Chapter Three

Evie

“Don’t you dare move,” Evie said to the about-to-topple stack of garbage bags full of clothes that she had purged from her closet for Goodwill during spring cleaning. It was now September.

Between helping with the store, being a mom, and running a household of four, things were falling through the cracks. Something she’d come to terms with the moment she discovered she’d be a single mom. Up until that point, her life was as organized as Marie Kondo’s closet. It was what had made her, at one time, such a great CPO: Certified Professional Organizer.

Evie loved the feeling of accomplishment that came with letting go of the old to make way for the new. It was how she managed to get through the most challenging years of her life, by letting go of the hurt and sadness. Most importantly, it was the ability to let go of the dreams that could have been. But that was an important part of the healing process. And that’s what she had helped her clients do. Organize the grief and sorrow, the joy and happy times, and hold on to what mattered and give away what was holding them back.

Oh, if her former clients could see her now.

Evie’s life was such a mess she’d had to quit that last thing that was truly hers—her being a CPO—to bail her parents out of a bind. Help them let go of what wasn’t working so they could implement things that would grow their coffee shop.

For years, she’d managed to balance being a mom and running her own CPO division at the company she worked for. She’d even come to terms with being in her thirties and still living with her parents. Her divorced parents, who shared a home and a business and a plethora of dating tips for Evie. They doled out unsolicited advice on just about everything. From parenting, to finances, to how to relax her pelvic floor.

Evie might not be sure what her pelvic floor was doing, but her mom hadn’t needed to give her a gift card for a ten-session pelvic floor massage for Christmas—which Evie did not redeem.

She grabbed a basket of clothes, which were rolled but still not in their drawers, and shoved it under the bed.

“Mr. Karlson just pulled up,” Lenard called out.

“Tell that lemon thief he can wait on the porch until seven. Doesn’t he know it’s rude to arrive at an event early?” her mother snapped.

Moira didn’t have a mean bone in her body unless it came to Mr. Karlson. They made Jonah and Evie’s bickering look like a playground squabble.

Evie looked at her watch and panic set in. More people would start arriving at any moment and she hadn’t even had a chance to change her clothes. She was still in her barista uniform, smelled like a pumpkin spiced latte, and she didn’t have a speck of makeup on.

Hefting a gigantic pile of bills and receipts that her father had strewn around the office that she’d brought home to sort, she walked to her corner desk—the same desk that had Nick Carter covering it—and set it next to her idea book—which was more of a stack of clippings—for her mom’s surprise sixtieth birthday party.

It was going to be a garden party glamorous enough to knock her mom’s socks off and she couldn’t accomplish that with Jonah’s yard in such discord, or rats on the guest list. She needed this meeting to go her way.

On her nightstand, in its own stack, was the most important thing in the room. A letter stating that Grinder was nominated for Denver’s Best Coffee Shop. The winner would be decided by the public and Evie wanted to be that winner. No, she needed a win—and so did the shop. The kind of publicity that came with the honor could singlehandedly pull them out of the red.

Another knock sounded and Evie heard the front door open and shut.

“Mom, light the cookie dough candle,” she hollered down the hallway. “It will make people think the cookies we bought are homemade.”

Moira peeked her head in. Dressed in a teal pantsuit, with her highlighted, choppy hair spilling over her shoulders, she looked like one of Charlie’s angels.

“They are homemade. Their former home just happens to be the market,” Moira said, looking down at the pile of Goodwill bags that, three minutes ago, had been lining the front hallway. “No one will care.”

“I’ll care.”

“Clutter makes a home look lived in.”

“Your kind of clutter makes a home look like a yard sale. And I can’t preach beautification and have our house be one bag away from starring in Hoarders.”

“You mean, you can’t lecture our sexy neighbor on community guidelines and have him see that you’re human and sometimes forget to make your bed?”

“This has nothing to do with our neighbor,” she said, and Moira sent her a knowing smile. “It doesn’t. The meeting that is cutting into my weekly bubble bath, that is all about him and his yard. I caught another rat in our trap today.”

“That is becoming a problem. They’re nibbling on the roots of the rose bed.” The roses her own grandmother had planted fifty years ago when they bought the house. No gang of needle-teethed, tail-whipping rats were going to take her down. She had singlehandedly raised her daughter, cared for her parents, was bringing a café back from the dead, and was throwing her mom the best garden party ever. Not to mention she’d decided to take accountability for her future and at least send in the acceptance letter for the placement exam for classes any day now.

And she wasn’t about to let her neighbor’s incompetence ruin her plans!

“Which is why this meeting is so important!” She stomped her foot and her mother lifted a brow at the usually calm-in-the-middle-of-the-storm Evie. Well, she was stepping out of the eye of Hurricane Granger spinning around her and taking some of the power back. If she wanted her life back on track then she needed to venture into unknown territory and find some damn tracks. “He either cleans it up himself or the board sends in a demolition team and landscaper at his expense.”

“If you’re so bent on besting him, then why do you have your favorite blue dress out?”

Evie stood in front of said dress, blocking her mom’s view. “I’m not trying to best him. And I just picked the dress up from the dry cleaners.”

“Well, you should wear it. People underestimate the power of a good dress. I still remember the dress I wore the day your father asked me to marry him,” Moira said, her voice thick with nostalgia. “I knew he was going to propose.”

“You never told me that,” Evie said. Her mom rarely talked about her life before the closet had been thrown open on her marriage. “How did you know?”

“I can read your father like a book. He can’t hide anything from me.”

“Mom, he’s gay,” Evie pointed out.

Moira took in a deep, trembling breath. It didn’t sound like heartbreak or sadness, more of an If I could turn back time. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I think deep down I knew that, too. But I’d found my soulmate and love can blur the truth until all you see is color. And your father is the most colorful person I know. Bright, brilliant, and so warm he felt like home. He’s still my home.”

Evie sat next to her mom and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Moira patted Evie’s hand. “Lenard is my soulmate. I have no doubt about that. No matter how he came to be in my life, all that matters is that he is.”

“Why do you think he proposed when he knew it was a lie?”

“When Lenard was younger, maybe sixteen, he fell in love with a boy from his neighborhood. They kept their relationship a secret, then Ken was drafted and he and your dad would send love letters to each other,” Moira said. “One day, his mom was putting away his laundry and found the letters. Your grandparents confronted him and said, ‘This ends now.’ That was it. No conversation, no acceptance, no trying to understand. Then they stood there and made him rip up the letters.”

Evie could barely speak through the enormity of the conversation. “I can’t even imagine a parent turning away from their child when they needed them the most.”

Moira cupped Evie’s face. “That’s because you’re a good mother. Now you know why it’s so important to your dad that the heart of his business doesn’t get cut with budgets and minimizing overhead. He built the safe place that he dreamed about having as a child. A place where all people are welcomed and can come together to celebrate love and friendship. Some of our regulars have been coming since we opened thirty years ago. And my answer as to why he proposed, he said if he could make it work with anyone it would be his best friend.”

Evie couldn’t tell whose eyes were mistier, hers or her mom’s. Her parents might not have the most traditional of love stories, but it was a love story nonetheless. When Evie was ready to start looking for a partner, and that was a questionable when, she hoped to find the kind of loving and supportive partnership her parents shared as the foundation for more. Only one that was more than platonic.

“Now, about that blue dress,” Moira said conspiratorially.

“Tonight isn’t a blue dress kind of night.”

Moira didn’t look convinced as she patted Evie’s knee and stood. “You’ll know when it is. Now, I think I’d better light that candle and let you get ready. Is there anything else I can do to help you, honey?”

“I’m good. But thanks.”

Moira blew her a kiss, then closed the door behind her. Evie didn’t waste time. She yanked off her uniform and, in nothing but her cotton boy-cut undies with gnomes on it and “Gnope” written across the butt and her weekend bra, fumbled through her closet, dismissing one outfit after another. None of them were the blue dress, but if her mom caught on that she was dressing up more than usual, then Jonah would certainly notice—and he’d say something. Then she’d be forced to lie—again.

Gah. She was a terrible liar. It’s why she still hadn’t told Camila about the wedding.

“White pencil skirt?” She pulled it on and looked at her butt in the mirror. “Looking nice, but it’s too late in the year to wear white.”

Next came a yellow romper. “Shows off your legs but does nothing for the girls.” She cupped her breasts and lifted them to where they sat before childbirth, and with a sigh tossed the romper onto the bed.

Next came a flowered sundress. “Too soccer mom.”

How hard was it? She just wanted one take-charge, boss-girl outfit that didn’t betray the fact that she’d stayed up all night trying to figure out how to save her dad’s shop and all day with her head under a frother.

The panic had nothing to do with Jonah coming to the meeting. Not a single thing. She was just thrown by seeing Mateo and his new fiancée, that was all. It was perfectly natural to want to feel a little sexy after bumping into your ex while holding toasty balls.

She draped a silky pink top across her chest and imagined herself in a pair of dark fitted jeans and swayed back and forth. It was sophisticated without looking like she’d tried too hard and had this sweeping neckline that bordered between sensual and sensible.

“How many more outfits can you possibly try on, Evie?” she asked her reflection.

“I’m hoping the entire closet,” a familiar male voice said from the doorway and her heart flip-flopped.

A lump of horror materialized in her throat as she rewound the last five minutes, wondering just how much Jonah had heard—and seen.

Grabbing the first thing she could find—her robe, luckily—she held it to her body and spun around. Thankfully, he had his back turned her way. She slipped on her robe, heart still pounding away in her chest. “You can turn around now.” As he started to, she asked, “What are you doing here? Come to bring me another fruit basket?”

He put a finger to his lips to shush her and that’s when she realized, sitting in the crook of his arm, was a pissed-off Waverly, eyes red, cheeks flushed, and dressed in a duckie-covered footed pajama set, with already shed tears streaking her face. Jonah on the other hand wore a pair of faded jeans, a blue T-shirt, and his hair looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed in a bare whisper.

“You invited me, remember?”

“To my house, not to my bedroom.”

“Your mom directed me to Camila’s room so I could try to put Waverly down, but I like this view better. Your mom did say third room on the right.”

She was going to kill her mom. She just couldn’t help inserting herself in Evie’s life. Especially her dating life. Well, there would be no dating because she’d adopted a man-free diet. And unlike her five-years-running New Year’s vow to give up doughnuts, she was going to stick to this diet.

“Well, show’s over,” she snapped. After the day she’d had, there was nothing in the world she wanted less than to be stuck in her bedroom with a man who drove her crazy.

“Too bad, I was just about ready to pull out some twenties and make it rain.”

“Make it wain,” Waverly repeated.

“Seriously? You have a toddler in your arms.”

“Before you start throwing stones, just know that your daughter showed up at my house for a tutoring session dressed like a go-go dancer.”

Evie gestured him away and quickly put on the top and the jeans, and fastened everything up tight. Making sure it was all on the right way—she didn’t need any more embarrassment—she walked over and tapped Jonah on the shoulder.

“Don’t say it,” she warned as he turned around, and he made a big deal of zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Then her eyes fell to Waverly, leaning against a wrinkled shirt that said “Sorry I’m Late I Didn’t Want to Come”. “Is this some kind of ploy to get sympathy votes?”

He smiled. “Is it working?”

“The shirt sends mixed messages. Your daughter isn’t a golden retriever you bring to the beach to attract women.”

“Sunshine, are you asking if there’s a woman in my life?”

She snorted. “You wish.”

“I wish for a lot of things.” His eyes went to the neckline of the silk top. “Seems the Wish Fairy is on my side tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t she be in bed?”

“She and Ryan had a party and mainlined sugar and red food coloring. It’s like he gave her an IV of Red Bull. I couldn’t get her to stop crying. Every time I put her to bed, she lost it.”

At the word bed, Waverly’s little face puckered up in defiance. “No bed!”

“You have to go to sleep sometime, bug.”

“No sleep!” she said more forcefully, that little quivering lip sticking out. Then Waverly curved her body in, her pudgy legs and arms going ramrod straight, waist bent as if doing downward-facing dog on Jonah’s chest. “No. Bed!” she wailed at a pitch that only bats could hear. “Down!”

“No deal, bug. You stay in my arms, that was the agreement.”

It took everything Evie had not to laugh, but he looked so miserable she held it in. “You’re trying to make a deal with a tired toddler?”

“Down! Down!”

“I see your point.” If Jonah had looked resigned before, now he just looked defeated. “I made the crucial error of letting her take a twenty-minute powernap right before dinner.”

“That will do it.”

“Her sleep schedule’s been off ever since I put her in preschool and they have her napping twice a day,” he said over Waverly’s grunts and attempts to free herself. “So she’s wired at night.”

“Sometimes they have to cry it out.”

“Yeah, well sometimes this dad can’t handle her tears and wails.” Jonah collapsed on the edge of the bed and propped his daughter on his knee, giving her a little bounce. As if on cue, Waverly changed position, pulling her body into child’s pose before exploding her limbs out in every direction like a pissed-off starfish. Then came the wailing and flailing.

“Sorry about the noise.” Jonah shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know what to do when she gets like this.”

Evie opened her mouth to tell Jonah this was the universe’s way of punishing him for the “hilarious” basket of rotten pomegranates he had left on her front porch and other shenanigans he’d pulled on her over the past few months. Like after she asked him to clean up the fallen leaves and he had put them in a tidy pile in the center of her driveway. Or how, on his side yard that faced her bedroom, he’d put in a light bright enough to be seen from space. But instead she heard herself offer, “Here. Let me try something.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, but he was already holding her out. “She’s built like a brick and has a wicked left hook.”

Evie wasn’t intimidated. She’d suffered enough forehead to the chin action in Camila’s younger years to know how to bob and weave. She gripped Waverly under the armpits and the kid stopped squirming until she realized she wasn’t going to be put down, then it was like trying to hold a slicked pig at the county fair.

“I,” gasp, “want,” gasp, “downie!” And then came the sobbing crescendo.

Ignoring the tantrum, Evie walked into the bathroom and turned the water to cold. With the confidence that comes from years of dealing with tantrums, she bounced the toddler on her hip, wet her hand and then rested it on Waverly’s cheek.

The cool touch shocked Waverly and broke her next sob midway. Waverly opened her mouth again, a cry right there waiting to be released, when Evie did it again to her other cheek, gently cupping it. They played this game a few times before the little girl’s sputtering slowed, breathing regulated, and her body started to sag, her little palms unfisting and going flat against Evie’s chest.

“You’re just sleepy is all,” she said quietly, swaying back and forth. “I’m pretty sleepy, too.”

She rested her cheek on the top of Waverly’s head and took a deep breath. God, she loved the smell of babies. Loved how they felt and how they sounded. Even when they were fussy, Evie couldn’t get enough.

She gave a few more shushing sounds and ran a cool hand down Waverly’s neck. Evie opened her eyes and found that they weren’t alone. Jonah was leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded, a gentle look on his face Evie had never seen before.

One she didn’t want to investigate too much. Only she couldn’t seem to look away. A problem, since neither did he. Holding her gaze, he slowly approached and rested his palm on his daughter’s back and made comforting little circles. And that was how they ended up sharing the same five-foot-square space with a sleepy toddler tying them together.

The longer they stood there, the more intense this feeling in her stomach grew, the more at ease they became with each other, until it felt as if the clock had turned back to a time when there was comfort between them. The connection was the same, yet somehow different.

Deeper.

“How did you do that?” he asked quietly.

“When Camila was this age, sometimes she’d get fussy just from being fussy. A cool hand can be a little reboot.”

“Does it work on adults?” he said lowly, and even though she knew he wasn’t flirting, the air between them felt heavy.

“Do you need a reboot?”

“I think I need more than a reboot. My whole life is a constant 404 Error.”

Evie connected with this on such an elemental level that when he held his arms out, she nearly walked right into them. The urge and need to close the distance gradually built until her heart was thumping hard against her ribs. His gaze met hers and something deep and tangible passed between them.

He opened his mouth just as Waverly let out a big yawn, breaking the moment and reminding Evie of why this could never happen. He might not want to acknowledge that their lives and obligations and external expectations were between them, but there they were.

They were both in different stages of life. He was at the start of fatherhood. College was becoming more of a reality every day for herself and Camila. Her world was messy enough without adding another person to her to-do list.

Although her hormones said he’d be a great to-do addition.

His eyes went soft with disappointed understanding as he took Waverly and cradled her to his chest.

“I know you weren’t around when Ryan was this age, but I promise it gets easier.” Evie soaked a hand towel in the cool water and put it on the back of Waverly’s neck.

“Ryan’s grades are bottoming out and he spends more time at home playing video games than with his friends.”

Her heart cried for Ryan. The teen years were already hard, but to wake up one morning to discover your mom’s time on Earth had an early expiration date would be devastating and confusing. Camila’s shattered family unit was enough to affect her views on relationships and self-worth; Evie couldn’t fathom the scars Ryan would carry for the rest of his life.

When his daughter was relaxed, her head resting lazily against his shoulder, Jonah backed out of the bathroom and slowly paced from one end of the bedroom to the next, stepping around the bags and laundry baskets, rubbing Waverly’s back the entire time.

“Today is Amber’s birthday,” he said softly.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know.” Or she never would have summoned Jonah to a meeting that, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter.

“Me neither, until Ryan locked himself in his bedroom earlier, after he’d made a cake with Waverly. I completely forgot.”

“And now it’s all you can think about,” she said knowingly. “Shit happens, Jonah. Things fall through the cracks. It’s called being a parent.”

“Do things slip through your cracks?”

She snorted. “All the time. In fact, I forgot to pay the electric bill for the shop and they shut it off midday, I nearly missed pickup today because I fell asleep in the lunch room at work, Mateo doesn’t want Camila at his wedding, and I haven’t even told her there is a wedding.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will crush her.”

“No, why doesn’t he want her there?”

She shrugged. “Because his girlfriend is pregnant and he doesn’t want to deal with how that’s going to affect Camila. He wasn’t there for her but now he’s all-in on another kid? That’s going to crush her. Plus, Mateo’s a coward,” she said. “So I’m trying to figure out a way to blame it on a conflict in scheduling, rather than have her think her dad doesn’t want her there. And don’t even get me started on the stacks of invoices and bags of donations. My life is one fire after another, but if you tell anyone what a hot mess I am, I will deny, deny, deny.”

“Your secret is safe with me. The wedding and those ‘Gnope’ panties. Doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about them all night.”

A flutter took flight in her belly. When was the last time a man had looked at her the way Jonah was looking at her now?

Remember his overgrown yard. The basket of “ha-ha” pomegranates he left on your porch as a joke—not funny. The complete lack of consideration for his neighbors. Those flutters were nothing more than heartburn, plain and simple.

She pushed past him and opened the bedroom door. “Maybe you should stick to thinking about how you’re going to convince the board to let you keep that tree.”

“I will abide by whatever the board decides,” he said as if he’d been waiting all day for this meeting to begin.

Something was up. Her mom-dar was sounding the alarm. Then there was the arrogant grin he sent her way. A wash of unease trickled down her spine like drops of sweat.

He brushed past her, his shoulders purposefully grazing hers, and the air seemed to snap, crackle, and pop.With anger, she told herself. Then a wave of spicy testosterone smacked her in the face so she held her breath until he exited. Only right before she thought she was safe, he turned to face her and all that swagger had vanished, leaving behind a vulnerability that she felt all the way to her core.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he said.

“For what?”

He lifted a heavy shoulder and let it fall. “Not making me feel like a shit dad.”

Shock had her at a loss for words. She’d never imagined that Jonah would write himself off as a bad dad. From what she’d seen he’d always been attentive and present, a parent whose love for his kids was tangible. All-encompassing.

“You’re a good dad, Jonah. This is just a rough age.”

He gave a single nod and headed across the hall to put Waverly down in Camila’s room.

“And Jonah, let her cry it out for a little bit. She’s just tired and moody. If she knows you’ll rescue her whenever she makes a peep she’ll just keep playing you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Camila played me for five years. She still does. Tears are a parent’s kryptonite.”

He winked and she felt her toes curl. Maybe she’d stumbled onto another unwanted kryptonite.