7. Evangeline

SEVEN

EVANGELINE

W hen George told me Zane was back in town, I never suspected to run into him hours later. Let alone on my family farm. What in the tinsel was this man thinking? Showing up to the one place where he wasn’t welcome? Acting as if nothing has changed?

Not only did he show up looking like Adonis in a suit, but he brought his Aphrodite with him. I think that stings the most. Not Zane bringing her, but her .

Caryn—innocent in all of this—was gracious. When I took her to the back to get cleaned up, I expected her to pepper me with questions, but she just thanked me profusely. At first, I thought she simply didn’t care about the past. For all I know, he told her I was this horrible girlfriend who demanded too much of him or I was a stage-five clinger and the only way he could get rid of me was to move to New York City. I suppose, from an outsider’s point of view, those two things could be accurate about me. For the first week, I lit Zane’s phone up with texts about how much I missed him, sending him photos of our apartment as I decorated, folding his clothes, and pictures of the city we both loved so much.

Sure, as the weeks went on and each promise was broken, I stopped texting him. I could take a hint. He found whatever he needed in New York. I wasn’t it.

Caryn was .

Maybe Zane never told her about me. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, he could’ve met her and pretended like his life here didn’t exist. That surely explains why he left and never returned, not even for his father.

The last thing I want to do is think ill of this woman. It’s not her fault. It’s Zane’s. I will die on the hill that men need to communicate effectively and be honest. Hopefully, Zane has learned this, and maybe that’s why he wanted to talk. Telling him I’m busy is definitely a coping mechanism. I’m not as busy as I want him to believe. It is, after all, December and my priorities are the holidays. Patrons of Reindeer Ridge Farm come first, and then there’s the tree lighting ceremony, and I always get tasked with something to do during it. Let’s not forget I have to make sure Santa, a.k.a. George, gets to the children’s party in fashion.

Besides, seeing Zane makes me want to cry, and I don’t want to cry in front of him.

Because of the amount of traffic on Main Street, I have no choice but to circle the block twice. Years and years ago, we used to be able to drive behind the buildings and park in the alley for deliveries. One too many busted-in doors, scraped vans, and drunks sleeping off their alcohol-induced stupor from the Marching Soldier, our local watering hole, put a stop to that. The town council suggested gates go up at each end of the alley, with only the business owners, sanitation crew, and local law enforcement having a key. This effectively made deliveries a pain in the tailpipe because parking is at a minimum on Main Street.

On my third time around the block, I’m about to give up and head to my office, but a spot opens right in front of Whitaker’s. I drive forward and over the white line meant to box each vehicle in, so I have space to drop my tailgate.

“Good afternoon, Evangeline.” Mr. Wharton, the high school principal says. “I’m on my way to your place now to buy a tree. Do you still have some?”

“Hi, Mr. Wharton. Of course we do. Dad is there. If not, I’ll be back after I drop these off for Mr. Whitaker.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there soon.”

Before I even drop the tailgate, people ask me if the trees are for Whitaker’s. After I tell them they are, a group of them line up. Most of the people waiting are unfamiliar to me, which brings a smile to my face. I love that people are shopping with Mr. Whitaker. While he’ll never ask for help, we know he needs it. I make a note to see if Noelle can come up with a marketing plan for him.

I take a tree from the back, set it against the stand, and head into the store. Inside, Christmas music plays; it’s warm, and the scent of cinnamon from the bagged pine cones wafts through the air. After saying hi and moving around people, I stand at the end of the counter and wait for Mr. Whitaker to finish with a customer.

As soon as he says goodbye, he turns toward me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the difference in him already. His son is back, and as a result Mr. Whitaker’s normally dark bags under his eyes are gone, his cheeks are rosy, and his smile is bright. My heart soars for this man who has never done wrong in my eyes.

“I’m so glad you came,” he says to me as he walks over. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Are you going to tell me Zane’s back?”

His eyes show so much surprise. He nods slowly, unsurely. I take his hands, ones I considered frail until now. Now they seem strong, confident in the way they move around to grip mine.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called you last night.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Whitaker. I’m happy for you. It’s been a long time since Zane’s been home.”

“Yes, it is. This may be a Merry Christmas after all.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

Although, I’m not sure how I feel about Zane bringing his girlfriend to my house for Christmas dinner, assuming plans won’t change and Bernie is still intending on coming to the farm on Christmas day, as he’s always done. It’s something to discuss later. Right now, I want to be happy for Bernie .

“I’m sorry he brought his fiancée with him, though. I’ve always hoped . . .”

Whatever Mr. Whitaker says after fiancée is nothing more than muffled gibberish. How foolish of me to assume Caryn was his girlfriend. It never crossed my mind that they would be anything more. I never expected Zane to have a fiancée.

That is . . . wow .

I do my best to keep my expression normal. I nod when I think I’m supposed to nod and excuse myself to go stack his order of trees. Outside, I find Jake conducting tree business like he’s some conductor at a concert. I stand aside and let him sell the trees my dad works so hard to grow. He gives directions to the farm and tells the patrons about the other goods we sell, and how they can cut their own trees.

“Or come back in an hour and we’ll have more here,” he tells each one of them.

“We will?”

Jakes looks at me sheepishly.

“It’s good, Jake. I’ll make another run.” I turn and look at the door of Whitaker’s General Store. “You just keep taking care of Mr. Whitaker for me.”

“Of course, Eve.”

I honk as I pull away, rounding the corner and driving down the road until I can circle back around and stop by my office. If things were falling apart here, Noelle would have let me know. As soon as I walk in, I sigh at the warmth. It means the furnace is working and I’m not going to freeze to death tonight .

“Go grab lunch,” I tell her when she looks up. “I’ll cover for a bit.”

“You’re the best boss ever.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m heading down to Evergreen’s. Do you want something?”

“Oh, yes. If they have corn chowder, I’ll take a bread bowl and a peppermint mocha. Here.” I hand her my credit card. “Put yours on there, too.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “You pick up a lot of slack during the holidays. It’s the least I can do.”

Noelle spins on her heel with her arm raised and my credit card extended in the air. She chants, “I have the best boss ever,” as she leaves.

I don’t mind paying for her lunch or picking up a coffee for her. She does the same. While we’re a firm of two and don’t have a holiday party, we will go out to dinner before Christmas, and I’ll give her a bonus. With each case I settle, I set aside a certain percentage for her. I’m not sure I’d be able to run this firm as effectively as I do without her.

While Noelle’s out getting lunch, I text my dad to let him know I need another round of trees and to expect a rush of people thanks to Jake’s effective selling methods. I turn on my computer and click on my email icon. I told myself a long time ago, I wouldn’t put the email app on my phone for work because I needed to set some boundaries, especially since I live upstairs. Having a solid work-life balance is important, but that doesn’t mean I don’t work on cases while I’m home .

“Hello?”

Zane’s voice echoes through the firehouse. While the station had been renovated, a lot of the appeal of having my business here is the character. The original fireman’s pole is still standing, along with old coat hooks and firefighter cubbies. Some walls have gone up, which were needed for insulation, but there’s no mistaking this was once an open space. It’s historic and I love it.

Until now.

I’d know his voice anywhere. Day or night. It’s distinct and haunted my dreams for many, many years. It’s a gruff, yet smooth baritone. There was a time when his voice would send chills down my spine.

It still does. Just not in the way I want.

Before I can stand, he’s in my doorway, looking as handsome as I remember. I don’t have to remind myself that I’m mad at him or hate him or whatever this emotion is I feel, but I have to pinch myself to not smile at him. It’s my automatic response.

Get a grip. He’s getting married.

“Hey,” he says as he stands before me. He’s still wearing his stupid cable-knit sweater that makes him look stupidly good, and I hate myself a little for that being the first thought that comes into my mind.

“Go away. I’m busy.”

“I heard. Town attorney, huh?”

“Are you shocked by my ability to handle a diverse caseload?”

“Not at all. ”

“Let me guess, you handle the scum businesspeople of New York. The ones who steal from the poor to pad the pockets of the rich?”

Zane doesn’t answer, and I shake my head. “Wow, you became a shark. Why am I not surprised?”

“Listen.” He pushes off the doorjamb and saunters into my office like he’s a client or someone important. Zane sits in the chair across from my desk, and I’m thankful I have a buffer between us.

“I’m busy,” I tell him, again. “I have a full caseload and Christmas town duties to oversee. I don’t have time for you or your excuses.”

“I need five minutes, Eve.”

“And I need five years ago to be today so you can look into my eyes and tell me you’re leaving, instead of not showing up as promised.”

It feels amazing to say those words to him. I drop my head into my hands and groan. I may have dreamed of having this conversation, but in reality, it’s the last thing I want to do.

“Eve,” he says my name so damn softly my insides melt. “I owe you the biggest apology ever.”

“Whatever you’re selling Zane, I’m not buying. You can’t possibly think saying I’m sorry is going to change anything. It’s over. Life moves on. You have. Congratulations. Caryn’s very nice and accommodating. Although, you might want to buy her boots if you’re planning on sticking around. Heels and Vermont don’t exactly go hand in hand during the winter. But to each their own, I suppose. ”

“Are you done rambling?”

I shrug. I could ramble some more given the circumstance.

“I planned to tell you about Caryn.” Zane leans closer. Too close, in fact. I can smell his cologne—sandalwood and bergamot. After he left, I slept with his sweatshirt, and then cried tears on it until the scent was gone. That was another sad day for me, realizing his sweatshirt no longer smelled like him, but of me instead.

“But?”

“But I didn’t expect to find you at the farm. I went there to see your dad, to apologize to him first. My dad said I needed to make amends for the damage I caused you and your family. He’s not wrong. What I did was unforgivable. I was young and stupid, guided by powerful men and the promise of money. I got caught up in the lifestyle, the parties, the endlessness of it all. Before I knew it, you’d changed your number and when I went to Boston to see you, I found out you’d moved. My dad was so angry with me, telling me how disappointed he was. So, I thought to the hell with it and stayed.”

Zane came to Boston to see me.

Nope. Changes nothing.

“Is this where I say cool story bro ? Jake says it all the time. I think it’s the hip thing to say after someone feeds you a line of reindeer droppings.”

Zane laughs. “Still swapping curse words for Christmas euphuisms? ”

“Eh, what can I say?” I lift one shoulder in a weak shrug. “They’re fun.”

“They’re adorable.”

I’ll let that comment slide right under the holly jolly doormat.

“What you did for Caryn?—”

“I would’ve done it for any other city slicker. Seriously though, I am busy. I have a stack of work, and I need to get back to the farm to deliver more trees to your dad.”

Why did you tell him?

“Thank you for taking care of him when I couldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t.” Again, with the verbal vomit.

“Right.” Zane sighs. “I intended to come back. Each time I had my mind made up, I convinced myself you were here, married with kids. Coming back and seeing you?—”

“Instead, you brought you fiancée back to town.” I give him a pointed look.

Zane drops his head and covers his face with his hands. When he looks at me, his face is red, and his eyes are brimming with tears. “Hurting you then, and now, is the last thing I ever want to do, Eve.”

“Please leave,” I say quietly.

He stands and heads toward the door. With another look at me, he tries to smile. “Can we please sit down and talk?”

“We just did.”

Zane shakes his head. “Okay. ”

I hold my breath until I hear the door shut, thankful Noelle missed all of this. It’s likely I’ll fill her in, but not right now. The wound that I had long closed is open and gaping, and I’m not ready for her or anyone else in town to see how vulnerable Zane Whitaker makes me feel.