The Kiss Lottery

Chapter 3 Everly

Chapter 3

Everly

A few minutes before

The diner hasn’t changed much. The chrome counter looks updated, but the red booths and stools are still the same. What’s different is the Valentine’s Day decor: red streamers crisscrossing the ceiling, heart-shaped balloons in the corners, and those tiny battery-operated candles flickering on every table. I smile wryly. Every business in town goes all out to boost the festivals.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Hank calls from behind the counter, his smile wide beneath a mostly gray mustache. “Welcome home.”

Home? Not really, but it’s nice to hear.

I give him a giant hug. Heck, maybe Hank sent me the invitation because he missed me. He was sort of a father figure to me. “Thanks.”

“Whatcha want to eat? If you’re looking to waitress again, I’ve always got a spot.”

I laugh. “I’m just looking for lunch. A burger with everything but onion, and cheesy fries.”

He gives me a nod and turns to the grill.

I prop my chin in my hand and watch him flip burgers, feeling nostalgic. In high school after cheer practice, I’d rush to Hank’s to wash dishes and wait tables. During holidays I worked every day possible. I wanted to help my mom. We never had much, except each other.

He gets me a soda. “How long are you staying?”

“Not sure,” I say, trying to sound casual as I play with the straw in my glass. “Depends on how things go with the podcast.” Travels with Everly is my own creation, and my next assignment is the lottery. Hank returns to the grill.

I hadn’t planned to come to Rose, but the mystery invite hooked me. If someone wants me here, then I’ll come and see what’s up. How can I resist?

A throat clears. “Excuse me? I saw Hank talking to you. Do I know you?”

I turn to see a handsome man on the stool next to me. He has sandy-colored hair and a square chin.

He leans in closer. “You’re Everly Davis, aren’t you? We were in the same class together. I’m Troy Simmons. Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”

How could I? He was the guy who turned the janitor’s closet into make-out point. He once kissed my best friend, Tabby, for an entire hour in there. She claimed it was only kissing, but I’ve often wondered if there was more action in that dark room. Regardless, he moved on to another girl soon afterward. High school Romeo.

“Guilty. It’s me,” I say awkwardly. “Hi.”

He puts an elbow on the counter as if we’re besties and nods, musing. “Ah, it’s all coming back now. You were super smart but had a wild streak in high school.”

“I wouldn’t say wild,” I reply, frowning. Sure, I liked to party a little, but who doesn’t in a small town.

He’s not really listening, though. “You dated Carson, then cheated on him with his best friend, Beckett—”

I stiffen, hackles rising. “That is not—”

He snaps his fingers. “Wait a minute. I recall Tabby telling everyone you were seeing a lawyer now. Lots of money. How’s that going?”

I deflate like a popped balloon. Damon—the lawyer in question—dumped me a few months ago. Just when I thought I’d finally found where I belonged, that New York could be my real home, it all crumbled. I’d built a life there that I thought suited me, only to have Damon remind me that I wasn’t good enough.

I paste on a smile for Troy. “Fine,” I tell him. “Everything is super duper.”

He slides over a real estate business card with a flourish. “My personal cell is on there if you get bored and want to go have a drink.”

I glance at the card. I already own a house here. It’s the one I grew up in. These days I use it as a vacation rental for income. But me, living in Rose? The town despises me. Or at least they did ten years ago. That’s why the invitation is so strange.

“Thanks, but I’m just here to cover the Kiss Lottery.”

“I’m entering. Are you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m just here for interviews.”

“Too bad.”

Hank sets down my food, and the sight and smell immediately derail my thoughts.

The burger sits like a king on a throne, the patty thick and juicy. The cheesy fries are sprinkled with bacon and chives.

I do a clap.

“Hank, I love you to the moon and back,” I murmur in awe.

“Enjoy. You might be more comfortable in a booth. Holler if you need help getting your plate there,” he says.

I nod as I tuck the invitation back in my bag. Yeah, a booth sounds good.

Plate and soda in hand, I weave through the crowded diner.

And then, it happens.

I glance up, and there he is.

My chest seizes.

I forget to breathe.

Beckett Whitfield, all six-foot-four of him, is sitting in a booth with his aunt.

Memories flood back—him in front of me in senior English, his broad shoulders, the way he’d run his fingers through his thick, almost black hair.

I remember his laughter.

His dimples when he smiled at me.

His arm around my shoulders.

He was my anchor.

My tether.

Until he wasn’t.

I never want to see you again.

Those words echo in my ear, the last sentence he spoke to me at graduation, when I followed him to his car and begged him to look at me. It had been months since that awful day in the locker room, when he walked out with Carson and never even glanced my way. But I had to try, just one more time.

I shake off the memories.

He glances up and our eyes lock.

A jolt of electricity dances down my spine.

Jesus, why is he still gorgeous?

That razor-sharp jawline.

Those bitable lips.

I swallow hard, trying to push the past back where it belongs.

Walk by him like he’s a fly on the window and you can’t be bothered to swat him.

I steel myself.

But my feet betray me by slowing down.

Move, Everly.

Reaching deep, I school my face into indifference, lift my chin, and prepare to sail past.

That’s the plan, until someone bumps into me.

It’s Troy.

Dammit.

He mumbles something about helping me with my food but ends up knocking my elbow.

My plate wobbles in my hand, and I try to steady it—ahhhhh—and there it goes. In slow motion, my burger and fries fly through the air, aiming straight for ...

“Watch out—” I call, but it’s too late. I can only then gape as the burger splats his cream-colored fisherman sweater—probably cashmere. Then, it slides down his chest and plops onto his crotch.

Troy mumbles an “I’m so sorry, I was just trying to help.”

Beckett’s chest rises slowly; then he lets out a long exhale. I expect to see smoke coming from his ears. His mouth tightens as he glances down at his lap, then looks up at me. Forest green eyes glitter dangerously. “Everly,” he bites out.

Margo pulls napkins from the dispenser and tosses them at him in a flurry. “Oh, dear, that was unexpected. Beckett, put that patty on the table before the grease sets in.” Her lips twitch a little. “You’ve got bacon bits in your hair, darling. Might want to shake those off.”

He throws the burger patty onto the table.

“Oops,” I say on a strange giggle, then clamp a hand over my mouth.

“Was that on purpose?” he says to me.

Margo chuckles uneasily. “Why on earth would she do that on purpose?”

Before he can reply, Hank appears next to me, directing a worker to deal with the burger incident. “You okay?” he asks me, concern in his tone. Yes, he knows the history between me and Beckett.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

He offers to recook my lunch, but the thought of sitting through a meal seems impossible now. “No, no, that’s okay. I’m actually in a hurry, and I’ve got protein bars in my purse.” The need to escape, to put some distance between myself and Beckett is overwhelming.

Yes, I imagined a confrontation but not with an audience.

Beckett rises up from the booth and towers over me.

My throat tightens as I tip my head back to stare up at him. I’m five-five, but he’s nearly a foot taller than me. He glares down at me, and I can’t look away.

Margo jumps up and rushes over, her words spilling out in a rush. “It’s great to see you, dear. And your podcast, wow, what a success. I listen all the time. My favorite was the one you did in Peru. Tell me, are you here to cover the Kiss Lottery? I’ve got Beckett in the running this year. The stories you could tell from that! Oh, I have an idea. You should put your name in the hat too!”

I barely register Margo with all my attention on Beckett. He picks a tomato off his shoulder with disdain. “Who would want to be matched with her?”

“I would,” comes Troy’s voice, and I guess he’s retreated back to his barstool, although I don’t turn to look.

I tear my gaze away from Beckett and look at Margo. “I’m not entering.”

Beckett moves closer and takes my elbow, making me gasp.

His hand against my skin, even though it’s through my sweatshirt, sends goose bumps over my body.

I’m too stunned to pull away.

Here he is.

The boy who owned me heart and soul.

He doesn’t seem to notice my mental distraction as he looks at his aunt. “Go ahead and order the special for me. I’m stepping outside. Everly and I have some catching up to do.”

She wrings her hands, her gaze darting between us. “Now, darling, let’s keep things friendly. Remember the spirit of Rose, Beckett. It’s about community, and love.”

“I’m always friendly,” he growls as I come to my senses and try to yank out of his grasp. He won’t let go. He opens the door to the diner and escorts me out the side exit.

“Let me go,” I snap, but he refuses, instead marching me a few feet away from the door. He releases my elbow but doesn’t move out of my personal space.

The cold late-January air hits my cheeks as I take in every detail of him, my gaze lingering on his face where a scar stands out—a three-inch X-shaped slash across his cheek. The edges are slightly raised, making it thick, and I can only imagine the force that made it.

There are other scars too. One on his chin, another on his forehead, and a fourth on his temple. They don’t stop there; his hands and wrists have slashes scattered on the skin. I picture him going through a windshield, perhaps with his hands raised.

My throat prickles with emotion as I study them.

He’s always been handsome, but now there’s an edge that wasn’t there before.

Part of me wants to touch them, to tell him how sorry I am about his car accident. He nearly died, and it took him months to recover, although I wouldn’t know it now as I watch how he moves. I was in college at NYU at the time, but Tabby kept me updated.

He steps closer, and the air crackles between us.

“What are you staring at?” he asks tightly.

“Your scars.”

“Forget the scars.” His gaze rakes over me, taking in my baggy NYU sweatshirt, joggers, and Converse. “Why are you here?”

“This is my hometown. Why did you drag me outside?”

“It seemed better than causing a scene inside.”

My hands clench. “Oh, so naming your book’s villain after me wasn’t causing a scene? You made me a character in your book. Real subtle, Beckett. I guess you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

I remember picking up his novel in the bookstore and taking it to my apartment. I curled up on the couch to read it, only to find a blue-eyed villain named Ever. He’d used my features and mannerisms, even the way I drum my fingers on my collarbone when I’m nervous.

Which I’m doing now.

Ugh.

He scoffs. “You flatter yourself. Believe me, you were the last thing on my mind. So, basically you were pissed about the book and threw food at me, am I right?”

“It was an accident. Troy bumped into me. You’re the one who turned me into a killer on paper. What kind of person does that?”

His lips curl. “A writer, Everly. We use what we know.”

“You know nothing.” I poke his chest. I don’t know why. Maybe I just wanted to see how far I could push him. Maybe I just needed to touch him. To make sure he’s real.

He leans closer to me, bending down until we’re face to face. I see the flecks of white in his green eyes. I even catch a whiff of his cologne, and it’s all I can do to keep my cool. He smells like cedar and fresh rain, with a hint of something darker.

It’s the kind of smell that wraps around you and pulls you in.

“Why are you here?” His voice has softened, dangerously so, and the breath in my throat snags.

I have to look away from him. He’s too much. My gaze drifts to the ground, seeking something to anchor myself. I focus on the gravel beneath my feet, the tiny stones crunching as I shift my weight.

“I’m here because of an invitation, if you must know,” I say, my eyes capturing his, searching for a flicker of recognition that he sent it, but he keeps his face impassive.

He doesn’t respond.

Maybe he did send it. Because he missed me. Because he needed to see me again.

That’s the answer I really want.

I battle it down and press on.

“And I’m here for the podcast. And just so you know, you don’t own Rose. Hank’s is my place. I worked here for years. It’s my territory.”

“How long are you staying? Are there any other establishments I should not go to while you’re here?”

I cross my arms. “We haven’t seen each other in ten years, and you can’t wait to avoid me.”

“At least you’re not in the lottery,” he says almost to himself.

I freeze, Margo’s words from earlier echoing in my mind.

Beckett’s signed up. He’s part of the lottery.

And I can’t let him feel comfortable and easy while I’m here. I’m itching to annoy him, to see how he reacts.

“Wrong,” I say, the decision forming. “I’m signing up. I still have Margo’s number in my contacts. I’ll text her today.”

Adrenaline rushes through my veins at what I’ve just agreed to.

Am I really going to do this?

His eyes widen. “Really.”

I smirk, my words light but with an edge. “Maybe we’ll be matched. Wouldn’t that be fun? After all, we used to have some pretty good times together.”

I’m saying it just to pick at him, to get under his skin, but the moment I do, memories start replaying in my head.

The times we shared.

One stands out.

We were alone, just the two of us in his family’s barn. I was sitting on a bale of hay, watching him tinker with an old dirt bike. Even at seventeen, he was tall and built, his muscles naturally sculpted from working the farm. His sleeves were rolled up, showing his tanned forearms. A smudge of grease streaked his cheek. A novel was tucked inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Then, a black crow swooped into the barn, flying straight at me. I jumped up and tripped and fell into his chest.

He should have let me go.

He should have stepped back.

But he didn’t.

He held on to me like he didn’t want to part. Like he couldn’t.

We froze in that moment, our eyes locked, the world falling away around us. I counted twenty heartbeats, maybe more, our breaths mingling. His hands were warm on my arms. There was something in his eyes—need, want—that made me feel breathless.

But then reality crashed in.

I could see it on his face, the realization that I wasn’t his to hold.

I was dating his best friend.

His jaw clenched. He set me aside, his face flushed, almost angry.

But the truth is, even before Carson came along, Beckett had pushed me away, had put distance between us in our friendship.

Looking back, I wonder why. Him setting me aside that day was more than just loyalty to Carson. My intuition tells me that it was something else, something deeper going on.

But at the time, I only knew that I needed Beckett. When I was sixteen, my mom died, and Beckett took care of me. On the worst nights, he’d climb in through my window and hold me tight. He’d let me cry and talk about her until I couldn’t anymore. He’d rest his head in my lap and read books to me until dawn.

But something had happened, and he gradually pushed me away.

That’s when Carson came along.

I come back from the past and meet his eyes for just a moment before looking away again. It’s like staring into the sun, so instead I turn to gaze at the people in the diner.

Most of them are watching us.

Troy even has his phone out and is taking a video of us. I exhale. Great.

“Did you miss anything from Rose?” His question hangs in the air, catching me off guard.

I hesitate.

What does he mean? Did I miss him?

Of course I fucking did. I have missed him for the past ten years.

His eyes linger on each and every feature of my face, and for a moment, I see a flash of the old him, the one who could look right to the heart of me. His gaze lands on my lips, lingering.

It makes me want to melt.

No. I’m not a Popsicle. I’m tough.

I never want to see you again. Those were his words.

“Just the fries,” I say quietly.

“Well, I hope they were worth it.” He steps away, brushing at his sweater. “I have to clean off your mess.”

My throat prickles. “Beckett, wait a minute—”

Before I can say more, the diner door swings open, and Abigail strides out. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the scene. She plants herself next to him.

“Everly was always good at making messes,” she says, then looks at Beckett, her lashes batting. “Bless your heart, I saw what happened. Obviously she did it on purpose.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Get a life, Abigail.”

Beckett exhales, clearly fed up. With a final glance at me, he opens the door to the diner and stalks back inside.

All the tension goes out of my body.

“You’re back, and the first thing you do is mess with Beckett. Can’t you leave him alone?” she says haughtily as she walks toward me.

Tall and willowy, she was the rich girl in town. We competed in everything from middle school through high school. I beat her out as class president in ninth grade, and she never forgave me.

Abigail sniffs. “Just because you left Rose for the city, you think you’re better than us? Please. It’s obvious to everyone you’re totally alone. Just stay out of his way. He’ll never forgive you for what you did to the basketball team. Why don’t you look up Carson instead. Remember your ex-boyfriend? He’s still in town.”

She flounces back into the diner, leaving me standing on the sidewalk.

Ah, Jesus. She had to bring up Carson.

I lean against the cool brick wall. Carson and I were the it couple in high school, and the three of us did everything together. Double dates, parties at the river, driving around back roads in Beckett’s truck and singing to songs on the radio.

Everything unraveled when my diary was passed out at school. Someone had found it and made copies. The entries were taped to lockers, handed out in hallways, slipped into textbooks. They’d even put them under windshields of cars at the town square.

Carson was blindsided.

Sure, I’d been friends with Beckett for years, but Carson never imagined how I really felt.

He confronted Beckett in the locker room before the basketball state championships, and they fought.

We lost, and the blame was heaped on me.

Carson hated me.

Beckett hated me.

Everyone.

But I’m not that girl anymore.

So why does it feel the same even after ten years?