Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
EVERLY
Moving to Starlight Cove hadn’t been in my five-year plan.
Or my ten-year plan. Or my life plan, period, actually.
While I’d spent every summer break of my childhood here with my aunt—Starlight Cove’s own Dr. Doolittle—being her shadow as she cared for every animal within seventy-five miles, uprooting my entire life to a tiny dot on the map three thousand miles away from home hadn’t been on my radar.
But then she’d died two years ago—not unexpectedly, thanks to a CT scan that had showed cancer almost three years before she’d passed—and bequeathed me her home and attached vet clinic—completely unexpectedly, thanks to the fact that I technically wasn’t even a Bowman.
Aunt Shirley had been my dad’s only sibling and hadn’t had any children of her own, but still… I hadn’t expected this. None of us had.
Yes, I’d studied veterinary medicine, and it’d been my plan to become a vet since I was ten years old and had witnessed my first calf birth right here in Starlight Cove.
And yes, Aunt Shirley had taken me under her wing and shown me the ropes before I’d even realized this was what I wanted to do with my life.
But the fact of the matter was, I was a Bowman in name only.
Even though my younger brother had zero interest in caring for animals and preferred to spend his time with numbers, he was a Bowman by blood.
That I was adopted had never been a secret.
Neither had the fact that my infertile—or so they thought—parents had miraculously conceived my baby brother just a few months after adopting me.
I was their angel, and he was their miracle—that was what they always said.
They’d never once made me feel like an outsider, despite our differences as apparent as a billboard.
Being the only short, blue-eyed redhead in a family of people the tall, dark, and handsome moniker was based on led to a whole lot of mailman jokes that I hadn’t made heads or tails of when I was younger but had sunk in, nonetheless.
My family may not ever have tried to make me feel like an outsider, but I had that covered all on my own, and I’d spent my life overcompensating for the fact that I didn’t always feel like I belonged.
So now, despite that Starlight Cove hadn’t been in my plans, there’d been no way I’d turn my nose up at the gift my aunt could’ve given anyone else.
Plus, it’d been an adventure—a sometimes rocky adventure, but an adventure, regardless.
I loved meeting new people, making new friends, immersing myself in new surroundings.
And, okay, so Starlight Cove and I hadn’t quite settled into a rhythm yet. After two years, I still felt like an outsider most days—fine, every day—but it wasn’t all bad. I’d found one safe space in this new life.
I snuggled into the warmth of Beck’s side, one of my few comforts in this town, and stared blankly at the inflatable screen showing the first movie of the double feature.
As much as I tried, movies rarely held my focus—my brain was always going a million miles an hour, and nothing seemed to keep it from doing so.
Not meditation, not music, not brain exercises…
nada. Which meant I had to ask Beck every fifteen minutes what was going on. My grumbly bestie just loved that.
“Do we know who that guy is and why he’s there?” I whispered around a mouthful of Nanaimo bar as I pointed to the man in the corner of the screen.
Beck slid his eyes to me, the irritation plain on his face, even under the cloak of darkness. “They just explained who he is and why he’s there. Fuck, sunshine, you drive me crazy.”
“Can’t help it.”
“I think it’s more than that. I think you do it on purpose.”
“I do not.”
“No? Every week, it’s the same damn thing. What goes through that pretty head of yours while you’re supposed to be watching these movies?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much everything. My schedule for tomorrow, any animals who were sent home for post-op recovery, what food I have in my fridge, when I’m ever going to be able to go grocery shopping, the three unread text messages on my phone, how I can—”
“All right. Jesus. I get it. Does your brain ever turn off?”
“Never.” And I really meant never, but I wouldn’t mention to him that my nonstop brain interfered with sex, too.
Which was why it took my own diligence and favorite clit-sucking godsend of a toy to get me off.
Beck and I were close—hell, we even read spicy books together that talked about, in explicit detail, using said toy—but telling him how I masturbated felt like a step too far.
He blew out a frustrated breath, his mouth set in a flat line, and I hit him with the full force of what he called my Everly Voodoo. Big eyes, bright smile, and a hopeful expression he couldn’t say no to—or if he could, I hadn’t yet encountered such a situation.
“Why the hell do we even come to these?” he grumbled more to himself than to me.
“Because you love hanging out with me.”
He grunted in response, but I knew he enjoyed our time together as much as I did.
Beck was all tough exterior with a gooey marshmallow center—something he didn’t let anyone but me see—and even that was only because I looked really damn hard.
It may have taken months of persistence on my part, but I’d finally broken him down.
Hell, even his nickname for me had changed in that time.
Not literally—he’d called me sunshine since the first day I’d popped into the diner seeking caffeine after my morning run—but where it had once been laced with scorn and irritation, now it held an underlying fondness I knew he would deny to his dying breath.
“Fine,” he said with a sigh, and I grinned up at him. “That guy”—he pointed to the man in question—“is the bad guy, but he’s got everyone else fooled. And if you don’t shut up and watch, you’re going to miss the best part.”
I gasped. “You’ve already seen this?”
“Of course. Like I could handle watching a movie with you for the first time. I’d never hear anything over your incessant questions and comments.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad. It’d be great.”
“It’d be aneurysm-inducing.”
I laughed, clapping a hand over my mouth when a few people shot their gazes our way. I lowered my voice and leaned into him, my lips close to his ear. “You’re so sweet to me.”
He shifted in his seat, then with the hand draped over my shoulders, he tugged on my ponytail but otherwise didn’t say a word. But he didn’t have to. I snuggled into him, settling into the warmth of his side and breathing in the familiar scent that had come to feel like home.
It was exactly this companionship we had that had made my transition to Starlight Cove easy. Or easier, at least.
And I wouldn’t change it for the world.