Page 50 of It's Always Been You
“You sure you don’t want my company tonight?” I asked boldly, trying to take control of the situation. I’m tired of this subtle thing going on between us. I’m desperate for him to acknowledge it.
But he didn’t.
He paused, totally stricken, his face ashen. For the first time ever, I had blindsided Brandon Wright—meaning I won. For once, I won a round of this complicated, nuanced, silent game of will-they-won’t-they we were playing.
“Not tonight,” he warned before standing and turning away from me. “Go home, Evie.”
I was tempted to feel hurt by his blunt dismissal, but there was undeniably a promise behind those words. Not tonight . . .
But not never.
Chapter 16
Brandon
Iglanceinthemirrorby my front door and straighten my tie, my heart hammering hard enough to make my palms sweat. While I was getting ready this morning, I couldn’t stop myself from putting on the cologne I know Evie likes, or from choosing my best cufflinks and silliest tie. I’m basically puffing my chest and fluffing my feathers like a stupid bird.Notice me. Pick me. Love me.
A few minutes later, I shoot Evie a text, letting her know I’m waiting for her in Maggie’s driveway. But only seconds after hitting send, my conscience roars at me to get out of the car and meet her at the door like a gentleman.
I do as my conscience bids.
As I lift my hand to knock, the door swings open. I have to do a double take when I see her.Stunning . . .Evie’s forgone the dark rings of eyeliner she usually wears, giving me an unfettered glimpse of her wide, expressive amber eyes. She’s left her typically blood-red lips bare today, too, and her wavy, wild hair has been tamed by a straightener so that it hangs neatly down her back like a pressed silky curtain.
She huffs at me as she slides her coat on. “Stop looking at me like that!”
Was my mouth hanging open? I smooth a hand across my jaw self-consciously, just to be sure. No . . .
“I know I’m running late, okay?” she prattles on. “I just didn’t know what to wear. I’m so used to just throwing on a pair of scrubs.”
My eyes slide down her body without my permission. She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater dress that hugs every soft, delicate curve. Beneath thedress, she’s wearing a pair of sheer lacy tights. I shiver involuntarily, but it’s not from the chill that’s creeping into my coat. Regardless of the time of year, she wears tights, and this pair happens to be one of my favorites. They have little vines that climb up her legs like she’s a human trellis.
Unaware of my blatant perusal, she pivots, then bends to retrieve something in the entryway. I’m quick to avert my eyes. When she straightens and turns around, she thrusts a stack of plastic food containers into my hands.
I catch them clumsily.
“Let’s go!” she bellows, ushering me backwards. She turns to lock the deadbolt, then waves for me to get a move on. I back up, feeling like a dimwit as she brushes past me. I follow her down the steps. “Seriously?” she throws over her shoulder. “If you don’t hurry up, we won’t have time to drop these off at Bert’s.”
“You made food for Bert?” I ask as we climb into the car. She nods, and I shake my head disapprovingly as she buckles her seatbelt.
She takes care of everyone but herself.
Evie reaches over and collects the stack of containers from me, balancing them on her lap as I reverse out of the driveway.
I wonder how many hours it took her to make these meals, and where the money for the ingredients came from. Is Bert going to compensate her for her time and effort? Probably not. I’m tempted to feel annoyed on her behalf, but a still, small voice reminds me that it doesn’t matter. Evie’s doing more to care for the needs of those around her than I am, and I’m the one who has the love of Christ in my heart. Plus, she took care of me in a similar way after Teddy was born. How could I fault her for this? This is what makes EvieEvie.
Evie takes her sweet time dropping the meals off at Bert’s place. I repeatedly check my watch while I wait, anxious we won’t have time to grab a coffee from Bill’s.
When she rejoins me, she falls back against the seat with a cute huff. “Sorry about that. Bert was a chatterbox this morning. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, so—”
“It’s fine,” I say briskly, fiddling with the heat to distract myself from how nervous I’m feeling. After a minute of loaded silence, wherein I’m death grippingthe steering wheel and refusing to allow my eyes to stray from the road, Evie breaks the ice.
“You’re acting weird.”
My heart jumps. “Am I?”
“Thisis weird,” she adds, still gazing at my profile.
My hands tighten around the wheel. “Is it?”
