Page 55 of Last Chorus

Light flares at the end of the driveway, highlighting Evangeline as she leans into the back seat of her car.

I start breathing again.

A creak of wood behind me precedes Jax’s soft, surprised voice. “Is that who I think it is?”

I nod and join him on the porch, sighing as the heat escaping the open front door laps against my body.

“She’s on a list at the gate.”

What I don’t say is that the list she’s on is different from the main one with approved guests. Only one person has no restrictions, can show up whenever, without notice, even if I’m not here.

Jax’s sigh makes me think he can deduce as much. “Okay. I’ll round everyone up and we’ll get out of here. Kitchen’s mostly sorted, and we already demolished the cannoli. Eddie’s fault, naturally.”

I chuckle. “Naturally. Thanks, man.” I hesitate, then blurt, “About Aubrey, I?—”

He quickly lifts a hand. “Dude, no. That was my bad. I warned Shannon it probably wouldn’t go the way she wanted. I’m guessing I was right?”

Grimacing, I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Pretty much. Aubrey asked me out, but the doorbell rang before I could answer. She’s super cool, I’m just… I guess it was bad timing.”

Lowering my hands, I see Jax’s too-wide smile a second before a throat clears softly behind me.

“Hey, Jax,” says Evangeline. “How’s it going?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

evangeline

Staring at a curtained window in Wilder’s guest bedroom, I rub a towel over my hair and try not to focus on how fucking nervous I am.

So far nothing has gone the way I hoped it would. Most of the drive here, I felt good. Confident and full of purpose. Both feelings drained away on the ferry from Seattle to Madrone Island, which I spent hiding in a corner with my hood pulled low.

By the time I navigated off the ferry, my stomach was in knots. I ended up driving the main loop on the south side of the island for an hour in hopes my nerves would settle. Instead, I grew more and more paranoid that I was going to be pulled over for suspicious activity.

Finally, afterchecking to see when the last ferry of the day was leaving, I made it to the northern tip of theisland. Then I almost turned right back around when I saw the manned security booth outside of Wilder’s gated community.

I stammered out my name and who I was visiting. The guard asked for my driver’s license and looked between it and me so many times I half expected him to citizen’s arrest me for impersonating a celebrity.

But then he smiled and gave me a small envelope with a key and a slip of paper inside. He explained that the key was for Wilder’s front door and the code on the paper would disarm his security system. Before I could muster a response, the thick gate rolled open.

A minute later, I was here, crashing a dinner party with Jax and Eddie, their significant others, and a woman who glared at me like I’d shit in her cereal. Which, given what I overheard Wilder tell Jax on the porch, I kind of did.

Bad timing, like Wilder said.

Or maybe perfect timing.

Who knows what might have happened if I’d waited a few more days, or even a few more weeks? Maybe he wanted to say yes to that date—would have, if I hadn’t shown up. From my ten-second glimpse of the woman, Aubrey, as everyone left, on looks alone I can’t blame him.

As much as I want to slap myself for comparingmyself to her, I can’t help it. She was beautiful. Pacific blue eyes, bright and sparkly. Long, thick, shiny brown hair. Peaches and cream, freckle-free skin. Curvier hips. Much bigger boobs. The sweetest smile—when she aimed it at him.

She’s basically animated princess material. Probably does yoga and meditates. Doesn’t need therapy because she’s spiritually and mentally stable. Oh, and let’s not forget she’ssuper cool.

“Stop it,” I hiss at myself.

Giving up on my hair, I walk into the en suite to hang my damp towel on a rack.

The bathroom, like the guest bedroom and the glimpses I had of the rest of the house, is gorgeous. I feel like I’m standing in one of those architectural magazine feature homes. The ones that look so inviting, even whimsical, but also impossibly elegant. Soft white walls, rich wood floors, warm metallic accents. Tons of plants. Color and texture everywhere from rugs, throws, and art.

The style actually reminds me of the house I bought not far from my parents, which I sold before moving to Los Angeles. Or rather, it reminds me of the stylistic vision I had for that house beforesomeonetalked me out of finding a designer.

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