Chapter 16
Brandon
Iglance in the mirror by my front door and straighten my tie, my heart hammering hard enough to make my palms sweat.
While I was getting ready this morning, I couldn’t stop myself from putting on the cologne I know Evie likes, or from choosing my best cufflinks and silliest tie.
I’m basically puffing my chest and fluffing my feathers like a stupid bird. Notice me. Pick me. Love me.
A few minutes later, I shoot Evie a text, letting her know I’m waiting for her in Maggie’s driveway. But only seconds after hitting send, my conscience roars at me to get out of the car and meet her at the door like a gentleman.
I do as my conscience bids.
As I lift my hand to knock, the door swings open.
I have to do a double take when I see her.
Stunning . . . Evie’s forgone the dark rings of eyeliner she usually wears, giving me an unfettered glimpse of her wide, expressive amber eyes.
She’s left her typically blood-red lips bare today, too, and her wavy, wild hair has been tamed by a straightener so that it hangs neatly down her back like a pressed silky curtain.
She huffs at me as she slides her coat on. “Stop looking at me like that!”
Was my mouth hanging open? I smooth a hand across my jaw self-consciously, just to be sure. No . . .
“I know I’m running late, okay?” she prattles on. “I just didn’t know what to wear. I’m so used to just throwing on a pair of scrubs.”
My eyes slide down her body without my permission.
She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater dress that hugs every soft, delicate curve.
Beneath the dress, she’s wearing a pair of sheer lacy tights.
I shiver involuntarily, but it’s not from the chill that’s creeping into my coat.
Regardless of the time of year, she wears tights, and this pair happens to be one of my favorites.
They have little vines that climb up her legs like she’s a human trellis.
Unaware of my blatant perusal, she pivots, then bends to retrieve something in the entryway. I’m quick to avert my eyes. When she straightens and turns around, she thrusts a stack of plastic food containers into my hands.
I catch them clumsily.
“Let’s go!” she bellows, ushering me backwards.
She turns to lock the deadbolt, then waves for me to get a move on.
I back up, feeling like a dimwit as she brushes past me.
I follow her down the steps. “Seriously?” she throws over her shoulder.
“If you don’t hurry up, we won’t have time to drop these off at Bert’s. ”
“You made food for Bert?” I ask as we climb into the car. She nods, and I shake my head disapprovingly as she buckles her seatbelt.
She takes care of everyone but herself.
Evie reaches over and collects the stack of containers from me, balancing them on her lap as I reverse out of the driveway.
I wonder how many hours it took her to make these meals, and where the money for the ingredients came from.
Is Bert going to compensate her for her time and effort?
Probably not. I’m tempted to feel annoyed on her behalf, but a still, small voice reminds me that it doesn’t matter.
Evie’s doing more to care for the needs of those around her than I am, and I’m the one who has the love of Christ in my heart.
Plus, she took care of me in a similar way after Teddy was born.
How could I fault her for this? This is what makes Evie Evie.
Evie takes her sweet time dropping the meals off at Bert’s place. I repeatedly check my watch while I wait, anxious we won’t have time to grab a coffee from Bill’s.
When she rejoins me, she falls back against the seat with a cute huff. “Sorry about that. Bert was a chatterbox this morning. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, so—”
“It’s fine,” I say briskly, fiddling with the heat to distract myself from how nervous I’m feeling. After a minute of loaded silence, wherein I’m death gripping the steering wheel and refusing to allow my eyes to stray from the road, Evie breaks the ice.
“You’re acting weird.”
My heart jumps. “Am I?”
“This is weird,” she adds, still gazing at my profile.
My hands tighten around the wheel. “Is it?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, shifting in her seat. “We both know this is weird. So can we just . . . make a pact to try and act as professional with each other as possible for however long I’m indentured to you?”
That makes me smile. I chance a peek at her. There’s a slight, iridescent glow to her warm skin, like she’s the sun itself. “Indentured to me?” Sometimes, I wonder where she gets these silly phrases from.
“Yeah. You know. Like for as long as I have to be your little bit—”
“Evie,” I warn, stifling a laugh as I return my attention to the road. “Yes. Consider it a pact. And watch the potty mouth.”
She snickers. “Potty mouth.” She falls back against the seat, then winces, and I wonder how her back is doing. On Sunday, she was practically hobbling around the church, but I didn’t dare mention it. “You sound old.”
“I feel old,” I admit, my cheeks warming. I’m pushing forty these days.
I can sense her grin.
“What?” I ask after a moment, knowing something’s on her mind.
“Nothing,” she mutters, glancing out the window with a secretive smirk on her face.
“What?” I repeat self-consciously. “You can say it.” I don’t think I’m graying. Haven’t noticed any wrinkles. I’m definitely a little softer around the middle, though.
She snickers and chews on her thumbnail. “It was nothing. Honest.”
“Evie.”
“Fine,” she laughs. “I was just going to make a joke, that’s all.”
“Go on and make it then.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I see now that I was just your midlife crisis.”
I hit the brakes a little too hard at a stop sign. I flash her a look of warning, but she only laughs, and her laugh makes me laugh, too—albeit a little reluctantly. Our history is no laughing matter. To be honest, I’m surprised she even brought it up.
Maybe getting her to open up to me again will be easier than I had anticipated.
As we’re walking into the office, Evie’s eyes almost bulge out of her head. She licks a drop of froth from her top lip and turns the coffee cup around to examine it before shooting me an incredulous look. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
She lifts her cup. “You got the coffee-to-milk ratio absolutely perfect. How did you do it?”
I gaze at her for a beat too long as grief ripples through my chest. Did she think I would forget something as specific as how she likes her coffee?
I know more about her than I would ever care to admit—from how she takes her coffee to what her favorite color is.
I know she collects stuffed animals and sleeps with Frederick the Bear every night.
I know she wants to backpack across Europe.
I know she has a hard time regulating her emotions, and she holds grudges like it’s her full-time job.
I know her deepest hurt is that her mother left her without saying goodbye.
And I know she loves kitsch stationery and that she’s written about me in her diary . . .
Speaking of which, that diary is still sitting in my center console. I make a mental note to move it later today, after work.
I shrug. “I’m observant like that.”
I can’t tell if she’s flushed from the chill or my comment, but her cheeks are pinker than usual as she removes her coat.
I’m careful to keep my eyes where they belong when she drops her bag onto the floor and bends down.
I watch, curious about what she’s doing.
She pulls out a pair of bland-looking nude pumps, then proceeds to toe her boots off and slide her feet into the high heels.
A laugh bursts from me when she pirouettes, palms up, asking what I think. “Evie,” I laugh. “You can wear your boots. I don’t mind.”
“Really?” Her face lights up. “I didn’t think they were office appropriate.”
I smile sadly. “You know you can always be yourself with me.”
The pink in her cheeks turns blood red. It’s adorable.
After she puts her boots back on, I give her another brief tour of the office, ensuring she knows where everything is before we circle back to the waiting area. “Dana works from home most of the time. So it’ll just be me, you, and Gladys around the office most days.”
Evie drops into the swivel chair behind the desk and salutes me. “Got it.” Her attention diverts to the chair. “This is so nice,” she comments, rubbing her hands up and down the leather armrests. “Is this the one that was here last week? It can’t be.”
No, it’s not. I went out and bought the best chair money could buy on such short notice. For her back. Reaching across her, I turn her computer on. “It’s new.”
“Oh. Nice.” She swipes her hair off the back of her neck and swings it around her shoulder. As she does, her lilac-scented perfume envelops me, eliciting the strangest feeling in my chest. It feels weirdly like . . . loss. And sorrow.
It’s homesickness.
I clear the lump that’s risen in my throat. “You can learn about our patient management system later. I’ll just show you where all the programs are for now.” I walk her through the desktop icons and show her how to access her email account. “Gladys and I will communicate with you by phone mostly.”
“Got it,” she says, taking notes in a polka-dotted notebook with one of her frilly pens.
“Do you have any questions?” I ask, curious about what she’s thinking and feeling. She’s taken everything in stride. I knew she would, but I’m surprised she’s being so . . . compliant. And . . . sweet.
Where’s the evidence gone of her burning hatred for me? I almost miss it.
“I do. I’m keeping track of them in my notebook so you can address them all at once.”
My brows rise. “Oh.” Efficient. I like that. I peek over her shoulder. “Let’s have them, then.”
She bites the end of her pen and covers the page. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
The subtle way her brows furrow softens my heart. She’s nervous. This must be hard for her—reporting to me. But I’m determined to make this situation as comfortable as possible for her.
“You can take up as much of my time as you need,” I assure her, sitting down on the desk.
She peers up at me and smiles, but it’s a little too saccharine-looking for her.
I study her closely. She’s acting too nonchalant about all of this.
There’s something going on beneath that cool-as-a-cucumber exterior.
Evie has always been a great actress, but I’m not buying it.
She’s gone from professing she hates me to becoming my assistant in the span of a week.
There’s bound to be something she’s dying to say to me right now.
Finally, I laugh. It breaks the tension. “Tell me what you’re really thinking, please.”
She looks around. “Honestly?”
“Please.”
“I’m thinking . . .” She bites down on her lower lip and gives me a sheepish look.
“No offense, but I’m thinking this office is a complete drag.
Christmas is practically next week, but there’s no Christmas cheer anywhere.
Where’s all the decor? The tree? The pizzazz?
This place is depressing.” She pauses, her cheeks coloring.
“I’m also thinking that I don’t know how I’m going to sit at this desk all day long. ”
Automatically, I slip my phone from my back pocket. Unlocking the screen, my thumbs punch the term desk riser into the nearest search bar. I don’t need Evie to be my assistant forever, but I do want her to stick around long enough to learn she can trust me again.
And maybe restore our friendship.
“There,” I say as I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Your desk riser is on its way.”
Her brows rise incredulously. “Okay, you didn’t have to do that. That’s not what I me—”
I lift a hand. “I believe what you’re trying to say is ‘Thank you, Brandon.’”
She purses her lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I look around the room. “And as far as the Christmas decor goes . . .” I pause and shrug. “Not everyone celebrates Christmas.”
She lifts a brow. “And this coming from the Christian?” She tuts. “For shame. Tell me—is your backside sore from straddling that fence, Dr. Wright?”
I laugh. I’ve missed our banter.
Feeling more confident now, I step into her personal bubble, leveling her with a mock serious expression as my hands come down on the arm rests. “Evie,” I croon. Her eyes widen as she leans back. “Let’s get one thing clear, shall we?” I point at my chest. “Boss.” I poke her sternum. “Assistant.”
Frowning, she shoves my hand away. “Your point?”
I step back as I gesture between us. “Superior, subordinate. In other words, what I say goes. If you want to decorate your desk, fine. But we’re not decorating the office.”
She spins away from me, but I see the wounded look on her face before she can hide it. “Yeah, but even atheists love a little bit of Christmas cheer.”
Suddenly, I regret my behavior. Somehow, I’m already failing at keeping things professional with her.
I glance down at my watch. “Do you need anything else? I need to start my day, but I’m always a phone call or message away.”
“Nope.” Her shoulders are tense, her voice tight.
How have I already messed this up?
I turn to leave, but then hesitate and consider apologizing. I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. But an apology might call unnecessary attention to the situation, so I remain silent and head back to my office instead.
As I’m sitting down at my desk, I hear what I’ve been waiting for—her delighted squeal. Grinning, I tiptoe back to the door and poke my head out. Evie’s gazing into her desk drawer, clapping excitedly over what’s inside.
An entire set of brand-new stationery, bought just for her.