to take her home now."

Through clenched teeth, she said, "Fuck you. I do not need to be handled."

Ignoring her words, Donald continued to address Owen. "She almost went off on Harry, which would not bode well for her career. I think she's had a bit too much to drink. She never was good at monitoring her alcohol."

She opened her mouth, but Owen spoke first. Everything about this man rubbed him wrong, but all he said was, "You can go now."

Without giving him another thought, he took Evelyn in his arms and continued the dance. He moved them away from Donald and asked, "What the hell was that about? I left you alone for ten minutes."

"I got to the table, and Harry wouldn't shut up about the shooting episode. How great it was. How I pulled so much quality and emotion from everyone. He feels like I found my niche. I might've said something along the lines of how I didn't want my niche to be about parading hurting kids on camera."

He did a mental fist pump, glad she stood up for herself.

"Then Donald stepped in and asked me to dance. Really, he pulled me away. Then you showed up. Just in the nick of time. Like always." She laid her cheek on his shoulder.

"Donald and Harry are both assholes."

"But they're powerful, successful assholes. Donald was being nice by pulling me away before I said something really stupid to Harry. You were there for the rest." She sighed and turned her head so her face was in the crook of his neck.

Her breath fluttered against his pulse point, distracting him. He cleared his throat. "Like I said, asshole."

"I'm glad you came with me tonight."

"I'm glad I could be here for you." He didn't want to think what would've happened if she'd come solo.

The song ended, but she stayed in his arms. Lifting her head, she said, "Take me home."

The words shouldn't have caused any kind of sexual ideas, but they did. He pushed the inappropriate thoughts aside. "Let's go."

…

Evelyn slid into Owen's car. When he got behind the wheel, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She was buzzed but not drunk. She'd known exactly what she was saying to Harry. She just had a hard time mustering a fuck to give. Snippets of the school shooting episode flashed in her mind, making her feel ill all over again. She licked her lips. "As I watched the reel of that episode, I felt sick to my stomach. All I could think was, ‘I did that? Who am I?' I didn't used to be like that, okay with putting people's despair on screen."

Owen didn't say anything, but he laid his hand on the seat between them, palm up. She interlocked her fingers with his, and it steadied her.

"I don't care that it was our highest-rated show. I could never do that every week. And Harry wants me to do more like that? Hell no."

"What will happen if you tell him no?"

"I don't know. I have a contract, but I'm sure there's a loophole that will enable them to fire me." Again, at the moment, she didn't care. That was a problem for future Evelyn. She just wanted to put this night behind her.

The glass award sat on her lap. She stroked its smooth edges.

"What's up with Donald? You've been divorced for so long. Why does he keep popping up?"

"We work in the same industry. Our paths are likely to cross at least tangentially. And we're friends."

The fingers of his left hand tightened on the steering wheel, but his right hand remained gentle in hers. "Why are you friends?"

Owen's question scratched at her when she was already irritated. "Why are we friends? Why is anyone friends? Donald and I have known each other for almost fifteen years, five of which we were married. He's not a bad guy."

Owen huffed. She waited for a comment.

"He hurt you. That makes him bad in my book."

She hated that Owen could sweep away her irritation with a couple short sentences. But that was him. He always had her back. More than anyone else in her life. "Well, not everyone can be as good as you are."

He rolled his eyes, and she laughed.

When they got to her condo, he parked in his spot. She smiled. Owen had a spot in her lot. Of course, it wasn't really his spot, but no one else ever used it.

"You don't have to walk me in. I know you have to get home to Probie and sleep for work."

He didn't respond. He simply got out and walked around to her side of the car, waiting to take her hand as she stepped out. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she said, full of attitude that might've been a little more believable if she hadn't wobbled after closing the door.

Owen put an arm around her and guided her to the lobby. Instead of putting up a front and fighting him, she leaned into his warmth and strength.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"You thanked me earlier." They stepped onto the elevator without him letting her go.

"I know you don't really like those things, and it doesn't help that you feel the need to swoop in and rescue me."

"I do not."

"You do. It's who you are. But it probably prevents you from having too much fun."

"I always have fun when I'm with you."

"I have fun, too. Plus you look really hot all dressed up."

"You're not so bad yourself."

She fanned herself. "Whew. You better watch it, giving out compliments like that."

"You don't need to fish for compliments. You're sexy and you know it. Every guy in the room stops to look at you. They shoot me jealous glares because I'm lucky enough to have you on my arm."

"Damn, you're good," she mumbled. Her conversations with Nina crashed through all the inappropriate thoughts she'd been having about him. Why did they have to be inappropriate? She suddenly couldn't come up with a single reason why sleeping with her best friend was a bad idea.

The elevator dinged and they walked to her door, their bodies brushing with each step, sending warm licks of awareness through her. Owen opened the door and pulled her through.

Evelyn dropped her purse, set her award on the table, and kicked off her heels.

"You need help with anything before I go?"

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. "Yeah." Then she pressed her lips to his.

For a brief moment, their lips touched, their breath mingled, and time froze. Evelyn didn't know what she was doing or thinking, but she knew she wanted to stay in his arms. Tilting her head, she opened her mouth and swiped her tongue out.

When her tongue touched his, he let out a groan. Then he firmly planted his hands on her hips and pulled away. He didn't say anything, but his eyes burned into hers. His look said it all. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Yet he kept her at arm's distance.

She took his hand and tugged. "Come on."

He pulled away, put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her. "Go to bed. I'm going to get you a glass of water and some aspirin."

"I'm not drunk."

"Sure."

She went to her bedroom and waited. When he came in carrying a glass, she turned her back to him and scooped her hair up. "Unzip me?"

He sighed as if she were trying his patience. He set the glass and pills on her bedside table and then unzipped her dress. His fingers brushed her back, and his breath was like a feather against her skin. She wanted to feel his hands everywhere. She tugged at the front of the dress and let it drop.

Stepping from the dress pooled at her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck. When she leaned in to kiss him again, he stopped her.

"Not like this, Evelyn."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're drunk."

"Tipsy."

"Really buzzed."

"I'm thinking clearly. I want this, and so do you."

"Not when there's room for regret or uncertainty. I can't let you use me to feel better and then pull away again."

What? They'd used each other last time. They'd agreed on that going in. She hadn't pulled away by herself. They both had. "You're the one pulling away now."

"I'm talking about afterward." He stepped back and waved a hand toward her bed. "Get some sleep."

She huffed and crawled into bed, giving him a full view of what he could be having right now. Flopping against the pillows, she said, "You know just as well as I do that we've both been thinking about it a lot lately. I don't know exactly how or when things started to change, but they have. You feel it."

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

"Please do me the favor and don't deny it. Drunk or sober, I'd say this. If you don't want to act on it, I'll accept that, but don't pretend it doesn't exist."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Okay."

She swallowed hard. Did he not want to act on it? Had she just blown the best friendship she'd ever had? He backed out of the room.

At the door, he said, "Drink the water. I'll call when I get off work."

She did as he said and gulped the water. It didn't do anything to remove the dusty feeling in her mouth or push past the tightness in her throat as she watched Owen leave.

…

Owen spent two restless nights replaying everything Evelyn had said. He hadn't felt this mixed up and confused since he was a teenager. He believed in being honest and up-front with anyone he was involved with. That meant that if he had feelings beyond lust and attraction, he said so.

Except with Evelyn. With her, he'd ignored the lust and attraction. Their emotional attachment to each other had been obvious. They did everything together. They celebrated and commiserated. They turned to each other first for everything important in their lives.

However, the lines had always been a little fuzzy because of the physical attraction. When they'd first met, they had admitted to the attraction and then backed off because they weren't in a place for a relationship. Even as they'd become friends, his attraction to her had never waned. He'd just pretended it wasn't there.

Lately, she'd been making it difficult to discount their chemistry.

What the hell am I supposed to do? He was used to her brand of avoidance, making jokes to keep things light. But when she'd crawled into bed and asked him not to deny their attraction, he hadn't known what to say. It was unlike her to call him out like that. She'd said she would understand if he didn't want to act on it. His body hadn't needed a second to think. It had screamed for him to pounce.

Luckily, he wasn't a clueless teenager anymore. He knew what was at stake. Could they go there and be okay? What was the likelihood it wouldn't work out? They already spent all their time together. They knew each other's quirks and bad habits, and they still liked each other.

Maybe Nina had been right all along.

All day yesterday, he'd been plagued with snippets of conversations and innuendo that Nina had made over many cups of coffee at Sunny's. Of course, it didn't help that it had been the slowest day on earth at the firehouse. They'd cleaned equipment, gone grocery shopping, and played too many hands of poker. He hated shifts like that. They gave him too much time to be in his own head.

He was so bored and desperate for a distraction that he offered to cook breakfast, even though they were off in a little while.

"Hey, knucklechuck," Tony called from the table. "Those pancakes are gonna burn. If I wanted a crap breakfast, I'd wait until I got home to eat."

Owen flipped Tony the bird and then turned the pancakes. So they were a little dark. It wasn't like it mattered. These guys would eat almost anything.

Karen came up behind him and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Where's your head? You've been out of it all shift."

"Got a lot on my mind, that's all."

Jamal clicked the remote to mute the TV. "Sounds like woman problems. What's her name?"

"Don't worry about it." He took the pancakes off the griddle and poured the next batch.

"You know that just piques our interest more," Karen said, hopping up to sit on the counter.

Jamal twisted on the couch to face him, early-morning news no longer holding his attention. "What does Evelyn say about it?"

"Evelyn?" Karen asked.

"His friend ." Jamal put air quotes around "friend" as if no one in the room could figure out his meaning from his tone. "Haven't you ever met her? She usually comes to barbecues and stuff."

Karen shook her head. "Is she like your wingwoman or something?"

"Or something," Owen answered. He pulled the last of the pancakes off the griddle and set them on the counter. "Food."

"Come on. Details," Karen prodded.

He didn't respond. He just turned to the sink to clean up.

Karen moved next to him and bumped his shoulder. "All joking aside, if you need to talk…"

"Thanks, but I'm good." It was mostly true. Nothing in his life was falling apart. He didn't need to unburden himself to his coworkers. Though calling his brother Dave might help.

Guys from the next shift started coming in, and he almost regretted having to leave. At least while on shift, he could avoid having to actually do anything.

His phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Heading to work. Dinner tonight?

Was the woman in his head? She offered him no escape. He told her to come over after work. That bought him another twelve hours or so to figure shit out. Nothing like being under a deadline. Knowing Evelyn, she would definitely want to talk about what had happened. Or what hadn't happened.

When he got to his car, he called Dave, knowing his brother would already be at work.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Got some time to talk?"

"Sure."

Owen didn't know where to start. He pulled into traffic and headed for home.

"You need to say something for it to be considered talking."

"How did you know that Alicia was the one?"

"I fell in love with her. I couldn't imagine my life without her. What are you getting at?"

Maybe Dave wasn't the best person. He'd waited until he was in his thirties to get engaged. He didn't already have a failed marriage under his belt.

"I've been thinking about Evelyn."

"It's about time."

"Why does everyone say that shit?"

"Because even an idiot could see how perfect you guys are together."

"We're best friends. But my track record for relationships isn't great. What if I fuck this up? I'd lose my best friend."

Movement on the line told him that Dave was probably standing so he could pace. His brother was a pacer when he talked.

"I think the bigger question is what happens if you don't act? Don't you still run the risk of losing her? Evelyn's not going to be alone forever. I'm kind of surprised she's been single this long."

Everything Dave said echoed Nina's words. What was wrong with not wanting change? "I don't want to lose what we have. I want things to stay the same."

"Like the saying goes, the only constant in life is change. You grow, you change. You're not the same person who married Stacy. What happened wasn't your fault."

He knew that. Stacy had chosen to cheat on him with someone she claimed was a friend. But maybe if Owen had paid closer attention, he would've seen what was lacking in their marriage and stopped it from imploding. He'd been clueless, and he'd lost everything.

His inability to see what was right in front of him made him guarded. He swore he'd never be so foolish again. From that point on, he'd protected his heart by not letting anyone get too close. Except for Evelyn. She'd sneaked past every defense he had.

"Do you love Evelyn?"

His gut reaction was to say yes, but he stopped and measured his words. "She's my best friend. I love her. But am I in love with her? I don't think so."

"But you can picture it. If you gave it half a chance, you'd be head over heels ready to walk the aisle again."

"Don't get crazy, man. I'm in no hurry for marriage."

"This is Evelyn we're talking about. You've never trusted anyone like you do her. I think you trust her more than you trust me."

"Well, you did steal my baseball card collection when we were kids."

"Let it go, man."

They laughed, and Owen felt better. He parked in front of his house and said goodbye.

"Before you hang up, keep an open mind. Talk to her. Let her know what worries you."

"I will. Thanks."

"You did remember to request time off for the wedding, right?"

"If I hadn't, it'd be a little late now. It's been set for months, bro. I'll be there. Have my flight booked and everything." What kind of brother would he be if he'd forgotten? The wedding was in less than two weeks.

"I figured, but Alicia has been nagging me to check. Call later if you need to talk more."

"Will do."

He went inside and grabbed Probie's leash. A run always cleared his head.