4. Evie
S peechless, I disentangle myself from Tristan Kelly’s careful grasp just as Daddy comes to the door.
“Evelyn …” His voice trails off as Tristan turns to look at him.
I gape at the soft, light brown curls that used to make my heart skip a beat. Tristan, with whom I was once obsessed, is standing on our doorstep, facing down my father. He’s wearing a fine white dress shirt tucked into tailored gray slacks, more than a suggestion of muscles shifting beneath the fabric as he moves. He’s so much bigger than he was the last time I saw him.
Face burning, I peek at Daddy over one of Tristan’s broad shoulders. Of course, he calmed down the moment he saw we had company. Berating one’s daughter is unbecoming of the genteel Southern gentleman my father pretends to be. “Tristan,” he says smoothly. Unfazed. “What a surprise.”
I don’t know why Tristan’s here, but now would be a good time for me to go. Unfortunately, I bump into a pot of petunias as I step back, and both men turn to look at me. Tristan’s eyes flicker over my face, concern etching a crease between his luminous, grass green eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I reply quietly, ignoring my father’s gaze. He’s still seething, but he’s doing a good job of hiding it because he’s a pro at superficial charm.
“We were just discussing Evelyn’s schedule for the week,” he says.
Tristan steps aside so his back is no longer to me. “Is that right?”
“It is,” I murmur, checking my watch without actually seeing anything. “But I should get going. Good to see you, Tristan.”
“Actually, you might want to stick around for what I have to say,” he says to me. “If you can spare a few minutes.”
Daddy’s lips curl into a phony smile. “I was on my way out the door myself, Tristan, so you’ll have to make an appointment with my secretary.”
“You know what? I do have a few minutes,” I blurt, curiosity underscoring the urge to defy my father. “He came all the way from Boston, Daddy, surely we can sit down real quick.”
Tristan grins, and it shoves my stupid heart into a gallop. He is even more handsome as a man than he was as a boy, and that’s saying something. “I appreciate that, Evie.”
“Well then.” With a frozen smile, Daddy leads us into the sitting room and opens the drapes. “What can I do for you, son?”
“I’ll get right to it.” Tristan sits, casually crossing his leg over his knee. “Have you come to a decision about our offer concerning the distillery, Mr. Doyle?”
My pulse skips as I glance between the two men. An offer? What kind of offer?
Daddy’s jaw ticks despite that corny smile. “You really do cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, out of respect for your time, as well as Evie’s.” Tristan cocks his head. “So, have you?”
Daddy lifts his hands in a what can you do? manner. “I’m afraid I have not.”
Tristan gives him a small smile. “I’ll give you another chance to consider it now, then.”
“Another chance?” My father bristles. “Tristan Kelly, I have known you since you were in diapers.”
“I know,” Tristan says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “It’s incredible how quickly time flies, isn’t it?”
“I will decide on the offer in my own time,” Daddy says.
“Time is a luxury you no longer have,” Tristan replies calmly. “My father has been more than patient with you over the years.”
My stomach flips unpleasantly. What on earth? I knew our finances were troubled, but it sounds like the Kellys are giving him an ultimatum.
Daddy’s eyes narrow. “I don't respond well to threats or pressure, son. You think you can intimidate me in my own home?”
Tristan clasps his hands and sits back. “I’m not threatening you. I’m apprising you of the situation.”
“You’re delusional if you think I’d hand over a century’s worth of blood, sweat, and tears on a silver platter,” Daddy says, his mask starting to crack. “This is my life. My family’s legacy!”
“With all due respect, you’re delusional if you think you can keep ignoring the very real debt you owe my family,” Tristan says. “And you don’t have to give up the distillery if you can get us the money. But you will pay up, one way or another.”
A beat passes.
“Do you have the money?” Tristan presses.
Daddy closes his eyes briefly. “No.”
Tristan gives a brief nod. “Then we’ll go with the alternative.”
“I’ll give Owen a call by the end of the week,” Daddy says brusquely.
“I’m handling this, so you can call me. I’m staying in town,” Tristan stands, extending a business card. “Look at it as an opportunity for you to salvage your finances and your pride. If you agree to this, all past debts will be forgiven.”
I pick nervously at my nails. Does he mean signing over the business? As refreshing as it is to see my normally formidable father cowed by someone half his age, I worry about what this means for us. For me.
Daddy ignores the card so Tristan hands it to me instead. “I’ll be in touch.”
The rest of the day goes by in a blur. This morning’s tense encounter between Tristan and my father is all I can think about—the revelation that our situation is way more dire than I ever imagined. What’s going to happen now? Are we going to lose the distillery that has made our family what it is in this town? Dammit, Daddy.
Also, try as I might, I just can’t reconcile the adorable boy with the sparkling eyes and the quick laugh with the quietly threatening man that put my father in his place this morning. I knew his family was wealthy and influential, but plenty of Daddy’s associates are like that. There’s a lot more to the Kellys if today’s power play is any indication.
After work, I go to Phoenix Rising for my usual class. And then, eager to exorcise the anxiety from my gut, I stay for open mat, sparring and rolling until I’m a sweaty mess.
Eddie watches me drain my water bottle as we linger in the parking lot later. “You good?”
“Yeah, why?” I unlock my truck and toss the empty bottle inside.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs out of his gi jacket. “You seem stressed.”
“Eh, just stuff with my dad. You know.”
“Mhm.” Eddie nods, sliding into his car. He’s known that my dad’s a dick since we went to my senior prom together. He took me as a friend, because Opal asked him to, but when Daddy saw us in that limo, he could barely hide his distaste.
He’d made comments over the years, so his racist bullshit wasn’t a surprise, but he’d always been cordial to Opal. Not Eddie, though. Guess having Black friends was one thing, dating Black men was another.
“What’d he do now?” Eddie asks.
I bite my lip, wondering how much I should indulge. “He’s in a lot of debt, and I think it’s catching up to him.”
“That’s too bad.” He shakes his head. “But you better start figuring out how you’re gonna separate yourself from that mess, Evie.”
On Saturday morning, I pick Opal up for our weekly jaunt to the farmer’s market. It’s a blue-sky-and-sunshine kind of day, blessedly free of work responsibilities as well as my father, who’s been holed up in his office since Tristan’s visit. No follow-up on my supposed training at the distillery this week, and I’m not complaining.
We wander the stands for hours, hitting up our usuals. Like her mama, Opal loves to cook, so she stocks up on fresh produce—okra, sweet corn, melons, berries, and zucchini. I have enough veggies growing at home, so I spend a small fortune on herbs and flower seeds, new plants, aromatherapy oils, and another book about medicinal tinctures. The vendor I buy tea from has locally sourced coffee today, so I buy a couple of bags. I treat Opal to lunch, she surprises me with flowers, and we leave around two, sun-kissed and content.
Later, Opal wiggles into a strappy slip dress the color of a sunset, the silk draped over her soft, round curves. “What you think?” she asks, her smug smile meeting mine in the bathroom mirror.
“That Eziah will freak out,” I say with a laugh, elbowing her out of the way so I can put on some mascara.
“Girl, please.” She scoffs, sweeping her blond box braids into an updo. “Who said anything about him?”
“Ha! We always see him when we go out, and you know it.”
“Yes, well.” She primps a moment more then spins and leaves, giving me some space. “You got any more of those gummies?”
“Why, you anxious?” I cap the mascara. “They might make you sleepy.”
“That’s what I want, for later,” she calls back. “I got my period yesterday, so I’ve been waking up with headaches.”
“In the jar by the TV. The little one.” Opal has dealt with migraines since we were in middle school. They get worse during certain times of the month or when she’s super stressed out. Her mother doesn’t like when she takes edibles or smokes to deal with the pain, but Opal hates the stuff her doctor prescribes, so I hook her up when I can. I use weed and its iterations sparingly myself, so I usually have it lying around. “You can take some home tomorrow.”
“Thanks, babylove.”
“Anytime, sweetcheeks.”
Hours later Opal follows me down a flight of stairs to our favorite bar, a below-street-level gem with speakeasy vibes and the best drink library in town. I celebrated my twenty-first birthday here, and then, a year later, scored a nice, fat account with management. Now Honey Hive carries several of Manning Distributors’ top-shelf liquors.
They also carry two of Daddy’s most exclusive small-batch whiskeys. I made that connection on my own and am especially proud of it .
The bar’s crowded by the time we arrive. There’s live music on the second Saturday of every month, and tonight the Hive has a popular local band that’s been getting a lot of radio play. Opal and I dance and drink a little, shouting over the music and hum of conversations, and when Eziah walks in with a couple of his friends, I give her a little shove, encouraging her to just do what I know she wants to do.
I’m playing darts with a couple of old friends when a hand snakes around my waist. Stiffening, I glance over my shoulder, verifying what that spicy cologne has already told me.
“Evie.” Cole Deschamps’ dark eyes are like soul-sucking twin black holes, the pupils indistinguishable from his dark brown irises. They’re always like that, whether he’s on a pill or sober.
“Cole,” I say briskly, brushing his hand away and putting a step between us. Narrowing my eyes at the board, I take aim and throw, missing the bull’s-eye by a fraction.
“Not bad,” purrs Cole, back on me as if compelled.
Opal, who’s sitting at a high-top nearby, rolls her eyes and whispers something to Eziah. Sighing loudly, I turn to face Cole. At 5’9”, I’m not tiny, but he towers above me, nonetheless. And that tall, wiry build is deceptively strong. I’ve seen him down guys with as little as one punch. “What’s up?”
“What d’you mean, ‘what’s up?’ I saw you over here and wanted to say hello.” He grins, his gaze dragging shamelessly down my body as he lifts a sweating glass to his mouth. DJ and Fabien, the usual suspects, are at his side with drinks of their own. “You’re lookin’ good … really good, Evie.”
“Thanks.” With a nod, I turn back to my game, accepting another dart from my friend Marcel.
But Cole just won’t go, his hot breath tickling my ear as he leans close. “What’re you getting into tonight?”
“Cole, come on,” I snap, cringing away. There was a time, when I was a na?ve high school girl coming out of her shell, that Cole’s cocky, sly handsomeness held a dangerous appeal. He was a Deschamps boy through and through with that deeply tanned olive skin and dirty blond hair, known for fighting, selling pills, and breaking hearts. We fooled around for a couple months, but it didn’t take long for me to come to my senses. He’s rotten inside, to the point of being hollow .
“Why are you so mad all the time?” he asks, amusement sugaring his words.
“Because you don’t respect what I want,” I say. “You don’t respect my space. You act like it’s all a big joke to you.”
“That’s not—" He breaks off abruptly. “Ey, yo, what the fuck?”
I whirl around, stumbling back when I find Tristan Kelly standing between us. When did he get here? Before I can say anything, an obnoxious laugh explodes from Cole. “Who this, Evie?”
“I just watched her shake you off three times,” Tristan says, as calm as he was yesterday when he put Daddy in his place. “I don’t think she’s interested.”
And, just like yesterday, he’s standing between me and a perceived threat. I touch his arm, not sure if I’m grateful for his chivalry or irritated by it. “It’s fine, Tristan.”
“It’s fine, Tristan,” Cole mocks, winking. Fabien titters, glancing at me before returning to his phone. “Me and Evie go way back.”
Tristan glances back at me, at my hand on his arm. “He bothering you?”
Across the room Lane, the bartender, looks up from the drink he’s mixing. He’s as mellow as they come, but he has no problem kicking people out for disturbing the peace. Even me.
“Yes, but ...” I give Mr. Chivalrous a sharp tug so that he’s at my side instead of in front of me. “I can handle it.”
“You sure can,” drawls Cole, giving me another lazy once-over. He’s doing it to challenge Tristan as much as he is to annoy me. Little does he know, it won’t do either.
“Go on, Cole,” I say firmly. “I’m sure there’s plenty for you to get into elsewhere.” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll listen this time. Cole Deschamps can be as unpredictable as a summer storm.
He shrugs, finishing his drink in a gulp and leaving the glass on Opal’s table. “Next time, then.” He nods to Eziah as he and his boys leave, pushing their way through the heavy crowd.
Tristan turns to look at me. “What was that all about?”
“What are you doing here?” I blurt at the same time.
A crooked grin curves his mouth. “I’m enjoying the local nightlife,” he says, lifting the beer in his hand. “Your turn.”
“Cole’s a nuisance. Ignore him.” I lean over, returning my unused dart to Marcel. I don’t feel like playing anymore. “Actually, he’s a menace so just avoid him altogether.”
“That bad, huh?”
“The worst.” In so many ways.
He frowns then looks up at me. “Is he a Deschamps, by chance?”
I nod, wondering how he’d know that. Opal struts over, her face bright with curiosity and a touch of mischief. “Tristan, this is my girl, Opal. Opal, meet Tristan. He’s an old friend.”
“How old?” she teases, giving Tristan the once-over.
“Pretty old,” he says. “Since we were little.”
“So, longer than me?” she asks, genuinely surprised.
Grinning, I slide my arm around her waist. “Technically, yes, but not closer than you.”
“That’s what I thought.” She offers her hand to Tristan. “Nice to meet you. You’re not from around here, are you?”
I press my lips together, amused. Opal knows damn well who Tristan is. We’ve been friends most of my life—she remembers how I nursed a crush on him back in the day. And she knows exactly why he’s here now because I told her all about it this morning at the farmer’s market.
He cocks his head, offering a cheeky smile. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
“Just …” Opal pinches her forefinger and thumb together. “A little bit.”