Chapter 22 Heartfire #3
Not walking away, not disappearing into the trees like a normal person. Just gone, like he'd been absorbed into the mist and shadows, leaving nothing behind but the scent of something wild and wrong and the echo of words that made my chest tight with unease.
I stood there for a long moment, heart racing and hands shaking as I tried to process what had just happened. Because that hadn't been normal, had it? Normal people didn't appear out of nowhere, know things they shouldn't know, and then vanish like they'd never existed in the first place.
Normal people didn't make you feel like you'd just been marked by something hungry.
By the time I reached the market, I'd almost convinced myself that I'd imagined the whole encounter. Stress and the emotional adjustment of learning about the supernatural world—it would be perfectly reasonable for my brain to start conjuring mysterious strangers who knew more than they should.
Almost convinced.
But my hands were still shaking when I handed over money for Mom's herbs, and I kept glancing over my shoulder during the walk home, looking for figures that didn't belong and listening for voices that carried too many harmonics.
The encounter had shaken me more than I wanted to admit, but underneath the fear was something else. A nagging certainty that this wasn't over, that whoever that man was, I'd be seeing him again.
And next time, I had the feeling casual conversation wasn't going to be on the agenda.
The house smelled like garlic and rosemary and the particular brand of chaos that came from multiple people trying to cook in the same kitchen.
“There you are,” Mom called from the stove, where she was stirring something that made my mouth water. “I was starting to think you'd gotten lost.”
“Just took the scenic route,” I said, hanging my jacket on the hook by the door and trying to shake off the last echoes of unease.
That's when I saw him.
Evan stood at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were dusted with flour, carefully chopping onions.
The sight of him in my family's kitchen, looking perfectly at home among the chaos of dinner preparation, made something warm and complicated bloom in my chest. Because this was what I'd wanted without knowing I wanted it—Evan integrated into my life instead of existing in the careful compartments I'd learned to maintain.
“You finally made it back,” Evan said without looking up from his cutting board, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yeah, well, some of us don't have supernatural speed and endurance,” I shot back, moving to the sink to wash my hands. “We have to actually use our legs like normal people.”
“Normal is overrated,” Evan said, and when he looked up at me, his hazel eyes were bright with something that looked suspiciously like happiness.
Dad appeared from the living room, beer in hand and wearing a relaxed expression. He clapped Evan on the shoulder with the easy familiarity of someone who'd already decided he approved.
“Business picking up at the mill?” Dad asked, settling onto one of the kitchen stools with the careful movements of someone whose back had seen too many years of manual labor.
“Can't complain,” Evan said, rolling up his sleeves to reveal forearms that made my brain short-circuit in ways that probably weren't appropriate for family dinner preparation. “Been working more with the contractors lately. Turns out I don't completely suck at negotiations.”
“Language,” Mom chided automatically, but she was smiling as she said it.
“Sorry, Mrs. Harrington. I don't completely stink at negotiations.”
That earned him a laugh and a playful swat with her dish towel. “Better. And it's Anna, dear. How many times do I have to tell you?”
I watched the easy interaction between them, something warm and complicated settling in my chest. Because this was what I'd missed, wasn't it? Not just Evan, but this sense of belonging somewhere, of being part of something bigger than my own ambitions and failures.
“You were always better with people than you gave yourself credit for,” I said, nudging his shoulder as I reached around him for the flour. “You just needed to find your confidence.”
“Or maybe I needed to find people worth talking to,” he said quietly, and the weight in his voice made me look up from measuring ingredients.
The look he gave me was soft and warm and full of things we hadn't said out loud yet, and I felt heat creep up my neck as I realized my parents were watching our interaction.
“So, Nate,” Mom said, “how long has this been going on?”
“Mom.” I could feel my face burning. “Can we not?”
“I'm just saying, you look happier than you have since you got home. Both of you do.” She turned to Evan with the smile that had been charming people into confessing their life stories since before I was born. “And you, dear, you're welcome here anytime. I hope you know that.”
Evan's throat worked like he was trying to swallow around an emotion too big for words, and when he finally managed to speak, his voice was rough with gratitude.
“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. That means more than you know.”
“Anna,” Mom corrected. “And it's not charity, it's fact. Anyone who makes my boy smile like that has a permanent place at this table.”
I wanted to crawl under the kitchen counter and hide from the sheer mortification of having my mother basically announce that she approved of my maybe-boyfriend within earshot of said maybe-boyfriend.
But Evan just ducked his head and went back to chopping onions, the tips of his ears red in a way that suggested he was just as affected by the acceptance as I was.
The rest of dinner preparation passed in a blur of comfortable chaos, all four of us working around each other. I attempted to knead bread dough and failed spectacularly, earning patient instruction from Mom and good-natured teasing from Evan.
“City boy hands,” he said.
Instead, I grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at his face, grinning as white powder exploded across his cheek.
“Asshole,” I said with deep affection.
“Language,” Mom said automatically, but she was smiling as she watched us, and I caught her whispering something to Dad that made him chuckle.
By the time we sat down to eat, the dining room felt alive with the kind of warmth I'd forgotten was possible. Simple food—roasted chicken, fresh bread, vegetables from Mom's garden—but it tasted like celebration, like homecoming, like all the family dinners I'd missed during my years in Chicago.
“This is incredible,” Evan said after his second helping of everything, and the genuine appreciation in his voice made Mom beam with pride.
“It's nothing fancy,” she said, but I could tell she was pleased. “Just family recipes and love.”
“Best kind,” Evan said, and meant it.
As the evening wound down, I found myself studying the scene like I was trying to memorize it for later.
My parents, relaxed and happy in ways I hadn't seen since before the divorce scare that had driven us out of Hollow Pines the first time.
Evan, looking younger and more at ease than I'd ever seen him, fitting into my family like he'd always belonged there.
And me, caught in the middle of something that felt too good to be real and too important to risk losing.
When Mom hugged Evan goodbye—actually hugged him, which was Mom's ultimate seal of approval—I saw his face over her shoulder. The expression there was so raw, so hungry for the uncomplicated acceptance she was offering, that I had to look away before I did something embarrassing like cry.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her shoulder. “For including me.”
“Always, dear,” Mom said fiercely. “You're family now.”
Outside, the October air was sharp with the promise of winter, and I pulled my jacket tighter as we walked toward Evan's truck. But instead of heading toward the driver's side, he stopped and turned to face me, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Come with me,” he said, and there was something in his voice that made my pulse quicken.
“Where?”
“My place. I want to show you something.”