Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
SHEPHERD
What the hell was he doing?
Shepherd shifted uncomfortably as Evie settled a blanket over his knee and switched on the TV. This was all far too domestic.
“What would you like to watch?” she asked, taking him by surprise. His ex-wife, Elizabeth, would have just decided for him.
“Umm… whatever you like,” he responded by default. There was no point getting into an argument over it; that shit was too tiring. Why the heck had he agreed to stay? This was a mistake.
All of it.
He should have minded his own business.
But Shepherd had seen red when he’d spotted asshole Adrian dragging away his son while the kid was standing in line, waiting to see Santa with his grandparents. He knew how that shit felt.
And when the guy had tried to push Evie over, well…
Shepherd gritted his teeth, trying to quell the surge of anger that rose up at the memory. That asshole didn't deserve Evie or their kid. But it wasn't his place to interfere. He had no right to judge someone else's family situation. Especially not when his own was a complete clusterfuck.
Evie settled onto the couch beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint sugary scent of her shampoo, or perfume, or whatever the hell it was that made her smell like Christmas. His body tensed involuntarily at her proximity. This was dangerous territory.
"How about a Christmas movie?" she suggested, scrolling through options on the screen. "Something lighthearted? Or is that too cliche for you?"
Shepherd grunted noncommittally. Why was she asking? Did she really want a response? Liz used to trap him this way. Ask a question, then argue with his answer. Draw him into it deliberately when he wanted to be Switzerland.
Besides, he didn't give a damn what they watched. He shouldn't even be here. What had possessed him to stay? He should have dropped off the food and left.
But the memory of Evie's lost expression, the defeated slump of her shoulders, had tugged at something deep inside him.
Something he thought he ‘d turned his back on long ago, and he couldn't bring himself to leave her alone like that. Stewing in her own misery. That’s what had turned him into such a grumpy bastard… yeah, he knew what people said.
So here he was, sharing a blanket on her parents’ couch, like some teenage suitor, pretending this was normal. As if he made a habit of cozying up to pretty single moms to watch Christmas movies.
Christ, he was an idiot.
“Oh, actually, I know the perfect Christmas movie for you,” she exclaimed, and Shepherd cringed internally, waiting for the awful Hallmark schmaltz to start.
The movie rolled, a Boeing 747 touching down on an ambient, sun-kissed background, before Bruce Willis’ face filled the screen.
“What the heck is this?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Stupid. Now she’d start berating him for having an opinion.
“Die Hard,” she replied, her laugh tinkling through the small space. “Best Christmas movie ever.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Shepherd thought he might even have endured The Muppets Christmas Carol if it put the life back in her expression like that.
“Christmas Eve, lots of stuff blowing up. What’s not to love?”
Shepherd couldn’t help it. He laughed; the sound almost startled out of him. Evie’s eyes widened, and she looked nonplussed. Yeah, he didn’t laugh often - or at all.
In fact, Shepherd couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that. The sound felt foreign in his throat, so he cleared it roughly, trying to cover his discomfort.
"Guess you're full of surprises," he muttered, fixing his gaze on the screen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evie smile.
The sight made something twist in his chest. He shifted on the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were sitting.
How the blanket felt too warm across his legs, but he was damn well keeping it there because right now it was hiding his unexpected hard-on.
As the opening scenes played out, Shepherd found himself relaxing despite himself. The familiar dialogue and action washed over him. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this movie.
"You want a beer?" Evie asked during a lull in the action.
Shepherd hesitated. He shouldn't. He needed to leave soon… and do what? Go home to his empty apartment above the coffee shop.
"Sure," he heard himself say, like his mouth had a mind of its own.
Evie returned with two bottles, condensation beading on the glass. Their fingers brushed as she handed one to him. Shepherd jerked back, nearly spilling his drink.
"Sorry," Evie apologized. "Butterfingers.”
Shepherd grunted, taking a long pull from the bottle to cover his discomfort. They both knew it had been him, even though Evie was graceful enough to cover for him.
The cold beer slid down his throat, a welcome distraction from the warmth of Evie's presence beside him. He focused intently on the screen, watching John McClane navigate the Nakatomi Plaza party.
As the evening progressed, Shepherd found he genuinely enjoyed himself.
This was no longer a half-hearted, half-obligated, and a lot awkward attempt at…
whatever. Evie's quiet laughter and occasional commentary were.
.. nice. Different from watching alone in his spartan apartment.
Different from the minefield his ex-wife had made of everything.
He caught himself smiling at her enthusiasm during the action scenes.
When Hans Gruber made his dramatic entrance, Evie leaned forward, eyes bright. "God, Alan Rickman was amazing in this," she said. "Such a great villain."
Shepherd nodded in agreement before he could stop himself. Damn it. He wasn't here to make friends or swap movie opinions. This was a one-time thing, born of pity and his own misplaced sense of duty. He had no business getting comfortable.
And yet as the night wound down and the credits finally rolled, Shepherd realized, despite his earlier misgivings about being here, he was actually reluctant to end their time together.
Evie was nothing like Liz. She hadn’t tried to pick a fight.
She hadn’t belittled his opinions, not on a single damn thing they’d talked about during the evening.
Not even when she hadn’t fully agreed. She hadn’t made him feel like he needed to walk on eggshells and second-guess every word out of his mouth.
There’s still time. She’s just drawing you into her web.
And that really wasn’t fair. Evie wasn’t Elizabeth. She hadn’t manipulated him to get him here; he’d shown up of his own accord. He needed to stop letting his ex-wife's ghost haunt every woman who smiled at him.
Just the thought gave Shepherd the sudden urge to bolt. The credits rolling on the screen signaled an end to this strange interlude, breaking the spell that had wound around them. He set down his empty beer bottle and stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the end table.
What a klutz!
Jeez, she was probably rolling her eyes behind his back.
"I should go," he muttered, avoiding Evie's gaze, his skin prickling with an unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with either the beer, the blanket, or the crackling open fire.
"Oh," Evie said, her voice small. "Right, of course. It's late."
Shepherd's chest tightened at the disappointment in her tone. He gritted his teeth, tamping down the ridiculous urge to sit back down, to stay longer in this cozy bubble they'd created.
He strode to the door, Evie trailing behind him. As he reached for the knob, her hand brushed his arm.
"Shepherd," she said softly. "Thank you. For the food, and... everything."
He turned, meeting her soft sable eyes before he could stop himself. The gratitude there made his throat constrict. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
For a half-second, he didn't even register what he was doing.
It was as if some part of him, long dormant and unreachable, had seized the controls and bypassed all higher thought.
There was no elaborate internal debate, no weighing of potential fallout or emotional hazard—just the sudden, silent certainty that if he didn't kiss her, right then and there, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.
He expected resistance. Hell, he almost wanted her to laugh or recoil, confirming that his instincts were as unreliable as ever and that he'd just committed a galaxy-class blunder.
Instead, he was met by a single, stuttering inhalation from Evie, a soft gasp of surprise that feathered against his chin and made him realize she hadn't seen it coming, either.
Shepherd braced himself, already mentally drafting an apology.
But Evie didn't flinch or pull away; her lips parted, barely, and the scent of sweet honey and beer mingled in the air between them.
For the briefest of moments, she hovered at that impossible precipice—an infinite pause filled with the possibility of rejection, or of liberation, or of something that was neither but entirely new.
And then she kissed him back.
It wasn't tentative, not really. It was careful at first, as if neither of them could believe the other wasn't about to vanish or change their mind.
But then Evie settled into it, her hand finding his shoulder for balance, her thumb brushing the line of his jaw with a touch so light he almost thought he'd imagined it.
Shepherd's fingers, clumsy and unsure, found the small of her back and pulled her closer, drawn by a gravity he'd spent his whole life denying.
The kiss deepened, and with it came a wash of sensation—heat, longing, and the sharp, dangerous thrill of being wanted.
Shepherd had forgotten what it was like to be wanted.
The realization nearly undid him. The world narrowed until it was just the two of them, the air charged with the risk and sweetness of this impossible, inevitable collision.
But, in the space of a heartbeat, Shepherd froze, stunned by his own impulsive action as reality thundered back over him like a tidal wave.
He jerked away, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
What the hell had he just done? Panic clawed at his throat as he stared at Evie's wide-eyed expression, her lips still parted in surprise.
"I... I'm sorry," he choked out, fumbling for the doorknob behind him. "I shouldn't have... This was a mistake."
Before Evie could respond, Shepherd yanked the door open and stumbled out into the frigid night air. He gulped in deep lungful’s, trying to clear his head of her intoxicating scent. His skin burned where she had touched him, while the ghost of her kiss lingered on his lips.
Cursing under his breath, Shepherd strode quickly down the snow-dusted sidewalk.
What in the name of Christmas had he just done?
He'd let his guard down, allowed loneliness and longing to mess with his good sense.
His lips still tingled, her touch haunting his skin. What the hell had he been thinking?
The answer was easy - he hadn’t been.
He jammed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the biting wind. The streets were deserted at this late hour, leaving him alone with the cacophony of his thoughts.
Stupid. Reckless. Impulsive. The words pounded through his head with each crunching step. He'd relaxed his defenses, allowed himself to get comfortable. And look where it had gotten him - fleeing into the night like a coward.
The familiar storefront of his coffee shop loomed ahead. Shepherd fumbled with cold-numbed fingers to unlock the door, desperate for the sanctuary of his apartment upstairs. As he climbed the steps, exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket.
He shed his coat, kicking off his boots haphazardly.
The spartan apartment felt emptier than ever after the warmth of Evie's friendly home.
Shepherd sank onto his bed, running a hand over his face.
He knew better than this, though. He knew where soft whispers and stolen kisses led, and none of it was good.
But he learned from his mistakes.
It wouldn’t happen again.