13. Evangeline

THIRTEEN

EVANGELINE

R eceiving a phone call from the local watering hole isn’t a new thing. Often, whoever is working will call me if they think someone is about to do something they’ll regret in the morning. Being the local attorney to everyone in town means someone along the way thought it was a good idea for me to play mediator before the police show up.

However, when the phone call is about your ex-boyfriend, you have to make a decision on whether you want to be involved with whatever antics he’s involved in or stay far, far away. Clearly, something happened with Caryn. She wasn’t at the ceremony and Zane seemed upset. His eyes wandered a lot, and he kept checking his phone. Sure, he put on a cheerful facade for his dad, but I could tell he wasn’t fully present.

Every part of me should’ve stayed at home, and told Kaden, the bartender, to call Mr. Whitaker or the police. If I were a vindictive person, the latter would’ve been somewhat satisfying, but I’m not. And the last thing Mr. Whitaker needs is to come out in the cold to rescue his drunk son.

After changing out of my very cozy, very warm flannel pants with vintage Santas all over them, I slip into my boots and walk down the street to the Marching Soldier. As soon as I walk in, I see Zane hunched over a tumbler of something. He was never a drinker when we dated and would occasionally have a beer if we were out with friends. I can honestly say the only time I saw him drunk was after his mom died. We were juniors in high school and her death shook him to the core. I swiped a bottle of vodka from my parents’ liquor cabinet, and took it out to the lake, with Zane. He drank. He talked. I listened.

It looks like I’m going to listen again.

I’m thankful the sidewalks are mostly clear of snow and ice, because getting Zane back to my place is enough of a challenge. He’s a big guy, standing at six foot five. I’m not short by any means, but he easily has eight inches on me.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

When we get back to my place, I’m not a stickler about him taking off his boots or his jacket. I’m more concerned with him getting upstairs without falling. Thankfully, he has enough wherewithal to use the railing.

Having him in my place—again—is a huge mistake. I don’t want him here. Mostly because I don’t trust myself around him. I can easily tell everyone I’m not in love with him, but the truth of the matter is, the moment I saw him at my family farm, looking like the boy-turned-man I had fallen in love with many, many years ago, those feelings rushed back. Tenfold. I’ve never been so eager for the holidays to be over, because then he’ll be back in New York and I’ll be here, living my life, like I have every year since he left.

While Zane uses the bathroom, I make him a bed on my couch and put a bucket next to where he’ll sleep. I have very little experience with drunk people, but I’m guessing he may need to throw up later. When he meanders out of the bathroom, I hand him some aspirin and a bottle of water.

“I made you a bed on the couch, and I plugged your phone into the charger.”

“Did she call?” he asks. My heart sinks even when it shouldn’t. We’re nothing to each other, just people who used to date. Caryn’s going to be his wife. They live together. I’m merely a blimp on his dating map.

“I’m assuming you mean Caryn, and I don’t know. Come on.” I don’t want to deal with him or hear about Caryn. “I’ll leave the bathroom light on so you can see where you’re going and there’s a bucket on the floor. Just in case.”

“Eve,” he draws my shortened name out, like he used to do when we were together. I used to love it. His voice would make me weak in my knees. Now, I have to fight the urge to go to him. “Come lie on the couch with me.”

He pats the blankets a few times and it takes every ounce of self-respect and control to keep my feet planted. “No, Zane. Go to sleep.”

I go into my room, wishing I had a door to shut and suddenly hate my loft-style home. The open concept, and lack of walls and privacy has never been an issue until now. Now, I want to hide behind a locked door and feel sorry for myself. Even when I save him, he’s thinking about her. As he should be. But even so, a bit of gratitude would go a long way right now. I suppose I could’ve dropped him off at the inn they’re staying in, but who the hell wants to drive out of town in the middle of the night?

Zane grumbles in his sleep. It’s enough to keep me awake for most of the night. When I finally fall into slumber, it’s almost morning, and I’m already dreading daylight.

The clanking of my radiator stirs me. I refuse to open my eyes. There’s zero need to face the day, or Zane for that matter. Surely, he’ll be embarrassed, and right now, I need more sleep. I snuggle deeper under my blankets, the cocoon of them keeping me warm.

Until something heavy tugs at me. My eyes fly open and my heart races. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s someone in my bed. The offender nuzzles my hair and says my name softly, as if they’re dreaming.

The me of years ago would’ve welcomed this, but the me of now does not. I spring out of bed and yank the blankets away from a sleeping Zane.

“What are you doing in my bed?” My voice screeches and I cover myself with the blanket, even though I’m in my flannel Santa pants and matching shirt.

Zane rolls onto his back and rubs his hand over his face. “Sleeping,” he says groggily .

“This is my bed. I left you on the couch.”

“I got cold.”

“So, you what? Thought it would be okay to crawl into bed with me?”

He groans again. “What’s the big deal, Evangeline? We used to sleep in the same bed all the time.”

“When we were together,” I seethe. “You have a fiancée and I . . .”

“I don’t know if I do.”

“Wh-what?”

Zane sits up. I’m thankful he has a shirt on, but he’s missing his pants, and I don’t need to look there .

“Caryn gave me an ultimatum last night.”

“Is that how you ended up drunk at the Marching Soldier?”

He nods and swings his legs over to the edge of the bed. With his back to me, I let my guard down a bit. I don’t like to see him hurting.

“Zane, I’m sorry.”

He looks over his shoulder and frowns. “I’m not sure I am.”

“Zane . . .” My voice is quiet. “Maybe you need?—”

He stands and stretches. “What I need is coffee and one of Alma’s cinnamon rolls. Get dressed, Eve. We’re going to breakfast.”

“Um . . .”

“Don’t argue.” He comes toward me and touches the tip of my nose with his finger. “We’re going and I’m paying. I owe you for saving my ass last night.” Zane walks out of my room, leaving me speechless. I could tell him I’m not going. Except something tells me he won’t take no for an answer.

“Eve, hurry up.”

“I’m . . .” I stop myself before I say something inappropriate, before sighing and replying in a resigned voice, “Give me a second.”

“I’ve already given you a handful of seconds. Let’s go. I need coffee.”

Well, so do I and we’d probably have some if Zane had let me wake up like a normal person instead of crawling into my bed and creating all this unnecessary drama. I scramble to get dressed, throwing on a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. Alma’s isn’t far and hopefully the line isn’t long. I put my hair up in a bun and slip my earmuff headband over my head.

Zane’s pacing by the stairs. He sees me and stops. His eyes pierce mine for a long moment, and then a smile spreads from ear to ear.

“What?”

“Nice sweatshirt.”

I look at it, expecting to find a massive stain or rip on the front. It looks fine. The only problem is it’s old and faded, and completely worn in. It’s my favorite piece of clothing to wear between fall and spring.

Zane is still looking at me when I meet his eyes and then I stare back down at my sweatshirt, wondering what he sees that I don’t.

“You're going to have to fill me in,” I tell him.

“That’s my sweatshirt from my very first college visit,” he says. “I remember buying it, and you taking it from me maybe a month or two after? You told me sweatshirts were more comfortable after I’ve worn them for a period of time. This is one I didn’t mind giving you because it looked so cute on you.”

“Oh,” I say. “It’s one of my favorites. I wear it often. Do you want it back?” It’s easy to forget the little things, especially when we went to the same college for our undergrad studies.

Zane steps toward me, closing the distance between us. He reaches for the hem of the sweatshirt and runs his thumb and finger over the threadbare material.

“No, I don’t want it back. I would never do that to you, especially if it’s something you love so much. But what I will do is beg you to go to breakfast with me because I’m starving, and I have a slight hangover that requires coffee and a cinnamon roll.”

“Well, we can’t have you start the day like that now, can we?”

I motion for Zane to head down the steps and I follow behind him, locking my door on the way out. Zane takes the lead walking along the outer edge of the sidewalk where the traffic is, potentially saving me from getting soaked by a slush puddle if a car were to drive by too fast.

Thankfully, there isn't a line at Alma’s. We go inside, place our order, and then sit at an available table. In under five minutes, Alma walks toward us holding a tray with two plated cinnamon rolls warmed up with butter and extra frosting, and two cups of coffee. She sets them down in front of us and gives us a knowing smile.

“It’s good to see you guys together. ”

Before Zane or I can correct her, she’s on her way back to the counter, chuckling. I shake my head at Zane and cut my first piece of the ooey gooey pastry.

“She’s going to start a rumor.”

“Could be worse things to talk about,” Zane says as he drinks from his mug.

“It’s not something either of us needs right now.”

“Are you going to ask about last night?”

I shake my head. “I am not. That’s between you and Caryn, and we’re not friends.”

“Aren’t we?”

After cutting another piece of the roll, I stab it with my fork and stick it in my mouth. Anything to prevent having an awkward conversation about how Zane and I aren’t friends, how I shouldn’t be here with him right now, and how he should’ve called someone else last night. I chew my bite a little longer than necessary, sighing while doing so, and avoid looking at the man across the small table from me.

“Eve.”

I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“What?”

“We aren’t friends?” he asks quietly.

“No, we’re not,” I tell him. “Friends means we talk about what’s going on in each other’s lives, and I don’t want to be involved in your drama.”

He leans forward, glancing up as Alma approaches with more coffee, then focuses his attention back at me as he holds his cup out to her. “Thanks, Alma,” he says after she’s refilled his cup. I haven’t even touched mine.

“My ‘drama’? ”

I throw my hand up in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You said she gave you an ultimatum. It’s probably something you should discuss with her.”

Zane nods, and takes another sip of his coffee. “She did. A rather nasty one at that.”

“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I’m going to tell you because, unlike you, I do think of you as my friend. But I get why you don’t want to be mine. I’m okay with that for now but, don’t you worry, I will make a concerted effort to change your mind.”

Fat chance.

“It seems Caryn doesn’t like Deer Ridge and has told me to get back home, and then she kindly reminded me that she can ruin my life.”

“I’m sure she’s just upset.” Although, I don’t know why. She wasn’t here for long, and as far as I know, no one ever said anything to her about me, except for Zane’s dad. Even so, everyone in town spoke highly of her.

Did they?

I could’ve sworn I heard someone talking about her, but now that I think about it, maybe not. I don’t really know. If I’m honest, I’ve tried to filter out any mention of Zane and his beautiful fiancée.

Noelle’s voice filters through my mind. “None of my business.”

“She’s the reason I was at the bar last night.”

“I figured as much when you asked me if she had called.”

“Sorry about that.” Zane looks at his mug and sighs. “Caryn’s complicated.”

“Zane,” I warn.

“No, I get it, but I need to talk, and my dad isn’t going to want to hear this. And I know you don’t either, but I don’t have anyone else to talk to. About women.”

I groan and hang my head. I should’ve stayed home.

“Fine.”

“She’s very spoiled.”

“No way,” I say mockingly.

Zane frowns. “Come on, Eve, don’t be like that. I know it sounds bad, but deep down, she’s a good person. At least, I thought she was until this trip. Caryn said some things about my dad and the store, as well as the people of Deer Ridge. And now that I’ve come back . . . I don’t know if I can leave. If I want to leave.”

Do not look for a deeper meaning here.

I take a sip of my coffee and pretend to mull his words over. Honestly, I don’t know what to say, so I bob my head a little. “You gotta do what’s right for you.”

Zane stares out the window. His hand reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out. “Caryn? Hi.” He gets up from the table and goes outside.

“And this, people, is why I refuse to be friends with my ex.”