Chapter 13

Evie

I"d clasp my chest in shock if I weren"t cradling a tub of ice-cream in one hand and holding a hot glue gun in the other.

Fraser doesn"t flinch as he takes me in, and a big smile spreads across his face, even though I must look like a mess. Hardly sipping on a cocktail while picking out a new dress, that"s for sure.

My hair is slick due to a deep-conditioning treatment, I"m wearing an old hockey jersey and sweats, and I"ve got a spoon dangling out of my mouth. At least I"ve washed off the bright-blue face mask I had on earlier and applied some moisturizer.

"This takes me back," he says, still grinning.

Maybe his brain is having a delayed shock response to the hot mess he"s stumbled upon?

I extract the spoon from my mouth and spear it into the ice cream. "Takes you back to what?"

"That time I came over for a late-night chat and you had one of those sheet facemasks on that made you look like a ghost. Apart from making me listen to punk music, that"s the only other time you"ve actually scared the life out of me. Remember that?"

"No. I"d successfully blocked that from my memory from my subconscious, but thank you for bringing it back."

"Are you…okay?"

Is he being serious?

"Are you being serious? Look at me."

He has the gall to actually look at me, running his piercing blue eyes up and down the length of me.

"You look great."

"Did you bump your head? Is that why you"re here? To tell me you"ve sustained a serious head injury and won"t be able to play for the rest of the seaso—? Wait. Why are you here? You"re meant to be in Raleigh. You have a game tomorrow. What"s going on?"

"All great questions. Mind if I come in?"

I wince. "Of course. Sorry. The leave-in conditioner has seeped into my brain and erased my manners. Come in, come in."

Fraser steps inside, sporting a huge smile, waving a bright yellow bouquet of roses in front of me.

He bought me flowers.

Again.

I"ve lost count how many times it"s been. Maybe I should ask Hannah if she"s keeping track. She probably is.

"Since your hands are full, I might just leave these here," Fraser says, placing the bouquet on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you." I drop the hot glue gun and ice cream tub there, too. "I love them."

"Mission accomplished, then."

"I still have so many questions, but I need five minutes. Give me five minutes, okay?"

"Sure. Take your time."

I race into the bathroom to wash out the hair treatment. Then I throw on some jeans, a tank top, and the cashmere sweater Levi bought me for Christmas last year. Slightly more company-appropriate than the jersey and sweats I was wearing when I opened the door.

I don"t have time for makeup, but my face has a fresh glow after the mask, so I should be okay on that front.

"All right, I"m back, and this time I look human," I say, announcing my arrival in the living room.

Fraser spins around from the bracelets he"d been studying, laid out all over my desk in my work nook.

And boy, he cuts a fine figure.

When I board a plane, I go through an invisible force field that instantly wrinkles my clothes, frizzes my hair, and makes me put on five pounds in water weight.

Fraser looks like he just stepped off a runway in Paris or Milan, not schlepped in on an American Airlines cross-country flight.

His zip-up black hoodie opens to reveal a dark-gray shirt, his form-fitting denim fits his form very nicely, molding to his muscular legs, and he"s wearing white low-tops. The look is quintessential Fraser—athletic, comfortable, and undeniably sexy.

"Feel better?" he asks.

"Yes, but more importantly, I look better."

He makes his way to the couch. "I liked your look from before. Wet hair is all the rage these days."

I laugh. "Unlike the term all the rage, which very much is not."

"Hey, I"m secretly a forty-five-year-old dude who wishes he could time travel back to the "90s, remember?"

I smile, but it quickly disappears when I notice my laptop left open on the coffee table. I quickly shut it as we take a seat, and I tuck it into the side of the couch. I can brainstorm ideas to save my career some other time.

"Start at the beginning. Why are you here?"

"I was worried about you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I"ve developed a sixth sense for picking up on when you"re pretending to be happy even though you"re not. It happened at jerkface"s wedding. You do it whenever the subject of your mother comes up. And you did it over the phone last night when we talked about your meeting with your boss."

"That just proves you"re an Evie-whisperer. It doesn"t answer my question about why you flew halfway across the country to see me."

"It totally does."

"No. It doesn"t." I lift my chin. "I can pretend I"m fine over the phone just as well as I can to your face."

"My, my, my. How little faith you have in me, Evie." His lips curve into a suggestive smirk. "You honestly didn"t think I"d come here on my own without reinforcements, did you?"

I blink. "Actually, I did."

There"s a knock on the door. Fraser shoots to his feet. "I"ll get it."

"Sure," I mutter to myself since he"s already out of the room. "Don"t mind me. I just live here."

What is happening?

Surely he can"t be serious—that he bailed in the middle of a game week to fly all this way and see me.

Can he?

"Evie, close your eyes," he says from the entryway. "I don"t want you seeing my secret weapon until I"m ready."

I close my eyes, trying not to smile at the absurdity and kookiness and loveliness of it all.

"Fine. My eyes are shut."

"No peeking?"

"No peeking."

"All right, then."

With my vision gone, my other senses pick up. Specifically, my sense of smell.

"You didn"t…?" I begin, my eyes still firmly closed.

There"s a beat of silence before I hear, "You can open your eyes."

I do, and Fraser is standing in front of me, holding up a serving of large fries in his hand.

"Truth fries!"

He"s grinning hard. His deep blue eyes are sparkling and bright, and it instantly shaves a few years off him, reminding me of how he used to look back in high school.

He shakes the fries, and the delicious smell wafts into my nose.

"I had a feeling you might be less than forthcoming, so I knew I had to call in some backup. You can hide from me all you want, but I know you"d never dishonor our pledge to the almighty fry."

I break out into a fit of giggles because this is all too much. In the best way ever.

Fraser hands me some fries and takes out another serving for himself. Then he crosses his legs, sits on the floor at the edge of the coffee table, casts a glance my way, and says, "Whenever you"re ready. I"ve got all night. And by I"ve got all night,I actually mean I have to be at the airport in three hours to get on my red-eye. But hey, no pressure."

I"m so overwhelmed by this, by him, I can"t even eat.

"My meeting didn"t go well," I say, getting straight to it since we don"t have a lot of time.

"Why not?" Fraser sets his fries down on the coffee table. "What"s going on?"

"Same old story. My segments aren"t generating the kind of numbers the network is looking for."

He blows out a frustrated breath. "People baffle me. Your latest story about Comfort Bay"s oldest resident made me smile all day. Coach was worried something was wrong with me."

I don"t know what to say to that.

Or to the flowers.

Or to him coming all this way to see me just because he suspected I was having a rough time and might have been in need of some cheering up. How is he so finely tuned to me?

"I"ll be fine," I say, drawing on some of the confidence Margo has in me. "I have a month to turn things around."

"And what if you don"t turn things around in a month?"

"Then I guess I"ll be looking for a new job."

His jaw clicks. "What can I do to help?"

Margo"s words echo in my head. Could Fraser"s distrust of the media be overcome if I were the one interviewing him?

His eyes are fixed on me with a deep focus. I can feel the words right there, tickling the tip of my tongue…but I just can"t bring myself to say them aloud. I can"t ask him for this favor. I just can"t. It"s too much.

"You being here is amazing. Unbelievable, actually." I take a breath. "I"ll…I"ll figure out my work stuff on my own."

His unwavering gaze remains fixed on me. "Okay. But if I can do anything to help, let me know."

"I will."

A brief silence ensues.

"There"s another reason I came," Fraser says, his voice carrying a husky rasp that wasn"t there a moment ago.

"What"s that?"

He hauls himself off the floor and joins me on the couch, sitting so close our knees almost touch.

"I"ve been doing some thinking."

"What about?"

"You. Me."

I suck in a breath between my teeth. "Oh."

"I know this isn"t real, Evie. That this whole fake dating thing started because some random fan called you my lucky charm online and it helped your numbers at work—and it stopped the press from endlessly speculating about my love life."

"Uh-huh."

"The press is no longer hounding me about my romantic life, but the first two things are no longer applicable."

That"s true. I haven"t been considered his good luck charm for months now, and my numbers at work have plummeted back to earth.

His brow furrows, and I wonder where he"s going with this. An uneasy inkling settles in the pit of my stomach that it might not be leading to something good.

He takes a breath. "I guess what I"m trying to say is that I understand if you want to start thinking about how we end this fake relationship. Just tell me when you want to do that, and I"ll pull the pin."

My heart sinks with disappointment. "That"s not what I want."

It"s literally the last thing I want.

Does he, though? Has he had enough of this and wants to go back to his normal life?

"What about you?" I ask.

"What? No way. I"d rather take you on in a chili dog eating contest than end this. I"m just letting you know—the eject option is always there. Just tell me when you"ve had enough of all this."

"I will," I say, giving a slight nod as relief washes over me.

But I won"t.

I"m enjoying fake dating Fraser way too much to put an end to it. This is, hands down, the best, healthiest, and most fun relationship I"ve ever been in. I"ll psychoanalyze how pathetic that makes me sound some other time.

"So…we"re good?"

"We"re good," I confirm.

The strain in his neck loosens. "In that case, there"s something I"ve been wanting to do for a while now. I"ve been unsuccessful on the first few attempts, but I"m determined not to let anything get in my way this time."

"What is it?" I ask, suddenly realizing my whole body is angled toward him like I"m the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Without warning, he gets up and stalks over to the window and closes the curtain.

He collects our phones from the coffee table and takes them into the kitchen.

Finds the remote and turns off the game I"d been watching.

"Fraser." I grab him by the arm to stop him moving. "What are you doing?"

His Adam"s apple bobs in his throat. "I want to kiss you, and I don"t want any interruptions."

My poor heart jolts into overdrive. I"ve gone from thinking he wants to end things to him wanting to kiss me. It"s a lot to take in.

But I am here for it.

I am so here for it.

"You"re not wearing anything that will beep or buzz or go off, are you?"

"No. All my beeping and buzzing clothes are in my laundry hamper."

He snickers and comes closer. "Good."

"No food deliveries coming?"

"I ate already."

I stand up.

Our eyes meet.

He traces his fingers delicately across my cheek. "I"ve tried so hard to resist you, Evie. And I"ve waited so long for this moment."

I tilt my head up. "You have?"

"You have no idea. I want to kiss you so bad. Can I?"

"Yes."

He leans in closer, sliding his hand around my waist, and gently brings me closer to him. There"s a slight pause, as if he"s checking in to make sure I"m okay. I bob my head, and he continues.

Our mouths meet for the very first time.

Tentatively.

Tenderly.

In the softest of collisions.

The gentle brush of his lips against mine sends a yummy warmth radiating throughout my entire body.

Gradually, the kiss deepens.

He grows more confident, curling his fingers around the back of my neck and taking control.

I part my lips, an invitation he accepts.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, a melding of warmth and wonder, a show of strength and sensitivity.

I surrender to it.

To him.

To this moment teenage me wanted so badly but thought would never come.

To this moment adult me tried to convince herself she didn"t want and thought she had gotten over hoping for.

"Hi," he says, as the sweetest kiss of my life ends, and he delicately strokes my cheek.

"Hi," I manage.

"That was amazing." His voice is low and coarse.

"Worth traveling all this way for?"

"Definitely." He exhales. "I hate that I have to leave so soon."

"Don"t be silly. You have to go. I can drive you to the airport if you like?"

"Thanks. But I rented a car. You can walk me to your front door."

So I do.

We kiss again.

I watch as he walks down the stairs until he"s gone, then I race back inside, tugging the curtain wide open.

He stops walking to his car and looks up at me.

I wave.

He waves back.

I don"t leave my spot by the window for a good five minutes after he"s driven off.

At the end of the night, I get ready for bed, unable to get my mind off him.

It"s official.

My crush on Fraser has returned with a vengeance.

Truth be told, it may never have really left.

Forcing myself to get some shut-eye, I find myself reminiscing about the past, my thoughts floating back to the night I first realized I had a crush on him…

Seven years ago, Evie"s bedroom…

Fraser and I are in what"s become our usual position—lying on my bedroom floor.

I got sick of him always sitting so far away from me, so a few weeks ago, I lay down on the floor after a meal, and he joined me.

This is our go-to position for whenever he comes over now. It"s nice…and a little odd at the same time.

We"re closer, but still never touching. I"m starting to suspect Fraser"s keeping some space between us on purpose, which is gentlemanly of him. I can respect that, I guess.

But I like being near him.

We"re currently staring up at the ceiling, passed out after gorging on an In-N-Out and malasada feast.

Ever since he introduced me to those delicious pastries, I"ve become addicted. I"ve hunted down the best malasadas in the county. They"re in a bakery two towns over. Fraser drove there just to fetch them for me before coming over.

It"s a Wednesday night.

Our sixth Wednesday, not that I"m counting or anything.

This is the pattern we"ve fallen into.

He brings the food, I show him the bracelets I"m working on.

I give him a few pointers I picked up from watching him at practice—and yes, I"m being nicer and more considerate of his feelings…or at least trying to.

He fills me in on whatever stuff has been going on with him.

I mainly talk.

He mainly listens.

But he"s starting to open up, too, telling me about some of the stuff going on at school, at practice, with his brothers and Dawn.

We laugh and have a good time.

No one"s the wiser.

Not Levi. Not my parents. Not anyone from Fraser"s family.

It"s our little world. Our little secret world.

"Up for a lightning round of questions?" I ask.

He turns his head, looking at me side on. "Uh, sure."

Six weeks ago, he would have hesitated. Maybe even said no. He"s come a long way.

"Great. We"ll take turns asking each other questions. Want to go first?"

"Nope. You can."

"Okay. Favorite book, assuming you read."

He scoffs. "I read, thank you very much."

"Sorry. I didn"t mean it like that. I know you"re capable of reading, I just didn"t know if you like to do it for pleasure. Or even if you have the time. You"re pretty busy with hockey."

"That"s true. But I like to read before I go to sleep. It relaxes me."

"Cool. And again, I apologize. So, what"s your favorite book?"

"That"s a tough one. There are too many to choose from."

"Okay. I"ll make it easier for you. Favorite book that you"ve recently read?"

A few moments pass, then he responds with, "The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen. I hope I"m saying his name right."

"What"s it about?"

"It"s a spy story that explores identity, politics, and the Vietnam War from multiple perspectives."

"No wonder it puts you to sleep."

"Hey." He gives my arm a playful squeeze.

"Your turn," I say, secretly wishing he"d keep his hand there longer, but unfortunately, he pulls it away.

"Um. Okay. Let me think. Okay. I"ve got one. Why do you like punk music?"

"Why can"t I like punk music?"

"You absolutely can. I"m just curious. Someone like Dawn liking punk music makes sense. Someone like you, not so much."

"What does that mean?"

"Ah, ah, ah, I believe I"m the one asking the question."

"Fine." I stare up at the ceiling as I formulate an answer. "It"s like, I"m not an angry person, but I guess I have a little rage within me. Like we all do. Listening to punk lets me tap into some of those emotions I usually ignore without, you know, doing anything that will see me getting twenty-five to life."

"That"s a good answer."

"You"re happy with it?"

"Is that your question for me?"

"It is."

He smiles. "Yeah. I"m happy with that answer."

"Why? And before you can accuse me of asking two questions in a row, this is a related follow-up, so it counts as one, and you have to answer. Don"t make me get Rosie."

"Oh, no. Not your glittery pink umbrella."

"Hey. She can do some major damage."

"I bet she can."

We laugh.

Fraser folds his hands over his chest. "Um, I like your answer because it explains a bit about you. You"re an upbeat and optimistic person, and normally I can"t stand upbeat and optimistic people. But you do it in a way that isn"t offensively sweet. Don"t get me wrong, you are sweet, but I"m not going to catch diabetes by hanging out with you."

"Gee, thanks. Also, not sure it"s possible to catch diabetes."

"But you get what I"m saying, right? You"re…cool."

"Thanks. I think?"

He laughs.

His face is lit up by the blue glow from the TV, and I notice just how perfect his teeth are.

"My turn again," he says. "Are you a cat person or dog person?"

"Can I be both?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So I"m both. What about you?"

"Dogs. Big dogs."

"So, no dogs that could fit in a purse?" I tease.

"Definitely not." He grins while he mulls over his next question. "Have you decided what you want to study?"

"No final decisions have been made, but I"m leaning toward journalism."

"Permissible follow-up question coming…Why? Why not teaching?"

"I"ll allow the follow-up," I say. "I figure this way I might be able to reach more people. And I have this idea. A potentially very crazy idea."

"My favorite kind."

"I want to share good stories. Uplifting stories. The world sometimes feels like it"s a dumpster fire, and I want to give people a sense of hope. Because I think that deep down, there"s more that unites us than divides us."

"That"s not all that crazy. Sign me up. I"ll watch. Or read. Or subscribe. Just don"t ask me to share anything on social media because I avoid it like the plague."

"Noted." I smile. "Thanks for your support. I guess there"s no point in me asking what you want to do, is there?"

"Only one way to find out."

"Oh, come on. It"s obvious you"ve always wanted to be a hockey player."

"Actually, that"s not entirely true."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Everyone assumes it"s been my only dream in life, to play. And while I do want to make it into the majors, and I think it"s my best ticket out of here, there"s always been a part of me that"s wanted to coach."

"You can always go into coaching when you retire."

"Nah. Don"t think so."

"Why not?"

"I"m not like you, Evie. I"m not great at peopling."

"I don"t know about that. You seem to people well with me."

We turn our heads at the exact same moment.

Our eyes lock.

A wild thought enters my head.

Will he kiss me?

Almost as quickly as it blew in, it evaporates into thin air when Fraser asks his next question.

"What sort of wedding do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"It"s my turn to ask you a question, and that"s what I"m asking." When I don"t say anything, he tries to explain with, "Don"t all girls dream about their wedding day?"

"Have you asked Dawn about her wedding day?"

"My sister isn"t like most girls."

"Neither am I. I haven"t given it much thought, in all honesty, but I know I don"t want anything big. I"d be perfectly happy with something small and no fuss. Or, I don"t know, maybe getting hitched in a chapel in Vegas. Have Elvis or Marilyn officiate."

"Isn"t that a bit…tacky?"

"Oh, it"s totally tacky. But that"s why I love it. Funerals should be serious, but weddings are meant to be fun. Grandma always says that. I"d want everyone to have a great time, and I want to have a great time. When Mom shows me photos of her wedding to Dad—which, by the way, she puts gloves on so her finger oils don"t damage the album."

"You"re joking."

"I"m deadly serious."

"That"s insane."

"That"s my mother. Anyway, the photos are gorgeous. It was a grand and beautiful and very expensive affair. But when I look at her eyes, or Dad"s eyes, despite them smiling and putting on the appearance of being happy, they just look…tired. I don"t want that. I want to be rested and alive and in the moment."

"You should have opened with that."

I giggle. "I was workshopping ideas. What sort of wedding do you want?"

"I don"t really care."

I"m about to tease him for giving the most boy answer ever, but before I can, he goes on. "As long as my wife-to-be is there and happy, that"s all I care about."

And we"ve gone from the most boy answer ever to the most perfect answer ever in less than three seconds.

It takes me a few moments to recover from that.

"You know," I say, nudging the side of his hand with my pinky. "I don"t think you"re as bad at this whole peopling thing as you think you are."

He doesn"t move his hand. "Thanks, Evie."

I stare up at the ceiling, my heart beating faster in my chest.

How is it that I"m only now just realizing that Fraser is the total package?

There"s so much more to him than the aloof next door neighbor with insane hockey skills.

Yes, he"s exceptionally talented on the ice, but he"s also smart, reading books I haven"t even heard of.

He"s thoughtful, always keeping me well stocked with food, even if it means driving two towns over to bring me my favorite pastry.

He listens when I speak, and he remembers what I say, like about me deciding what to study, and then asks follow-up questions.

And he"s cute. Like, really, really cute.

And wow, okay…I think I"ve got a crush on my brother"s best friend.