Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
EVIE
I fight to steady my breathing as I survey the damage in my new house. Every inch of carpet that I can see from the door looks wet, and from what I can see of the kitchen, just visible around the corner, there’s standing water there as well.
“Uh-oh,” Ruth says from behind me. “That doesn’t look good.”
Emotion pinches my chest, and tears rush to my eyes. My logical brain knows this isn’t the end of the world. That whatever randomly flooded my house, my landlord, who has so far proven to be both helpful and kind, will very likely fix it. But my logical brain checked out somewhere along I-85. Dreaming of this house, this cute little cottage where Juno and I can start over, has been a big motivator through all the stress and emotion of the past few months.
I imagined Juno’s room, crib set up next to the big window I saw in the rental listing, a fall breeze fluttering the curtains. I imagined my tiny couch and overstuffed chair positioned in the living room, full of fluffy blankets and throw pillows, warm lamplight casting the room in a cozy glow.
That feels so impossibly far from where I am now. I swallowed the missing porch swing. But a flood? I just don’t have it in me.
As if to punctuate the hopelessness of the moment with an exclamation point, Juno lets out an extra loud wail, and my milk lets down, seeping through my bra and soaking the thin cotton of my t-shirt. I look down at my leaky, too-large boobs and sigh.
“Now, now,” Ruth says quietly beside me, her hand squeezing my shoulder. “You wipe those tears away.” Her words are soft and lilting, her Southern accent touching the edges of every syllable. “We’ll get your landlord on the phone and sort this out in no time.”
We can’t, actually, sort anything out. At least not anytime soon.
Ruth manages to trace the flood to the still-leaking water heater and turns off water to the whole house, but that doesn’t do anything to help the inches of water already pooling on the floor. The carpet is soaked, the wood floors in the kitchen are warped, the baseboards and several inches of drywall are completely waterlogged.
And I can’t get my landlord to answer his phone.
Though I’m not sure how much help he’ll be until he’s home from his backpacking trip, even if he does answer. I don’t know a lot about water damage, but I’m guessing this is going to take days, maybe even weeks to fix.
Which means Juno and I are essentially homeless.
It’s too cold to sleep in my car, which means…I can get a hotel, maybe? Or…I guess that’s my only option. A hotel.
A wave of nausea makes my skin feel clammy, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.
I can’t afford a hotel. I was basically scraping the bottom of the barrel to pay for the move and get myself down here. I’ll get another deposit from my ex-inlaws at the first of next month, and I have savings. But there isn’t an ounce of wiggle room in the spreadsheet I made for myself, in the meticulous calculations I did to make sure those savings will stretch and supplement my income for the entire nine months of my apprenticeship.
There’s no way I’ll make it if I have to spend a week—maybe longer—in a hotel room.
Ruth walks into her living room, where I’m sitting and nursing Juno, and sets a huge helping of chicken pot pie on the coffee table in front of me. “I know this won’t help us solve the problem,” she says as she hands me a fork, “but it won’t hurt either.”
My chest tightens, and another round of tears threatens to spill over.
I have never liked being a burden to other people. I’m a middle child, the only daughter in between two brothers. An older one, Charlie, who spent his teenage years challenging my parents at every turn, and a younger one, Brady, who was diagnosed with leukemia the week before his fifth birthday and spent the next seven years in and out of the hospital. He’s completely healthy now—a senior in high school, a state champion swimmer, and cancer free going on five years.
But there’s no undoing the way his illness impacted my childhood. I know my parents loved me—they still love me—but they had their hands full. I quickly learned the best thing I could do to help was stay quiet and out of the way.
It’s why I spent so much time with Megan. She lived two houses down, and it was always easier at her place. I still hated it—hated realizing how many gaps Megan’s mom had to fill because mine had too much going on. Having Ruth talk like this is a problem we’ll solve together is almost enough to unravel me.
“Thank you for being so kind,” I say to Ruth. “But I don’t want to put you out. Once I eat, I’m sure I can…”
“You can what? Look a lonely old lady in the eye and tell her you don’t want her help? As long as you let me hold that baby when she’s finished her meal, you can stay here all afternoon.” She sits down across from me. “Have you heard from Alec?”
“I sent him a message and told him where I am,” I say, “but he hasn’t responded yet.”
I almost told Alec not to come—it’s not like we can move anything into the house—but the moving pod that was delivered just over a week ago is supposed to be picked up tomorrow, and I’d rather not pay to keep it for another month. Especially if my already stretched bank account is going to pay for a hotel. So my hope is that instead of moving everything inside, we can move it all into the garage.
“I’m sure he’ll find you,” Ruth says. “Now, eat. I promise it’s delicious.”
Forty-five minutes later, Juno is fed and down for a nap in the portable crib I retrieved from my car, my belly is full of the best chicken pot pie I’ve ever had, and Ruth is entertaining me with stories about her children, a daughter and a son who are, respectively, studying medicine at Harvard and serving as an officer in the Marine Corps.
“Your kids sound amazing,” I say.
She stands and moves into the small kitchen just off the living room, dishes clinking together as she says, “They’ve made their mamma proud.”
When she returns, she hands me a second plate, this one holding some sort of apple dessert.
“It’s a crumble,” she says. “And you might like it more than the pot pie.”
“Hard to imagine how.” I take the plate and scoop up a generous bite. “Oh man, Ruth. This is unbelievable.”
She beams, and I get the sense it really does bring her joy to feed people. Which, I’m just saying, there are worse qualities for neighbors to have.
I’ve just finished the last of my crumble and am debating the merits of licking the plate clean when a knock sounds on the front door.
Ruth stands and smiles. “That’s probably your hockey player.”
Ha! My hockey player. That’s a pipe dream if ever there was one.
I press a hand to my stomach, a vain attempt to quell the nerves fluttering in my belly. I’m already tense from the emotional upheaval of the last hour, so the thought of seeing Alec again has me dangerously close to throwing up.
I take several deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth, finishing just in time for Alec to walk into the living room, flanked by three broad-shouldered men I immediately recognize as his teammates. There’s something to be said about seeing four professional athletes in one very small living room, especially when they’re as handsome as this group.
Though, to be honest, it’s hard to peel my eyes off Alec to even notice the other guys.
He was handsome when I was a kid. And I’ve seen him online enough to know he’s still handsome. But seeing him in person is something else entirely. He isn’t quite as broad or as bulky as his teammates, but that’s hardly a fair comparison because two of the guys behind him have to be close to six-foot-five.
Alec still looks every inch the athlete, well-muscled and fit. His hair is longer than I remember, and he’s got a faint five o’clock shadow dusting his jawline.
I quickly stand, and his eyes move over me before catching and holding my gaze.
I bite my lip, wondering what he’s noticing. What he thinks of me.
Annnd then I think about the milk stains on my t-shirt and the baby barf on my shoulder.
Nothing like a little bodily fluid to ground me back in reality.
Alec Sheridan is not here for me to ogle him, and he definitely isn’t ogling me.
Stretch marks for miles, boobs that turn into milk-filled cantaloupes at least five times a day. I am so far from sexy right now, I’m not deluded enough to think I’m turning any heads.
That means if I’m going to get through the rest of this day with any dignity at all, I need to shelve any and all thoughts about Alec and his sexy man stubble in the very back of my mind.
Alec smiles, his lips lifting a little more on the left than the right, just like they always did. “Hey, nerd.”
His voice is a low and delicious rumble, sending a wave of goosebumps skittering across my skin. It’s not a wonder Juno loves it so much.
Then it registers that Alec just called me nerd.
It’s a nickname I earned my freshman year of high school when I took a history textbook to one of Alec’s hockey games. Hearing it now brings an unexpected sense of home to an afternoon that, so far, has pushed me completely out of my comfort zone. I’m a stranger to North Carolina, even to Ruth, as kind as she’s being. But I’m not a stranger to Alec.
I grin with relief, emotion making my eyes sting with moisture. I had no idea how much I needed to see a familiar face until he walked in.
I’m still so scared. Completely overwhelmed.
But for the first time today, I’m feeling a little more certain that things are going to be okay.