8. Zane

EIGHT

ZANE

A ll night, I lie in bed, feeling like I’m living a lie and have been for the past five years. Seeing Evangeline today brought back so many memories, all of them amazing. But it’s only when I get to the end of those memories—the one where I destroy every promise I’ve ever made because I wasn’t man enough to stand up for myself—that I realize, in hindsight, the internship wasn’t worth it.

But it was because it brought me Caryn.

She sleeps soundly next to me without a care in the world. After we talked earlier, I asked if she wanted to go to Main Street with me to look at the window displays, but she informed me she’d had enough of the small town for the day. Can’t say I blame her. I didn’t exactly do my part in keeping her from falling, but had she changed her shoes, she might have stayed upright.

Still, had Evangeline not been standing there, I would’ve paid more attention to Caryn. This makes me the worst fiancé ever, not to mention a shitty human. It’s my job to protect Caryn, most of the time from herself. I know she has free will and can decide whether she wants to listen to me or not, but I grew up here and I knew better than to let her walk where the trees were.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she says, groaning out the words.

“Sorry, go back to sleep.”

Caryn turns onto her side and lifts her eye mask. The first few nights we spent together, it was romantic, her sleeping in my arms. That didn’t last long. We rarely stayed at my place, which in the grand scheme of things was fine, since I lived in a tiny studio. The cuddling turned into a you-have-a-side-of-the-bed-and-I-have-mine situation. The eye mask, hair bonnet, and the green goop she puts on her face that she swears keeps from aging, became a thing.

I like to cuddle, nuzzle, and hold her at night. Nothing keeps me calmer than burying my nose in her hair. But Caryn doesn’t want to be touched at night.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I tell her as I turn on my side. The nothing isn’t wholly inaccurate unless I combine it with everything . . . nothing but everything .

Knowing she won’t approve, I reach for her and attempt to pull her closer. Her body stiffens and I stop. I strain to keep the frown off my face. If she’s still upset with me, I wish she’d tell me so I can try to fix it.

“Did you love her?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“What about when we met? ”

“Yes.” I was heartbroken when I met Caryn. She was like a guiding light to something brighter. I think, had I not met her when I did, I would’ve come home and groveled for forgiveness. But I stayed.

And now here I am.

“Do you still love her?”

“I think part of me will always love her.” I shrug, even though Caryn can’t see me. “She was my first everything.” First kiss, first date, first love, first everything else.

“I don’t love the guy I lost my virginity to,” she says bluntly. I want to tell her that’s because she was at one of her father’s corporate parties and she should’ve called the cops on the man she slept with. But I don’t.

“What about your first boyfriend?”

“You’re my first boyfriend, Zane. The other guys, they were just casual dates. Men my parents set me up with in the hope I’d fall for one.”

“Is that what I am? Someone your parents wanted you with?”

Her father introduced us at a work function, months after I arrived. It never occurred to me that they might have set us up. Now that I think back to those days, I was depressed and missing Evangeline, so it all makes sense. Mr. Bamford was adamant I go to work functions, have dinner with his family, come out to the house in the Hamptons.

Each time, Caryn was there.

Each time, they sent us off together. Random trips to the store, out to the marina, locked in the house alone during a hurricane .

“Well, yes.”

I roll over onto my back. I don’t know how I didn’t see any of this before. How could I have been so blinded by everything? Shaking my head, I sit up and set my feet on the plush carpet that would’ve never been in a home like this. The owners really ruined the historic value of the house when they put in wall-to-wall carpet.

“Zane, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s . . .” I sigh and shake my head. “When we met, I wasn’t in a good place, Caryn. I thought you were being a friend. I didn’t realize that your parents wanted us to date until now.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is your dad knows about Evangeline. He knew from the day I took the job that I had a life with her, that I was supposed to go home to Boston on Thursdays. Yet, from the day I started, there was always something keeping me in New York.”

“Well, it seems my dad knew what was best.”

How can I fault her for thinking this?

“Yeah. Look, I’m going to go for a drive.”

“Isn’t it dangerous? Maybe you should call an Uber?”

I laugh. “There are no ride shares here.”

“Ugh, so annoying. Don’t wake me when you come back. I’m very tired after my fall.”

Tired, but not sore.

“Okay.”

I dress quickly and as quietly as possible, grab my keys from the dresser, and creep down the stairs. During the night, it started snowing. I’m sad I missed it. When I was a kid, I would sleep with my curtains open during the winter so I could see when the snow would start to fall.

The first snowfall of the season has always been magical. You stop and take it in. I’ve lost count of how many times Eve and I were together when it happened. We’d stop what we were doing and twirl around with our heads back and tongues out, trying to catch a snowflake. As we got older, we’d dance under the moonlight until our noses turned red.

According to Caryn, snow’s a nuisance. Even though she’s here, she’s not a fan. She isn’t one of those socialite types you’d find on the slopes. Sure, she’ll dress up and go to the mountain, but she’ll be in the lodge having a spa treatment or sitting by the roaring fire.

My tires crunch on the snow, packing it down into a solid strip. With no destination in mind, I turn down roads, most of them leading to nowhere and forcing me to turn around. Turn after turn, I drive until I find myself on the road leading to the farm. My car slows when the house I know so well comes into sight.

White lights twinkle, casting a glow on the red bows attached to the posts on the porch. A large wreath hangs from the second floor of their barn, with a spotlight shining on it. Every year, at least when I was around, Mrs. Holcomb would start making this wreath in early November because it always took the longest. When Eve and I were younger and tasked with pruning or shaping the trees, we’d bring the boughs into the cold storage room and watch Evangeline’s mom work her magic.

Out back are acres and acres of trees. People from town love coming over in the spring when the plantings happen. It used to be a community event, and I hope it still is. Everyone’s always welcome at Reindeer Ridge Farm, and while I know this, I can’t imagine bringing Caryn here for Christmas day festivities.

Nor will I ask my dad to skip it on account of us being in town. Caryn and I will fend for ourselves or go home after exchanging presents in the morning. I’m sure by then, my welcome will be rescinded, anyway.

When the porch light comes on, I continue driving down the road. Mr. Holcomb is already mad at me, and if it’s Evangeline walking onto the porch, she’s liable to shoot me or something. It’s better to just leave her alone.

Except, I have this yearning to talk to her. To see her. It’s not so much that I need her forgiveness, although I desperately want it. It’s that I need her to hear, to understand why I did . . . my thoughts give me pause.

I think back to when I started, how Serena almost ended my relationship with Evangeline on Christmas, how she was over aggressive with her texts. When I arrived, she wasn’t much different, and I had to tell her I had a girlfriend. Her words to me were “But she’s not here.”

Then, I thought nothing of it. Mr. Bamford was being a gracious host. Boss. He made sure I was well taken care of and had everything I needed. “No need to take the train to Boston when the stores are right here,” he said. “Serena will take care of everything.”

Now, it’s a different story. Did Bamford orchestrate all of this for his daughter?

If he did, why?

I find myself on Main Street. It’s quiet. All the stores are closed for the day, even Alma’s Bakery, although she’ll be opening soon. Once those ovens turn on and the first batch of rolls go in, the rest of the town wakes because the scent of her famous cinnamon rolls travel far and wide.

I park across the street from my dad’s store. A store he expected me to take over one day. I suppose if I lived here, I would. My leaving town has ensured the store will close once my dad can no longer care for it. Which, by the looks of things, will be soon. I’m pleasantly surprised by the amount of people I saw coming in and out earlier today, and shockingly, that he sold a lot of trees.

Whitaker’s General Store has one light over the door on, and a couple inside, toward the back. There’s a security alarm, or there was the last I knew, but crime in Deer Ridge is nonexistent. Most of it is petty or traffic violations, and my parents never thought they needed bars on the windows and door.

My mom was the one who added baskets to the front of the store. My dad hated carrying them in and out for each opening and closing but did so because they made my mom happy. In the spring and summer, she’d fill them with flowers, and fruits and vegetables from local gardens. In the fall, it was pumpkins. And in the winter, kindling for fires and other winter necessities. She loved the store and worked every day until she passed away.

I turn off my car and get out, pulling my coat tighter near my neck to keep the snow from falling inside, and head toward the old fire station where I found Evangeline earlier. I’m not trying to interrupt her night or even spy on her. I just . . .

I don’t even know.

She’s here in this space daily. This is where she built her practice, along Main Street in a converted firehouse, near where the people she would serve could find her easily. She’s following through with her plan, one we shared a long time ago, and being true to herself.

I used to think I was being true to who I wanted to be, but now I’m not so sure. What if I was meant to only be in New York for six months, as planned?

Why did Mr. Bamford intervene so much?

I suppose I should’ve known something was amiss when transferring my class was as easy as a phone call.

But why me?

I’m nothing special. I’m an ordinary Joe who did well in law school.

Leaning against the light pole across from the firehouse, I look at the building. A spotlight shines on the name of the station house, while Evangeline’s name is on the door in white vinyl. Ev’s grandfather used to volunteer for this department and when we were kids, we’d play in the hydrant during the summer. Someone would always open the valve if the temps were in the nineties and none of the older kids were around to watch us at the lake.

Those were the days.

Something tells me to look up to the massive windows on the second floor. In one window, there’s a lit Christmas tree and standing next to it, glowing from the backlight, is Evangeline. In case she’s watching me, I wave. I’m sure from there, I’m nothing more than a blob. Or if she can even see someone standing outside. If she can, she’s probably going to call the cops. No one wants to see some shady person looking inside their home in the middle of the night.

Still, I don’t take my eyes off her until she disappears from the window. After a few seconds longer than it should take me, I resign myself to walking back to my truck. But the door opens and Eve stands there.

“What are you doing out in the snowstorm?” She yells across the street.

“Is this what you call a storm these days?”

“It’s more snow than you’ve seen in the past five years, I’m sure.”

I laugh loudly. She’s mostly right. We did have a nor’easter come through not too long ago, but the snow didn’t last. Not like it does here.

“I know I’m going to regret this, but do you want to come in? Get dried off?”

“That would be great.” I cross the street, trudging through the unplowed snow and am greeted by one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The other is back at the Inn, sound asleep and not caring that I’m out in the middle of a snowstorm.