The Kiss Lottery

Chapter 11 Beckett

Chapter 11

Beckett

I have to look away from her. She thinks I still hold the basketball-game loss against her and that’s the reason I never wanted to see her again. I’ve always wondered if she knew about her mom and my dad, but hearing this, I realize she must have been clueless.

A wry smile crosses her face. “If Carson knew that I did that, he’d still be shouting at me. Since I’m feeling glowy, should I tell him?”

“He’d forgive you, although he still grumbles about the entire thing.”

She smiles up at me, and I tighten my grip on her waist. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair—they bring back memories. Every move we make seems to draw us closer, and I can’t help but be hyperaware of every inch of her.

Her breath brushes against my neck as she speaks softly. “Why do you look so serious?”

“I’m just thinking about tomorrow.”

“What about it?”

I smirk, leaning in closer, until our noses almost touch. “You’re going to regret being sweet to me.”

She sighs dramatically, her lips just inches from mine. “But right now, it’s fun. Besides, you sent me a kitten and a big stuffed bear with tequila. Admit it.”

I laugh and her eyes widen, and she looks at me with something like amazement, as if she’s surprised to hear me laugh at all. And maybe I am too. It’s been a long time since I’ve genuinely laughed with her.

Her head cocks, a small smile tugging at her lips, and I can’t resist the way she’s looking at me—like she’s expecting something.

“All right, all right,” I say, still swaying with her. “I sent them.”

“Why?”

I lean in closer, my lips brushing her ear as I say, “I just wanted to remind you that people care about you in this town. I do. You’ve been part of my life since we were kids. Besides, everyone needs a cuddle buddy, right? I figured the kitten could use some backup. Plus, I wanted to embarrass you a little after you ran off on me at the Bake-Off. You knew I wanted to talk to you, and you bolted.”

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You used to give me a Valentine’s gift every year when we were little. There was the baby bird that lost its mama. You were so serious about helping it.” She smiles. “I still have the rocks you gave me, all personally collected by you. Hmm, then there was the survival kit you put together, complete with toilet paper and your favorite Steinbeck novel. Once, you even gave me your old shoelaces. I still haven’t figured that one out.”

“I’m a little different, I guess. Plus, those laces came from my fave pair of sneakers.”

She looks up at me. “I always liked your ‘different.’”

Before I can comment on that, the band stops playing. Reluctantly, I lead her back to the table in the corner where Tabby and Troy are. Carson leans against the wall, his eyes following our every move. He looks happy for some reason.

Everly heads in his direction, and I follow, clasping her hand in mine. I can’t help it. I’ll never give her up again to him.

Everly steps toward him. I tighten my grip for just a second, the possessiveness flaring up in me before I let her go.

“I just need a minute,” she says.

His eyes flick from her to me, then back again, a smirk on his lips.

Everly gives him a wry smile. “I owe you an apology, Carson.”

His brows rise in surprise, but he quickly schools his expression. “For what?”

“For how things ended between us, for not being honest,” she says, her voice soft. “I hurt you, and I never took responsibility for that. I’m sorry.”

He watches her for a beat, then lets out a breath, shaking his head. “We were young and full of hormones. We were all just figuring things out. I was pissed back then, yeah. But I’ve had a lot of time to think. You don’t owe me anything. I think you took the worst of it, to be honest.” His gaze softens, and I see real closure in his eyes. “I’m good now. Really. No hard feelings.”

He’s not bitter. Not anymore.

A pretty woman comes over to chat with Carson, and we say goodbye and leave. As we walk away from him, Everly leans into me, her hand still snug in mine. She lets out a soft sigh, the kind that’s about relief. I glance at her, noting the faraway look in her eyes that tells me she’s still feeling the effects of whatever she had earlier.

“You okay?” I ask gently, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

She gives a little shrug. “My stomach’s weird. I think I need food.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Let’s get you something.”

As we walk, people glance at us, their curiosity almost tangible. Holding hands with Everly, parading around town like we’re together feels surreal. I’m sure people recall the diary ten years ago and the uproar it caused.

I keep wondering how long she’s going to let me stay by her side before she pulls away. But for now, she’s still holding on.

A few steps later, an older couple stops us. Mrs. Spence, our kindergarten teacher, gives Everly a warm smile. “It’s so good to see you back in Rose. You look lovely tonight.”

Everly smiles sweetly, then replies something about clouds and kittens and teddy bears.

I clear my throat, trying to steer her forward. “We’re just grabbing some food. Catch you later.”

We move on, but people keep coming up to talk. It’s like we’re magnets tonight. Maybe it’s the way we’re holding hands—something unexpected in Rose.

I just hope she doesn’t mind tomorrow.

“You know,” she says, her voice dreamy, “I could stay like this forever.”

My breath snags. “Like what? Stoned and starving?”

“No,” she murmurs. “With you. Here. Everyone is so kind. It feels like the basketball game doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It doesn’t. You may have left thinking people were upset, but you know you’re kind of famous around here for the podcast. Everyone is excited to see you. Plus, your podcast will bring in more tourism to Rose. Everyone appreciates that.”

She nods, musing. “I like holding hands with you. We used to do it all the time. For no reason at all, really.” A laugh comes from her. “You even fell asleep in my bed a few times, and me in yours. I’d either hold your hand or play with your hair while you read. I think about that a lot.”

Her voice is wistful, almost fragile, and my chest tightens. I know she’s not fully herself right now, but still. I hold her words close to my heart for later.

I pushed her away back then. For what? To protect my mom, to stay loyal to a broken family?

Like Carson said, we were young, and I was all up in my head with anger and resentment for my father, but it wasn’t Everly’s fault. I should have been open with her. I should have told her about my mom and dad.

Can I tell her the truth now that she’s back?

I shove the thought away as we reach a food stand, and I order her some fries and a soda. She leans against the counter, still holding my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As we wait, I can’t stop looking at her. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I’ve been afraid to lose. The question nags at me—how long until she lets me go, until she goes back to her life in New York and her boyfriend?

“You’re staring at me,” she says.

“Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous.”

She gets her fries, and I carry her soda back toward Troy and Tabby.

“Looks like it’s time to make the matches,” I tell her, noticing that Fritz has moved behind a podium onstage.

“Kick ass, Fritzy!” Tabby yells out over the murmur of the crowd.

He clears his throat. “Welcome to the matching ceremony, friends! The Kiss Lottery has been a tradition in Rose since 1801. Originally names were drawn from a hat and the lucky pairs would share a dance or a chat. Thankfully, we use a computer now, or we’d be here all night!”

Aunt Margo steps forward. “Each unmarried person aged twenty-one and over had the chance to place their name in. The names are paired up at random.”

I glance at Everly. She’s found a seat next to Tabby, chin propped on her hands as she hangs on to Margo’s words.

Aunt Margo continues, “On Valentine’s night, we’ll conclude with an outdoor party—complete with a dance and a kissing booth—on the courthouse square, but before then, we hope you’ll schedule a meeting with your match. Maybe it’s two friends meeting up to reconnect or whatever you want it to be. Everyone is welcome, date or not, to the party on the square.”

Fritz opens a laptop and asks the crowd. “Are you ready?”

“Tell us!” someone calls out from the crowd, lifting his beer.

Margo nods. “Names will be lit up on the digital display board behind me as they come in as well as out in the tent area. We have so many this year that it’s hard to announce them all, but we’ll get several in tonight before my voice gives out.”

She begins calling out names, alternating with Fritz. Cheers and playful groans fill the room as names are announced. I notice a TV crew from Nashville in the back doing a live broadcast.

“Next up, Carson Blake and Tabby Moore!” Margo announces.

Carson grins, glancing at Tabby, who sticks her tongue out at him.

“Troy Simmons and Abigail Wells!” Fritz calls.

Troy’s eyes widen as he looks over at Abigail, who just glares daggers at us, then turns her back. Clearly, that match will never happen.

Aunt Margo pauses for effect, making eye contact with me. “Beckett Whitfield and Everly Davis!”

A rush of emotions swirls inside me, and I muster a smile. I glance at Everly, and she’s frowning.

She gets to her feet, swaying a bit. “I need some fresh air.”

I quickly stand. “I’ll come with you.”

She hurries toward the exit, and I guide her as I weave through the townsfolk and push open the heavy wooden door. The cold night air hits us, carrying the scent of pine from the woods. She leans against the stone exterior of the bar, her chest rising and falling as she tries to steady her breathing.

I stand beside her in silence, giving her space.

After a few moments, she finally speaks. “This is insane. I can’t believe ...”

“That we got matched?”

She shakes her head, keeping it bent.

“What then?”

“That I’m so high, you ass.”

I suppress a laugh. “Still on your cloud?”

Another headshake, her hair falling around her face.

I frown, stepping closer to her. Jesus, she smells good, like vanilla and coconut. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

She looks up at me, her neck arching to meet my gaze. Her red lips curl in a smirk. “You are so full of yourself. I’m not crying. I’m laughing.”

I straighten. “Oh. At our matches?”

“That I’m going to puke and you’re going to be the one to see it.”

Before I can step back or respond, she throws up all over my Italian leather shoes.

“I’m sorry, ugh. I really wanted to be alone to throw up, but you just had to follow me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I whip off my suit jacket and use the sleeves to clean her face. It wasn’t much. She leans against my chest, still mumbling about how sorry she is.

“Did it get in my hair?”

I shake my head. “Barely any.”

“Will your shoes survive?”

“Sure.” Definitely not, but I’d say anything to keep her here, against me, with me protecting her.

She looks up and gives me a weak smile. “Well, if this isn’t a sign of bad luck for us being matched, I don’t know what is.”

“Do you feel better?”

She swallows. “I just want to go home. Can you take me?”

I find my phone and quickly fire off a group text to her friends, letting them know I’m taking her home. Then I inform Margo.

“My car is pretty far away. Can you wait here while I go get it?”

She shivers, and I wince at the wind hitting her skin. “But I feel so alone. Like I might die from being by myself. I’ve missed Rose so much, but I have no family here. Is it really my home at all?”

A few people pass by and stare, whispering, and I pointedly glare at them and tell them to keep moving.

I look at her. “Hey, let’s focus on leaving. How about this—you can ride on my back? Like when we were kids and you were scared of the fire ants in the east field.”

She gives me a cute pout. “But my dress is gonna hitch up. Someone might see my panties.”

I wave around. “There’s no one out here that matters, and if they talk shit, I’ll personally kick their ass. Come on. I won’t drop you.”

I bend down to a kneeling position, and she gets on. Using my arms, I hike her up until she is balanced and hold her.

“I won’t barf on your back. Maybe.”

A laugh comes from me. “You’re gonna owe me for this.”

She leans her head on my shoulders. “Nope. You owe me after using me as inspiration for your book.” Her fists beat against my shoulder. “You even added the mole under my eye. Whyyyyy?”

To be fair, it’s a very dainty black dot below her right eye. I had to add it. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

“All men suck at the moment,” she declares into the night.

“What about Damon?”

“He’s an ass.”

I stop in my tracks. “I thought it was serious.”

She makes a grunting sound. “He dumped me because I don’t have a fancy family background.” She pauses. “How did you know his name anyway?”

“Um, oh, look! A fox just ran by,” I call out to distract her.

She twists around. “Where?”

“Never mind, he’s gone.”

She sighs. “I’m not sure I can forgive you for putting me in your book. You could have made me the private investigator or the mom. But no, you made me the mastermind.”

“You always did like to be in control. The villain is always the most interesting. Admit it, you were the best part of the book.”

She rests her head against my shoulder. “You hurt me.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

She goes quiet, and all I hear is the rustling of leaves through the grass next to us.

“Then why did you do it?”

To dig you out of my heart.

“Here’s my car,” I say, gently setting her down and opening the door. She gives me a sleepy smile, then taps me on the cheek.

“Thanks for not dropping me on my ass.”

“Anytime. Let’s get you home.”

She settles into the seat, the hem of her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. I gently fix it.

“I left my fries inside, and I’m hungry,” she murmurs, seeming to perk up as she glances around the interior. “Nice car. Range Rover, right? Weird. When I see you in my mind, you’re still driving that beat-up Toyota truck and listening to terrible country music. I mean, there is good country music, like Dolly or Patsy, but you used to love Kenny Rogers. Nothing against Kenny, may he rest in peace—he was a talented man—but you need some woman country in your life.”

I blink, trying to process her rambling. She’s gone from dreamy stoned to chatty stoned.

“I’ll listen to Dolly this week. Promise.”

She leans closer, her eyes wide. “Do you even know any Dolly songs?”

I smirk. “Of course I do—‘9 to 5,’ ‘Islands in the Stream,’ which was with Kenny Rogers.”

She gasps dramatically. “You listen to duets? Cool.” She starts singing it, and I just stand there and shake my head at her.

“I should video this for blackmail later.”

She squints up at me. “I zoned out. What did you say? Did I tell you that I’m hungry?” She bats her lashes at me.

“Yes, you did,” I say. “Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

“Perfect!” She leans back with a satisfied smile. “Best night ever. So hungry.”

“You’ve already told me.”

She giggles. “Hungry for you. I wanna eat you up.” She cocks her head at me, then smiles so wide it makes my heart clench. “Ah, I’m just playing. Just a little jokey, joke for my Beckett. Huzzah!” She pats the pockets of my pants. “I really want some chicken. Do you have any with you?”

“Not in my pockets, no.”

“Let’s go find some. Road trip!”

I chuckle. “How about we get you home first, then I can go back out for food?”

“But what if I starve?”

“Okay, we’ll find something on the way.”

Her eyes brighten. “Like a drive-through? Can we go through a drive-through? I want fries too. And maybe a milkshake—no, wait, bad idea. Lactose and I are mortal enemies.”

I laugh so hard that a passerby stops to look at us. I wave them off, still chuckling. “All right, we’ll see what’s open. But you have to promise to stay awake. I’m enjoying this way too much.”

She gives a mock salute. “No falling asleep. Hey, have you ever been to New York?”

I glance at her, tracing her features—the blue eyes, her thick dark lashes, the indentation on her bottom lip. “Yeah, a few times,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“Really? Why?”

I hesitate, looking down. “Book stuff mostly.”

She thinks on that. “I live there.”

“I know.”

“You never came to see me.” There’s regret in her voice.

I clear my throat. “It’s a cool place. The food is amazing. I like to walk around, see the city.”

“I wish you’d seen me.” A wrinkle forms on her brow.

My chest squeezes.

Every time I came, I thought of you. I walked by your apartment building, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. I ate at places across from it, wondering if you were inside, wondering what you were doing.

“So, about that food?”

“All right,” I say as I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side, then crank up the heat for her. I reach over and put the seat belt on.

She turns on the radio and finds a country station.

We’re halfway back to town when she asks to drive around the square to see the gazebo and the kissing booth the committee has been working on. She waves at them as we drive by, giggling under her breath.

After an interesting trip to the drive-through, I take the road to her house.

She’s humming along to a song as we pull up in the driveway. I turn the car off, and my gaze goes to the big hill behind her house and beyond.

“The cherry trees are going to bloom soon, aren’t they?” she says, and I glance at her, seeing understanding in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

She fiddles with her hair, removes one of the clips, then hands it to me like a present. “Here, hold on to this heart. It will help with the ache.”

Emotion rises in my throat. She was always so in tune with me, knowing how I felt and what I needed. She touches my cheek. “I never got to say this properly. I sent flowers and a card, but I’m deeply sorry about your mom. I bet when those trees bloom, you think of her. She was a wonderful person.”

I try to rein in the tightness in my throat. My mom had a heart condition since birth. She never complained or let on how bad things were.

I inhale, and words come out that I never intended to say. “I wasn’t there when she passed. I was out west doing research for one of my books. She told me to go, and I thought she was fine. But before I made it home ...” My voice snags, and I swallow. “I wasn’t there to hold her hand.”

Her eyes soften, but she remains silent, letting me speak.

“When I got back, the trees were in full bloom, like she was saying goodbye,” I say.

“That’s beautiful,” she says gently.

I squeeze the heart clip, trying to ground myself. “I feel guilty about not telling her goodbye.”

She reaches out, her hand resting on mine briefly. “You gave her the peace of knowing you were following your dreams, that you were happy. That’s what she wanted for you.”

My eyes lock with hers, and long moments pass.

Jesus. I know she’s stoned, but there’s truth in what she’s saying.

My hand cups her cheek. “I miss you, Ev.”