14. Evie Wilder
Chapter fourteen
Evie Wilder
A creaking noise makes me cringe. It’s six in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take advantage of the porch swing I spotted yesterday. I don’t want to wake Maverick though, so I’m trying to be as quiet as possible walking down the stairs. Unfortunately for me, these are the creakiest stairs in existence. My sock-clad feet are silent, but if I put too much pressure on the wrong spot, it practically screams in protest.
Eventually, I finish my slow descent from the stairs and head toward the front door. The bottom floor of the house is dark, only the soft rays of early morning sun lighting my path. I carefully open the navy blue door and step out into the cool air. I drink in the fresh breeze as it tickles my skin and brushes back my hair. While I love the city, there is nothing like the air here.
I settle onto the porch swing, tucking one leg beneath me while using the other to push it. Beckham’s baby monitor is next to me, as is my phone and a historical romance book I picked up months ago but haven’t had the energy to read. I used to be an avid reader, and I went book shopping at least once a week until Ezra and I split up. After that, love stories seemed too painful to read, and I didn’t want to spend more money than I needed to.
During the packing process, I found some unread books and stuffed one into my suitcase. Maybe now that it’s been a few months I’ll be able to read about love without it feeling like the wounds of my past are opening back up.
I pick up the book and open it to the first page, ready to dive into the story of two enemies forced into a marriage of convenience. It doesn’t take long for me to become lost in the story. I’m smiling at the banter in the book when I hear the low rumble of an engine. I look up to find a pitch black motorcycle coming up the drive. Even if I didn’t know Maverick owned a motorcycle, I’d be able to recognize him simply by the way he fills out his worn Carhartt jacket. The matching black helmet he’s wearing obscures his face from view, but it doesn’t detract from the incredibly attractive look he has going right now. I can’t tear my gaze away. I’m spellbound and the only thing that breaks the haze is him disappearing into his garage.
The engine echoes through the garage for a moment before quieting down. My face feels too warm all of a sudden. Maverick walks back out of the garage and my stomach does a backflip in response to the sight of him. He’s replaced his helmet with a ball cap and his jacket is unzipped to reveal a dark green henley underneath. He gives me a warm smile as he walks up the steps, the kind that makes his brown eyes crinkle at the edges.
“Morning,” he greets me. “I didn’t expect to see you up so early.”
I check the time on my phone. It’s a few minutes past six thirty.
“I didn’t expect to see you either. I thought you were asleep.”
He walks over and I worry he’s going to sit right next to me, when he sets a brown paper bag down on the swing.
“I was working this morning. I get to the shop at three.”
“Three in the morning ?” I sputter in disbelief.
He chuckles as he sits down in a rocking chair nearby. “Someone has to bake everything before the shop opens at seven. It almost runs itself at this point, but I like to go in early a few days a week because I enjoy the quiet work.”
My eyes rove over his tall frame sprawled out before me. He looks more like he just got off the tractor than back from the bakery, but it suits him.
“What’s this?” I ask him, looking inside the bag to distract myself from just how good he looks right now. The sleep deprivation of the past few months must be kicking in, because these feelings are too much.
“I brought you a couple things from the shop. I have to go get groceries, but I figured that could hold you over for a little while.”
The smell of fresh bread and sugar fills my senses as I look through the bag. There’s a few different croissants, some kind of pastry that looks to have spinach and feta on top, and a sesame bagel with a plastic cup of cream cheese. The sight of the bagel makes my heart skip. He must have remembered that was my favorite from when he brought me breakfast in New York.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. The chair rocks slowly beneath him. He looks altogether unbothered and I wish I could be as at peace as he seems in this moment.
“How else would you have eaten?” he asks .
I shoot him a look, which of course he doesn’t see.
“I would have figured something out,” I say to him in a huff.
“You have no car, I know you wouldn’t drive my truck even if I offered it, and there are no places that deliver out here. Short of calling someone else to bring you something–which you would never do–you would have starved.”
I cross my arms over my chest, not liking how right he is.
“Thank you for reminding me how helpless I am right now,” I say.
He looks over at me, his brown eyes almost black beneath the brim of his hat.
“Just because you need a little help doesn’t make you helpless.”
I look down to avoid his piercing gaze.
“It’s too early in the morning to get into an argument.”
He surprises me with a laugh. “I didn’t know we were arguing.”
“It was headed that way,” I say defensively, though now I’m not so sure.
“If you say so.”
He tips his head back again, eyes closed. It’s rude of him to be so unflappable. He should be mad that I’m not showering him with gratitude for bringing me food. I bite my lip. Guilt washes over me as I realize I haven’t thanked him.
“Thank you for the food,” I mumble.
His deep chuckle sends warmth swirling through my stomach. “You’re welcome, Wilder. How about some coffee to go with it?”
“That sounds amazing,” I say truthfully.
My coffee machine won’t be here until tomorrow with the rest of my belongings, so I would have gone without it if he wouldn’t have offered. While I hate accepting the help…my need for caffeine surpasses my need for food. Which might not be healthy, but it’s the truth.
“Then let’s go inside and get some. Maybe a little caffeine will curb your attitude,” he says with a smirk as he stands.
I gape at him. “I do not have an attitude.”
“Mhmm.” He turns toward the door. I stop the swing with my foot and start to gather my things.
“That was not attitude. I’ll show you attitude if you keep teasing me,” I say as I follow after him. He opens the door for me to walk through first.
“Don’t tempt me, Wilder.” The low, silky tone of his voice makes goosebumps cover my skin.
I quickly walk past him and into the kitchen. The faster he makes the coffee, the faster I can run back up to my apartment and avoid whatever this is between us. I’m certain I’m imagining things. There’s no way Maverick is flirting with me . He must just be teasing me like usual, and my ridiculous, battered heart is interpreting it incorrectly.
Either he sensed that his teasing was too much, or I’m correct in thinking this doesn’t mean anything to him, because he changes the subject. “Do you want espresso or drip coffee?”
I lean against the countertop furthest from the machine he’s standing by. Beckham’s baby monitor sits on the counter next to me, and for once I wish he’d wake up earlier so I’d have an excuse to run away that didn’t look too obvious.
“Whatever you’re making for yourself,” I answer, my voice coming out too breathy for my liking.
I swear I see a flash of a smirk before he turns to the cabinet above his coffee machine. He’s got some fancy looking chrome machine that has way too many buttons for my taste. I would for sure break it if I ever tried to use it.
“I think drip coffee sounds good. And while it brews, I can give you a tour of the house.”
My hope for running away fades like a vintage photograph. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea.”
I wait in silence while he pulls down an electric coffee grinder and pours beans in it. After grinding the beans and filling the tank with water, he places a carafe down. Then a few more buttons are pressed before the machine whirs to life. Watching him make coffee shouldn’t be this mesmerizing, but it is. I’m going to blame it on my lack of said coffee.
“All right, that should take around ten minutes, which should be enough to show you the basics.”
I nod and follow him out of the kitchen.
“You’ve seen the living room, and now the kitchen,” he says with a sweep of his hand. “Down this hallway is my room, a guest room, and a guest bathroom.”
I think he’s going to keep walking toward the back of the house, but he turns right down the hallway, flicking the light switch. There are frames lining the wall, and when I look closer my breath catches. Hanging in a dark wood frame is a photo of Maverick and his mom on their back porch at sunset. It’s right when she started getting really sick. She’s leaning against his shoulder, his arm around her.
I remember that day vividly. If I close my eyes I’d smell the fresh cut grass and honeysuckle. Hear the sound of the Carter brothers laughing as they made their plates inside. I had been taking photos all day for my senior project. I wanted to capture the essence of family, and what better subject than the Carters ?
After getting a ton of photos of the brothers roughhousing and even sneaking a few of MJ painting in the garage, I’d come onto the porch to find the photo that ended up being my favorite one of the day. Elena had gone outside for a quiet moment after spending the afternoon cooking a huge meal–a favorite pastime of hers. Maverick had followed her out, letting his brothers argue over who won and who cheated during the last game of football. When I snuck out behind them, they said nothing. Just simply sat there watching the sky turn shades of orange and pink above the trees. I took the photo and sent it to Elena after editing it, along with the rest of my portfolio. Maverick must have found it in her memory boxes after she passed.
“That’s a good one,” Maverick says, his voice hoarse.
“It was a good day,” I whisper, trying not to cry.
“Thank you for taking it.”
I press my lips together tight, unable to do anything else but nod.
Maverick takes an audible breath. “Let’s keep going. It’s too early in the morning to cry.”
I let out a soft laugh, wiping a stray tear from under my eye. “Lead the way.”