The Kiss Lottery

Chapter 5 Everly

Chapter 5

Everly

Judging cookies at the Rose Lottery Bake-Off is not what I expected to be doing today. I’m here because Tabby called me in a panic and asked me to fill in for her.

After parking on the square, I walk to town hall.

I remember going to the Bake-Offs with my mom before she passed away. After that I’m not sure I ever went to the festivals. Maybe I was too overwhelmed. I didn’t have a parent at home. Sure, I was under the guardianship of an elderly cousin who lived in Knoxville, but she didn’t want to move to Rose. Now both my mom and my cousin are gone. I have no family left.

The organizers have divided the room into three sections: cookies, cakes, and pies, with each type of dessert on tables draped in pink lace runners. Valentine’s Day decorations hang from the ceiling. As you walk in, there’s a photo backdrop adorned with paper roses and greenery. It’s cute.

Stopping at the sign-in table, I pick up Tabby’s badge and stick it on. The girl glances at her list and tells me I’ve been assigned to pies.

Cool.

I turn around, and Margo is rushing toward me in a dress with red hearts, a harried look on her face.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she gushes. “I got your text about joining the lottery—great! Tabby signed up to judge pies, but we’ve already got three people on it. I need you to judge the cookies on the far side of the room. I’ve only got one other person, and he’s a little grumpy.”

I glance around, and my heart drops when I spot Beckett across the room, his eyes already locked on mine. That familiar jolt hits me, the one I hate admitting I still feel. A smirk rises on his face as he takes in my yoga pants and sweatshirt. I smirk right back at him. At least I put on lipstick today.

“Remember when I baked you and Beckett that big batch of chocolate chip cookies for the school bake sale?” she continues, tugging me toward the left side of the room—toward him.

“I’m judging with Beckett ?” I ask, nerves starting to build.

“He suggested it when he heard you’d be here for Tabby.”

“What? Why?”

She nods at someone passing by, ignoring my question.

“Margo, I—” I start, but she’s already turning away, caught up in a conversation about the background music.

Before I can protest further, she gives me a little push toward the roped-off area for the cookies. “Here you go, darling! Be a fair judge. You’re a lifesaver!” she calls out as she gives me a wide smile, then practically sprints away in her heels.

Dammit.

I step up to the tables, eyeing the numbered cookie displays that are waiting to be judged.

There are about twenty or so types of cookies.

This shouldn’t take too long at least.

Be the bigger person, Everly. You’re going to be seeing him around town whether you like it or not.

I take a deep breath and steel myself as I make my way to the table. He watches, his gaze unreadable. His dark hair, once so soft under my fingers, frames a granite face.

Yesterday, I dumped my food in his lap. Today, we’re supposed to eat cookies together.

Weird.

He tucks his phone into his pocket with a sigh, his eyes scanning me. “Hello, Everly.”

“Hi.”

A beat of silence stretches between us before he clears his throat. “How are you?” His voice is too casual.

“Good.” I nod, the awkwardness thick between us. We’re being polite. Civil, even. I shift on my feet, trying to ground myself. “I guess you got roped in at the last minute too?”

“No, I signed up. If you don’t want to judge with me, I can get someone else.”

I swallow. “No, it’s fine. I love cookies.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “And me?”

My heart stutters. “What?”

A wry smile tugs at his lips. “You love cookies. But are you okay with me?”

My pulse quickens, and I barely hear my own voice when I say, “Yes.”

The air between us tightens. His gaze holds mine, unwavering, and I don’t look away. Something unspoken hums in the space between us.

“Good,” he says.

“Good,” I repeat.

Thank god one of the organizers comes over, an elderly man with a stern expression. He hands us each a score sheet on a clipboard and starts to go over the categories.

Beckett steps closer, his arm brushing against mine, and I can’t help but notice he’s in another one of his fisherman sweaters, this one a pale green. I stifle a laugh, remembering the mustard-and-grease disaster from yesterday.

“Are you even listening?” he says under his breath. “He’s explaining the rules.”

Keeping my voice low, I whisper, “I keep thinking about the bacon bits in your hair yesterday.”

“Funny,” he murmurs. “I keep thinking about how to put you in my next book.”

I make a face at him, and I’m trying to think of a comeback when the organizer narrows his eyes at me, then launches into a lecture about cookie judging. He tells us he’s been in charge of cookies for forty years and takes it very seriously. He explains about balance, flavors, smell, and presentation. It goes on for at least fifteen minutes. But I’m barely listening, too distracted by Beckett—his scent, the way he absently rubs the scar on his cheek while looking down at the clipboard.

The organizer finally finishes and points us to the first entry.

I tag along next to Beckett. “I got lost in the importance of chewy centers,” I murmur, and he laughs under his breath.

Oh, I’ve missed that sound.

I see a flash of us in high school, sitting next to each other during study hall. We were supposed to be working, but Beckett would always find something ridiculous in the textbook and lean over to point it out to me as he laughed. It made me feel like I was the only one in the room who really understood him and his jokes.

I steal a peek at him now, my eyes grazing over his chiseled face. If I close my eyes, I’m sixteen again and sitting beside him, trying to hide a smile as his shoulder brushes mine.

But we’re not kids anymore. Things aren’t that simple.

The first cookie is a shortbread with fancy chocolate drizzles on top. I break it in half, handing one piece to Beckett.

He studies it, then glances at me with a raised brow. “Looks great on the outside, but who knows what’s inside.”

I cock my head, trying to suss out his meaning. Is he still talking about the cookie? I take a bite, the butter flavor melting on my tongue. “It could use more sweetness. It just doesn’t feel welcoming in my mouth. It’s very aloof.”

His eyes lock onto mine as he chews slowly, thoughtfully. “Aloof, huh?”

“Hmm, I’d go so far as to say this cookie keeps things hidden. Maybe it has secrets.”

He scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re being pretty tough on this shortbread. Fine, I guess it’s not to your taste.”

I tilt my head, refusing to let him have the last word. “Sometimes it’s nice to have something that’s sweet and caring and nice—in a cookie, of course. This might even be the kind of evil cookie that would write a book and use a friend as a villain.”

He places the cookie back on the plate. “Wow. This cookie is sentient. I’m impressed.”

“Judges, please stay focused,” the organizer snaps, and we both blink. I forgot he was lurking nearby.

Beckett leans down to whisper in my ear. “Sweetness usually fades. And then what? All you’re left with is bitterness, especially when one cookie has been left behind for years. Perhaps this cookie has been lonely. Perhaps it went through some traumatic events, and yet his loved one never called or checked in on him.”

I stop, my mind spinning. Loved one?

What traumatic event? His car accident?

But . . .

He told me he never wanted to see me again.

What was I supposed to do?

“What do you mean?” I ask.

The tension between us thickens, but suddenly his lips twitch with amusement. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind. Better mark the score on your sheet before Old Man Cookie comes back.”

We move on to the next cookie, a heart-shaped sugar confection with thick pink icing and delicate piping.

“This one’s beautiful,” I say, breaking it in half and handing a piece to him. Our fingers brush, and I can’t help but notice the way his eyes flicker as if he’s affected by our proximity as much as I am.

He takes the piece, his gaze lingering on mine for a second before he glances away. He bites into the cookie, and a piece falls to the ground. “Hmm. Falls apart easily,” he says, his voice low. “Kind of like we did.”

I blink. “What?”

“You know, after your diary blew up.”

I set my clipboard down with a little more force than necessary. “You’re the one who broke up our friendship,” I say.

“And you’re the one who left your diary out for Abigail to find. I remember you making a big show of writing in it that day in class, and she was right next to you. The bell rang, and we all went to lunch. Obviously you left it behind for her to get.”

The words hang between us. He’s right, of course. I did leave it out on purpose. I wanted something to change, but I was too scared to do anything about it myself. I was terrified of being open with him, of telling him how much I loved him, so instead I left my heart on display for someone else to find and wreck.

A knot forms in my stomach as I recall how nervous I was when Abigail took the bait. “I just wanted things to be different. I wanted ...” him, or at least for him to choose. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. “You chose Carson. And iced me out.”

He stares down at the cookie, his fingers tapping the edge of the plate. “A heart-shaped cookie that falls apart. Funny. Seems pretty apt for what happened to the three of us.” His voice lowers, quieter now. “It’s been ten years. Do you think we can put it behind us?”

His words stun me.

“I hurt you, Everly,” he continues, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry I walked out of that locker room. You didn’t deserve that.”

My breath hitches, and I struggle to find the right words as our gazes lock.

“Move to the next entry, judges,” the organizer calls out, snapping me from the moment. I jump slightly as Beckett takes my elbow, guiding me to the next cookie.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s keep working.”

We don’t talk much after that, keeping our focus on judging. Later, after we’ve turned in our papers to the organizer, we walk away from the section. He grabs my elbow again before I get too far and turns me around. There’s a vulnerable look on his face, one that I haven’t seen in years.

“Yes?” I ask.

“How’s the house? Do you need anything?”

I can’t breathe for a moment. He’s talking to me like we’re friends, like I mean something to him.

I swallow. “I-It’s just lonesome there. I miss Mom.”

He’s about to say something else but stops as Abigail struts over, her high heels clicking against the floor. She’s in a red dress that hugs her curves.

“Beckett!” she purrs as she reaches us. “Thank you for volunteering.”

He offers a tight smile. “No problem.”

She places a hand on his arm, her voice sugary. “I was wondering if you could stick around later and help us clean up? Margo asked me to organize more people.”

I roll my eyes. She’s dropping Margo’s name on purpose—she knows Beckett adores his aunt. Margo’s been his closest family since his mom passed away a few years ago.

His eyes flick to me briefly, then back to Abigail. “Sorry, I’ve got other things to take care of.”

She leans in slightly, batting her lashes. “Oh, come on. You’re always so dependable.” She continues, explaining how they’re planning to wrap up the Bake-Off in an hour and then clean up, setting the stage for the Valentine’s art contest later in the week.

He smiles at her. “Sorry. I’m going to catch up with Everly.”

I start. Since when?

Her gaze shifts to me, her smile turning sharp. “You’re still in town, huh?”

“Yep,” I murmur, not giving her the satisfaction of more.

She laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “How funny. When do you leave, Everly? Surely you won’t be here too long.”

Before I can respond with “It’s none of your business,” Beckett casually drapes an arm around my shoulder. “She might even move here,” he says, his voice relaxed.

My heart pounds. What on earth is he doing?

Her smile falters. “Oh, wouldn’t that be fun,” she says. “So, you guys are friendly again, I take it?”

I hear the ice in her voice. Ha. Back in school, she always had a thing for Beckett. It’s why I knew she’d be thrilled to get my diary and tattle on me. I just didn’t expect she’d tell the whole world.

Beckett nods, giving me a sideways glance. “We’re just catching up.”

With a fake smile, she says something polite, then turns and saunters off, expensive perfume lingering in the air.

When Abigail is finally out of sight, Beckett steps to the side, giving me space. He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I don’t mind staying to help clean up,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I really don’t want to be around Abigail. I know how you feel about her, and I was just trying to keep the peace.” He shifts his weight, his eyes flicking back to mine. “I was hoping maybe we could be civil while you’re here. Maybe grab coffee? If you’re free.”

Wait. So, he was protecting me from Abigail? First the apology, and now this ...

I can’t help but wonder if he’s really trying to make things right, or is it something else?

Did he send the invitation? Is that why he’s being so open?

“I, um,” I stumble, trying for a thought. “I was about to check out the library and do some research about the history of Rose. Plus, there’s this ghost story I wanted to dig into.”

His lips quirk up at that. Books were always his thing, after all.

“You’re welcome to come,” I add. Wait, did I just say that? Yes.

But it’s okay. The weight of our past does feel lighter.

“I’d love to,” he says quickly, like he’s been waiting for the chance. “Do you remember the last time we were at the town library together?”

I remember every moment with him. Each one is written on my heart.

“We had a term paper due, but instead of working, we just messed around,” he tells me. “I think we rearranged half the books in the wrong sections. You even dared me to pretend I saw a mouse because you knew the librarian was scared of them.” He smirks. “You were sure she was onto us though.”

“She yanked you by your ear and dragged you to the front door. I thought we’d get banned for life,” I say, feeling the warmth of the memory wash over me.

His eyes linger on mine. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

I swallow, my heart yearning for more of those.

For more of him .

“Yeah.”

He nods just as his phone rings. He holds up a finger, signaling for me to wait as he steps aside to take the call.

A wave of anxiety hits me, and I start second-guessing everything. What am I doing? I’ve spent years building walls, running away, and now I’m about to let him back in? Is that wise when I’m still piecing myself back together from the last time he shattered me.

This man was—is—the love of my life.

But I don’t want to be hurt again.

He turns away, engrossed in his conversation, and an old instinct kicks in—the one that made me leave Rose in the first place, the one that’s driven me to keep running, from one city to another, searching for somewhere I fit in.

Before I can overthink it, I make a split-second decision. I slip toward the exit, get in my car, and drive off.