Page 51 of It's Always Been You
“Uh-huh,” she says, shifting in her seat. “We both know this is weird. So can we just . . . make a pact to try and act as professional with each other as possible for however long I’m indentured to you?”
That makes me smile. I chance a peek at her. There’s a slight, iridescent glow to her warm skin, like she’s the sun itself. “Indentured to me?” Sometimes, I wonder where she gets these silly phrases from.
“Yeah. You know. Like for as long as I have to be your little bit—”
“Evie,” I warn, stifling a laugh as I return my attention to the road. “Yes. Consider it a pact. And watch the potty mouth.”
She snickers. “Potty mouth.” She falls back against the seat, then winces, and I wonder how her back is doing. On Sunday, she was practically hobbling around the church, but I didn’t dare mention it. “You sound old.”
“I feel old,” I admit, my cheeks warming. I’m pushing forty these days.
I can sense her grin.
“What?” I ask after a moment, knowing something’s on her mind.
“Nothing,” she mutters, glancing out the window with a secretive smirk on her face.
“What?” I repeat self-consciously. “You can say it.” I don’t think I’m graying. Haven’t noticed any wrinkles. I’m definitely a little softer around the middle, though.
She snickers and chews on her thumbnail. “It was nothing. Honest.”
“Evie.”
“Fine,” she laughs. “I was just going to make a joke, that’s all.”
“Go on and make it then.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I see now that I was just your midlife crisis.”
I hit the brakes a little too hard at a stop sign. I flash her a look of warning, but she only laughs, and her laugh makes me laugh, too—albeit a little reluctantly.Our history is no laughing matter. To be honest, I’m surprised she even brought it up.
Maybe getting her to open up to me again will be easier than I had anticipated.
As we’re walking into the office, Evie’s eyes almost bulge out of her head. She licks a drop of froth from her top lip and turns the coffee cup around to examine it before shooting me an incredulous look. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
She lifts her cup. “You got the coffee-to-milk ratio absolutely perfect. How did you do it?”
I gaze at her for a beat too long as grief ripples through my chest. Did she think I would forget something as specific as how she likes her coffee? I know more about her than I would ever care to admit—from how she takes her coffee to what her favorite color is. I know she collects stuffed animals and sleeps with Frederick the Bear every night. I know she wants to backpack across Europe. I know she has a hard time regulating her emotions, and she holds grudges like it’s her full-time job. I know her deepest hurt is that her mother left her without saying goodbye. And I know she loves kitsch stationery and that she’s written about me in her diary . . .
Speaking of which, that diary is still sitting in my center console. I make a mental note to move it later today, after work.
I shrug. “I’m observant like that.”
I can’t tell if she’s flushed from the chill or my comment, but her cheeks are pinker than usual as she removes her coat. I’m careful to keep my eyes where they belong when she drops her bag onto the floor and bends down. I watch, curious about what she’s doing. She pulls out a pair of bland-looking nude pumps, then proceeds to toe her boots off and slide her feet into the high heels.
A laugh bursts from me when she pirouettes, palms up, asking what I think. “Evie,” I laugh. “You can wear your boots. I don’t mind.”
“Really?” Her face lights up. “I didn’t think they were office appropriate.”
I smile sadly. “You know you can always be yourself with me.”
The pink in her cheeks turns blood red. It’s adorable.
After she puts her boots back on, I give her another brief tour of the office, ensuring she knows where everything is before we circle back to the waitingarea. “Dana works from home most of the time. So it’ll just be me, you, and Gladys around the office most days.”
Evie drops into the swivel chair behind the desk and salutes me. “Got it.” Her attention diverts to the chair. “This is so nice,” she comments, rubbing her hands up and down the leather armrests. “Is this the one that was here last week? It can’t be.”
