Chapter 16 Tacos and Tender Moments #2
“Sure you don’t,” Maggie replied. “Just…don’t overthink it, okay? Life’s too short.”
She left before Evelyn could respond, which was probably for the best.
The venue slowly emptied until it was just Evelyn, Alyssa, Bug, and a handful of staff breaking down tables and packing up decorations.
“We did it,” Alyssa said, coming to stand beside Evelyn. “We actually pulled it off.”
“You pulled it off,” Evelyn corrected. “I just tried not to get in your way.”
“You did more than that,” Alyssa said. “You showed up. You connected with your people. You let yourself be present. That’s huge, Evelyn.”
Evelyn looked around the warehouse, at the remnants of the party they’d created together. The fairy lights still twinkled, casting warm shadows across the brick walls. A few stray pieces of tinsel glittered on the floor. The air still smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon.
It had been perfect.
As they helped with the final cleanup, Evelyn felt something shift inside her. Something that had been locked tight since her mother’s death, slowly beginning to open.
Maybe Maggie was right. Maybe her mother would have been proud of tonight. Not just the party itself, but what it represented—Evelyn stepping out of her grief, reconnecting with her company, remembering how to lead with heart instead of just competence.
“What are you thinking about?” Alyssa asked, catching her expression.
“My mum,” Evelyn admitted. “And how she would have loved this. The chaos, the connection, the terrible puns on the menu cards.”
“Those were excellent puns,” Alyssa protested.
“They were terrible,” Evelyn countered, but she was smiling. “And she would have loved every single one.”
They stood together in the slowly darkening warehouse, Bug between them, and Evelyn felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time: contentment.
“Ready to head out?” Alyssa asked eventually, as the last of the venue staff finished packing up.
“Almost,” Evelyn said. She took one more look around the space, committing it to memory. The way the fairy lights reflected off the brick. The scattered chairs that would be collected in the morning. The faint impression of laughter still hanging in the air.
This was what her mother had meant about events telling stories. This space had held something important tonight—not just a party, but a moment of healing. For the company, yes, but also for Evelyn herself.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’m ready.”
They walked toward the exit, Bug trotting ahead of them with his bow tie slightly askew. Sienna was waiting by the door, doing a final check of the space.
“Successful night?” she asked, grinning at them.
“Very,” Evelyn confirmed.
“I could tell,” Sienna said. “The energy in here was incredible. Whatever you two are doing, keep doing it.”
Outside, the December air was crisp and cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the warehouse. Evelyn pulled her coat tighter, watching her breath form clouds in the night air.
“Need a lift?” Alyssa asked. “I’ve got Bug’s crate, but there’s room.”
Evelyn hesitated. The sensible thing would be to call a car, go home, decompress from the evening. But sensible felt overrated right now.
“That would be lovely,” she said.
They walked to Alyssa’s car in comfortable silence, Bug leading the way like he knew exactly where they were going. The streets of Shoreditch were still busy despite the late hour, people spilling out of pubs and restaurants, their laughter echoing off the buildings.
“Thank you,” she said again. “I know I keep saying it, but I mean it. Tonight was…it was important.”
“I know,” Alyssa replied. “I could see it. The way you started to relax as the night went on. The way you actually smiled when Tom showed you those ridiculous props.”
“Those antlers were objectively ridiculous,” Evelyn agreed.
“And you loved them,” Alyssa teased.
“I tolerated them,” Evelyn corrected, but she was smiling.
They lapsed into comfortable silence, Bug occasionally making small noises from the backseat.
The drive wasn’t long, but Evelyn found herself wishing it could last a bit longer.
There was something about this—the quiet intimacy of the car, the soft music, Alyssa’s profile illuminated by passing streetlights—that felt precious. Fleeting.
Too soon, they were pulling up outside Evelyn’s building.
“Home sweet home,” Alyssa announced.
Evelyn unbuckled her seatbelt but didn’t immediately move to get out. “Would you…do you want to come up? For tea or something?”
The invitation hung in the air between them, loaded with possibility.
Alyssa’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I should probably get Bug home. He’s had a long night.”
“Right,” Evelyn said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Of course.”
“But maybe another time?” Alyssa added quickly. “When we’re both not completely exhausted from pulling off a miracle party?”
“I’d like that,” Evelyn said softly.
She got out of the car, then bent down to look through the window. “Goodnight, Alyssa. Goodnight, Bug.”
Bug wagged his tail, and Alyssa smiled. “Goodnight, Evelyn. Sleep well.”
Evelyn watched them drive away, Bug’s face visible in the back window, and felt that strange mix of contentment and longing settle in her chest.
Tonight had been perfect. The party had exceeded every expectation, her employees had genuinely enjoyed themselves, and she’d managed to step out of her grief-induced shell long enough to actually be present.
But more than that, she’d spent the evening with Alyssa. Dancing, laughing, creating something beautiful together.
And somewhere in the midst of all that planning and chaos and last-minute problem-solving, Evelyn had fallen completely, irrevocably for her.
She stood on the pavement long after Alyssa’s car had disappeared around the corner, the December cold seeping through her coat, and smiled.
Her mother would have loved Alyssa. The thought came unbidden but felt right. Roslyn Crawford had always appreciated people who got things done, who cared deeply, who brought out the best in others.
Alyssa was all of those things and more.
Evelyn finally headed inside, riding the elevator up to her penthouse with a lightness she hadn’t felt in months. Maybe years.
As she got ready for bed, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and barely recognised the woman looking back. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the champagne and the dancing. She looked alive in a way she hadn’t in far too long.