Chapter Thirty-One Scarlett / Evan
SCARLETT
I get to Evan’s house just as he’s turning off his car and opening his door.
I shut off my engine, making my way into the cold to catch up to him.
He spins around when he sees me hot on his heels as he walks up the steps to his front door.
He’s wearing a tight-fitting shirt and sweatpants, his hair a damp, sweaty mess.
He looks so perfect that I just want to mess him up a little.
He grins, tilting his head to the side. “Did you race me here?”
“No,” I say, trying to make sure my breathing doesn’t sound as erratic as it feels. “Maybe.”
“And you still lost.”
I blow a raspberry. “Not everything is a competition.”
“Uh huh,” he murmurs, wrapping a hand around my waist and spinning me around so my back is against the door. His lips descend on mine, and I feel like I’m home again. Soft, wet lips move against mine in a practiced rhythm and I sigh against his lips when he pulls apart. “Missed you.”
I turn my face, so he kisses my cheek instead. “It’s been two days.”
“Still.” He kisses my nose and a tiny part of me melts inside.
I push him off me, fighting the blush that I know has spread across my cheeks. “You’re such a dork.”
“You love it.”
He finally twists the key into the lock on the door, and I follow him upstairs into his bedroom.
Like always, it’s spotless, not a single thing out of place.
I always feel silly coming here, like I carry my clutter everywhere I go, but Evan has assured me that he doesn’t mind it.
I’m lucky if I remember to make my bed in the morning.
I stand by the edge of his bed, watching him carefully as he peels off his shirt. I swallow, taking in miles and miles of smooth, golden skin, my favorite eight-pack staring at me. “Are you ready to talk?” I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse.
“Can I shower first?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck. I nod, not trusting anything appropriate to come out my mouth.
He grabs some fresh clothes from his dresser, and when he leaves I return to my favorite activity in Evan’s bedroom.
I don’t think it really counts as snooping since he’s told me multiple times that I’m welcome to have a look at things in his room.
But maybe it feels like that because he’s not in here right now.
There’s a picture of him and his dad when Evan was a toddler, red sauce smeared all around his pink cheeks as his dad poses next to him with similar food stains.
It’s so adorable it makes my chest ache.
There’s an entire shelf filled will medals and certificates from when he used to run track.
A random sheet of paper sits on his desk where he’s written his name a million times.
His handwriting is so neat and careful that it looks like he’s printed it out.
I continue running my finger over the words when I feel him step behind me. His breath is warm and comforting on my neck, the fresh smell of his vanilla soap soft against my skin. “Have you been snooping?”
“Potentially,” I whisper. He drops his chin to my shoulder, and I look up at the medals on his shelf. “You really downplayed how good you were at track.”
“Hm. I guess.”
I fold my arms against my chest, annoyed at how chill he’s being about this. “You were the fastest runner in the region when you were sixteen.”
“I told you I enjoyed it.”
“So humble.”
He hums against my neck before pressing a kiss there and I sigh into his touch.
His hands snake around my waist before he twists me, and I lean against his desk.
How has he gotten that much more beautiful in the last twenty minutes?
His green eyes shine in the dim lighting of his room, a droplet of water sits on his upper lip, and he sticks his tongue out to lick it.
“Soooo,” I say, dragging out the word to buy more time to collect myself.
“So . . .”
I roll my eyes. “Do you want to put a shirt on, maybe? How am I supposed to have a conversation with you when you look like this?” I gesture to the sweatpants that hang low on his hips and all of . . . him that’s in front of me.
“Are you distracted, Scarlett?” he teases.
“Yes, Evan, I’m distracted by your chest and your six-pack and your hair and your—”
“It’s more of an eight-pack, but sure.”
I scowl at him, poking him in the stomach. “Not so humble now, huh?” He laughs, fetching a shirt from the drawer beside me. I watch it stretch over his skin, covering him up inch by inch. He sits on the edge of his bed, and I stay a safe distance away from him. “So, what’s been going on?”
Hearing that he told his dad he doesn’t want to work for B&Co after college was a shock.
Evan has been going on about how he’s going to inherit the business since I met him.
It’s not like him to change his mind so quickly about something.
And he went to Miles first about this. That’s insane in itself.
He sighs deeply, looking at the ground, before his eyes meet mine again.
“Watching you figure your stuff out with your parents on your own just reminded me how sad it would be for me to keep working a job I don’t even like just to make my dad happy.
” He taps his knee three times, and I track the movement.
“I don’t want to feel like I exist to please him or keep him happy.
I want to do something on my own. I want to keep discovering things I like and accepting change instead of being so afraid of it. ”
I nod in understanding. “I think that would be good for you.”
“You think?”
“As long as you know it’s not going to be easy,” I say, and he nods. “You thrive on control and structure, Evan. This is a big decision.”
“I know,” he says, swallowing. “I think the SEI will prepare me for that.”
“I think so too.” I can’t help it. I squeal in excitement, stepping between his legs and holding on to his shoulders. “Look at us, branching out and doing things on our own.”
“Well, not completely alone,” he whispers. “We’ll be doing it together.”
“Corny, but true,” I admit, hiding the amount of excitement that bubbles up in me at those words.
I want to see where working together on more things will lead us, instead of trying to work against each other.
We’ve worked well together so far and I think it can only get better from here. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
He nods, pressing a kiss to my stomach. “I’ll make dinner.”
Even though I know some distant part of me wants to be scared of the domestic nature of all of this, a much bigger part of me wants to embrace it.
I want nights like this with him. I want open conversations and encouraging each other to chase our dreams. I want to watch movies that scare him and hold his hand during all the jump scares.
I want him to keep trying out new recipes and asking for my feedback. I want all of this.
“Don’t pick a horror film, please,” Evan says, leaning back into the couch after grabbing a handful of popcorn from his bowl. I’d offered to share my mixed one with him, but he’s one of those psychos that only eat salty popcorn.
“How about we compromise and watch a thriller?” I ask, choosing a streaming service to look for a movie.
“Thriller adjacent.”
“Thriller with no gore.”
I watch him carefully, and a smile tugs up on his lips. “How about a romcom?”
“I love romcoms with the girls, but that’s only because they would never sit through a horror film with me,” I mutter. I flick through the selection of films and find something that’s rated 15, so it can’t be that scary.
“No,” Evan says immediately when the trailer plays.
“This is me compromising, Branson. Take it or leave it.” I flick to another one, this time it’s rated 18 and is based on a true story. My eyes light up with glee and I turn to him slowly, painting on a creepy smile.
He grabs the remote from me, changing it back. “Okay, okay. I’ll take it. Go back to the other one.”
I grin, snuggling deeper into his side as we press play.
EVAN
Scarlett has a habit of making me feel calm.
I don’t know how she does it since she’s spent most of our lives terrorizing me, but it works.
Maybe it’s the sweet but teasing things she says to me when we’re hanging out.
Or the way she calls me ‘Ev,’ not having any idea how it makes me feel inside.
Or the way she traces her finger against the lines on my palm when my hands are shaking.
Maybe it’s the look she’s giving me now, well past three in the morning as we sit up in bed and talk. We’ve not been talking about anything important. Just drowsy ramblings that have become my favorite part of sleeping together.
I let her stare at me until she takes my head between her hands like I’m something delicate and presses a kiss to my forehead. I sigh into her touch before she tilts my head back up and catches my lips with hers.
Everything about the way Scarlett kisses me is unreal. It feels like she’s breathing life into me whenever we kiss. Like I didn’t fully exist before her. Everything about this kiss is tame and smooth and perfect.
We slide back down under the covers, and when I think she’s going to turn to go back to sleep, she props her forearms on my chest, dropping her chin to her hands, staring at me.
“Hi,” I whisper, and she breaks out into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“Hi.” She kisses my forehead again, longer this time, before retreating. “You’re perfect, you know that? Everything you say. Everything you do . . .” She leans back to look at me, resting her chin on my chest again. “You are sunlight, Evan.”
I grin despite the way my heart glows in my chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re in love with me.”
“You don’t know any better,” she mutters, but she doesn’t take her eyes off mine when she adds, “And I am in love with you, Evan. Like, so much that it makes me sick.”
I laugh quietly. “Mm. Poetic.” She blows a raspberry at me and drops her head to my chest, pressing her face right above my heart. I kiss her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face, and whisper, “I love you too, Scarlett.”
“Yeah?”
“So much that you can’t even imagine.”
“Say it again,” she whispers into my shirt, clutching at me like I might slip away from under her. “Please.”
“I love you,” I whisper, kissing her hair again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I can feel her heart beating hard against my chest. I run my finger along her spine, going down and then back up as she settles into me. She sniffles into my shirt, her voice shaking when she asks, “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I say. “I’ve loved you for years, Scarlett.”
“How?” she asks, her voice soft and quiet.
“How do I love you?”
“Yeah.” She nods, and she pushes off my chest to look down at me. She shuffles, dropping her legs on both sides of me, holding on to my face like she needs to know that I’m being serious. She swipes at her eyes before she says, “I mean . . . It’s not hard, is it? You don’t find it difficult?”
I swallow. “The way I love you is the furthest thing from difficult. It feels like breathing.”
She sniffles. “Because it’s easy?”
“Because I can’t live without you.”
The dam breaks, and her entire face crumbles as she cries, dropping her face into the crook of my neck.
She clings to me like she’s never been held before, her nails pressed into my skin like she’s afraid I might disappear.
I hold her impossibly closer to me in hopes that I can tether her to me forever.
I whisper “I love you” over and over again until she stops crying.
I keep saying it until she’s asleep. Long after she’s drifted off, I find myself still saying it into the night, as if the three words can work their way into her dreams so she’ll know that I’ll always love her.
I always have.