Chapter 11 - Evie
EVIE
Three days later, I’m standing in Dawson’s kitchen wearing his T-shirt and a pair of mauve sweatpants that he bought me, flipping pancakes like I’ve been doing it my whole life.
The sun streams through the windows, and I’m smiling because for the first day since I can remember, I didn’t wake up even thinking about reaching for Charles.
I woke up reaching for Dawson.
And there he was, pulling me close, whispering sweet things into my ear as he slid his hand between my thighs and gave me the kind of good morning that no toy could ever reproduce.
I looked into his eyes and came apart while he covered my mouth with his rough palm to keep me from waking the neighbors.
I’m smiling at the memory when the front door nearly bursts off its hinges.
“Evie Morris, you had better be alive!”
Reese storms into the kitchen like a Navy Seal, only instead of guns in her hands, she has iced coffees. And murder in her eyes.
“I’m alive,” I reply, holding my spatula defensively. “And I’ve been meaning to call—”
“I’ve texted you forty-seven times! I’ve had about enough of this you-ignoring-me thing.” She sets the coffees down and puts a hand on her hips, scanning me from head to toe. “You’re wearing his clothes.”
“Well…the pants are mine.”
“Uh huh.” She looks around the kitchen. At the dishes I’ve organized, the fresh flowers I picked from the yard and placed on a vase on the counter. Her eyes bug out when she sees the grocery list I started on the fridge. “Evie, have you moved in with him!?”
“Um, not officially,” I reply, flipping a pancake, pretending it takes more concentration than it does. “I’m just…staying here. For a bit.”
“For a bit,” she repeats, pulling out a chair from the table. Her expression shifts from annoyance to something I can’t quite read. “So walk me through this. Because the last time I saw you, you were freshly deflowered. And now you’re Carol Brady.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. I know you don’t watch good old TV.” She takes a long, disgruntled sip of her coffee. “So spill.”
I do. I tell her about the morning after, about my minor anxiety spiral and how Dawson managed to calm me down. About how he brought me breakfast, my clothes on the dresser, and most importantly, the way he makes me feel safe.
I even tell her about the sex. We’re comfortable with each other like that. Not every detail, but enough. Then I tell her about how he asked me to move in with him and I said I’d think about it but then just never left.
Reese listens, and when I’m done, she’s quiet for a long moment. So long I start to fidget.
“What is it?” I ask, my stomach starting to knot.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Can I be honest with you?”
Those words never precede anything good, and I know that, but this is Reese we’re talking about. So I nod. “Okay.”
She leans forward, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks genuinely concerned. No teasing, no sarcasm. Just worry.
“Evie, I get what he’s done for you. He got you out of your apartment, broke through your walls, and that’s all amazing.
” She pauses. “But, babe…you went from using Charles six times a day to being completely wrapped up in this man in less than a week. You haven’t even mentioned a design project.
You’re wearing his clothes, cooking his meals, cleaning his house, and just waiting for him to come home. ”
I’m starting to get defensive. “So?”
“So…doesn’t that sound like going from one addiction to another?” She gestures at me, then in the direction of my apartment. “You were obsessed with a vibrator, now you’re obsessed with a man. It’s the same pattern.”
Her words hit me like a splash of ice water to the face. My hand tightens around the spatula as I stare at her. “That’s not what this is.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because the girl I know is a talented graphic designer who is ambitious about her career, has her own apartment, her own life. I wanted you to find a guy, Evie. Not lose yourself in one.”
I can feel myself starting to tremble. “I haven’t lost myself.”
“No?” she asks. “So when was the last time you opened your laptop?”
I open my mouth to reply but then close it. She’s got a point. “I can’t remember…”
“When was the last time you were anywhere that wasn’t here or his bedroom?”
More silence. Silence that hurts. I hadn’t even thought about it like this.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Evie,” she says softly. “I’m just trying to be your friend. I don’t want you to go from one cage to another. Even if this cage is much more comfortable.”
I want to argue. Tell her she’s completely off base and doesn’t understand what Dawson and I have. But honestly, some of what she says is true. Not all of it. She doesn’t know how incredible I feel when he touches me or how he quiets my anxiety.
But the part about me not working and not leaving the house? Yeah, I can’t argue with that.
“So…what are you saying?” I whisper. “That I should leave him?”
“God, no. I’m saying you should be his girlfriend. Not just his—” She waves her hand. “Whatever this kinky thing is you two have going on.”
I choke on a laugh as tears begin to form in my eyes. “It’s not—”
“It’s totally kinky.” She grins. “I can tell by the way you’re blushing. Look, I’m just trying to make sure Evie is still in there somewhere. My friend who obsesses about font spacing and color palettes.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, she’s still here.”
Reese comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Then maybe let her out of the house once in a while?”
I nod, sniffling. “I will.”
“And maybe—just maybe—finish that logo for the publishing company that was due two days ago?”
“Oh, shit.” My jaw drops. “Oh, shit.”
Reese laughs. “And there she is.”
Once she’s gone, I sit in the kitchen for a long time.
Have I really just swapped one obsession for another?
The thought pains me, and I feel my anxiety clawing its way back. My chest is tight, and I’m panting hard, on the verge of a full spiral when I hear Dawson’s truck pull into the driveway. He’s home early.
I’m relieved but also panicked. I don’t want him to see me this way.
He walks through the door, all smiles, but the second he sees me, his expression changes. His bold confidence shifts to concern, and he crosses the kitchen in three strides, cupping his hands around my face.
“What is it? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Reese was here,” I say softly, my voice weak. “She…said some things.”
“What things?” he replies, his voice rough.
Reluctantly, I go over it with him. As I’m talking, I glance up at him, watching his face carefully, waiting for anger. But to my surprise, he just listens. The same way he listened to my anxiety spiral the morning after.
He’s patient. Present. And gently strokes my cheeks with his thumb as I ramble on.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment, then he pulls a chair up and lifts me into his lap.
“She’s not wrong about everything.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. “Like what?”
“You haven’t been working or left the house. But that’s on me. I got so caught up in having you here that I didn’t think about what you were giving up to stay.” He squeezes my hands. “But she is wrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Charles kept you isolated emotionally. Locked inside yourself.” His eyes hold mine, steady and strong. “Have I done that?”
I think back.
He pushed me to dinner when I wanted to hide. He made me stop running. He sat next to me so I’d feel safe in public. He made me ask for a kiss instead of taking one. And he held me through my panic attack and didn’t make me feel broken.
“No.” I shake my head. “You did the opposite. You made me braver.”
“Then Charles and I are not the same thing. Not even close.” He brings his fingers to my lips. “But she’s right. You do need to keep being you. And I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
A tear falls from my eye and slides down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb.
“So here’s what will happen.” There it is again—that dominant edge that makes my pulse beat faster. “You’ll set your laptop up at the table and finish your project. And tomorrow, you’ll meet Reese for coffee at your old spot. But you will always be able to come back here because you want to.”
I nod as the anxiety washes away like a tide pulling back from the shore. He’s right. Reese is right. They’re both right about different things, and Dawson is big enough not to be threatened about anything I told him.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says.
“Yes?” I smile.
“Call Reese and thank her. Anyone who cares about you enough to tell you hard things is someone you want in your life.”
My heart swells so big I feel it might burst. I throw my arms around him and kiss him, pouring my soul into our embrace. The gratitude and relief and love that’s been building in my chest comes to a peak.
When I pull back, his eyes are soft and warm.
“I love you, Dawson,” I say.
The words come out with ease. No stammer. No trembling. No anxiety. Just truth.
His jaw tightens but not from anger. From the emotion I see he’s trying to contain. “Say it again.”
I giggle. “I love you.”
He pulls me close and buries his face in my neck. “I love you too, Evie. I’ve loved you ever since you ran from me at that party. And I’m never letting you go.”
Sobbing with delight, I whimper back, “I know. And I’ll never run from you again.”