Page 45 of It's Always Been You
I tap the steering wheel contemplatively, staring at Evie through my rearview mirror. “I might go speak to her.”
Mom perks up. “I’ll wait here.”
Evie startles when she notices me approaching and pauses from her frantic pacing to glower at me. “Spitfire,” I say, looking her over. She’s shivering, blowing warm air into her mittenless fingers. She must be freezing in those tights. “Why don’t you waitinsidethe car?”
Her top lip curls with contempt, and it makes my chest ache with sadness. “Don’t you think I would if I had the keys? You must think I’m a complete moron.”
I ignore her comment. “Did Maggie insist on driving today?”
She sighs. “She did.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I feel compelled to reassure her that I’ve never thought she was stupid. “Evie?” Her tawny eyes find mine again. “For the record, I have never thought you were a moron.”
She blinks, looking utterly guileless for a moment. That look . . . I ache to hold her. To reassure her of my love. She clears her throat. “Well, good. Because you’re the one who hired me, so . . .”
So she’s still planning on taking the job. Relief washes over me.
“So we’re still on for tomorrow?” I ask. She purses her lips. “Evie?”
She shifts on her feet and looks down. “About that . . .”
“You can’t back out on me now,” I warn.
Her chin lifts in mock defiance. “I didn’t sign anything binding, did I?”
My brows rise, and she hesitates, then smirks. She’s joshing me. “So did you find something else?” I ask, playing along.
“I did.” It’s a lie. She has a tell that she doesn’t know about—she twists her lips slightly when she’s fibbing, giving her the subtlest cheek dimple. I had to talk her out of a dimple piercing once, fearing that it might ruin it.
“I see.” I cross my arms. “And how’s the pay?”
“Good. The same.”
“Then I’ll double it.”
She stares. “You’re not serious.”
“Try me.”
She frowns. “Thirty-five an hour.”
I scoff. “Seventy, then.”
“You’re crazy.”
Crazy about you.Her eyes keep drifting toward the church entrance.
“Everything okay?” I prod.
She shivers. “Fine. Just cold.”
I wonder if she’s nervous about running into her dad and Francine. I consider asking her, but I know she won’t open up to me like she used to—even if I ask all the right questions. “Am I still picking you up for work tomorrow?”
She nods. “Please. That would be most helpful.”
I smirk. “Most helpful, huh? That’s good.” She flushes bright red, and it feels good knowing I can still make her blush like that. I take a step back. “See you tomorrow, then. Bright and early. Don’t be late.”
She gives me a two-fingered salute. “See ya.”
