Chapter 23
Brandon
“Ilike what you’ve done here,” I say, my gaze roaming the lobby, which now boasts a healthy amount of holiday cheer.
Christmas music emanates from the speakers above us, and garland and lights adorn nearly every surface.
“Very cozy.” I point up at the speakers.
“Change that to something with no lyrics, please.”
Without batting an eyelid, Evie flits behind the desk and does what she’s told—and with a little more pep in her step than this morning, I might add.
“How’s this?” she asks, grinning at me once she’s changed the playlist to something more jazzy.
For a split second, as I stare at her, beaming at me in a way that makes me feel like I hung the stars, she’s my Spitfire again.
The woman gazing at me right now is the same person who wrote that letter to me all those years ago—the one who saw the best in me.
I blink profusely, almost like I’m staring straight into the sun.
That smile is the epitome of charm. My responding smile is automatic.
What has caused this sudden shift in her mood?
She’s acting . . . like herself. Maybe it’s the Christmas music?
Or the fact that we’re about to decorate the tree together?
Glancing over the front desk, I search for clues.
She’s organized the tree ornaments into piles by color and type.
Not half of these are going to fit on the tree, though.
All the best trees had been picked over when I visited the tree farm on Sunday.
The only ones left resembled sprigs more than actual trees.
But, knowing Evie, she would have picked the sickliest, most malnourished-looking tree on the lot.
That’s exactly why I picked the runt of the remaining trees—a Charlie Brown-reminiscent thing with more branches than pine needles.
Like I suspected she might, Evie dotes on the tree like it’s the biggest and branchiest in all the land as we wait on Gladys to join us.
She fluffs its pathetic little limbs, clucking over it like a mother hen taking care of her prized chick.
Not once has she looked at that lousy tree like it’s ugly or unworthy of calling itself a Christmas tree.
This is why I love her. She never overlooks anyone or anything. She is the sweetest person I have ever met.
When you treat her right, anyway.
“Evie,” I muse, picking up an ornament. I balance the bauble between my fingertips, twisting it this way and that as I gaze at her. “I take it you’re excited to decorate the tree?”
“So very excited,” she echoes, her voice holding that characteristic cheek I’ve missed.
She even starts humming as she comes to collect a few ornaments.
I follow her with a few of my own, and we dance around one another as we attempt to clothe the tree in Christmas grandeur.
Gladys joins us a moment later, so I don’t get the chance to hound her about why she’s suddenly acting like she won the lottery.
I watch her as all three of us work in silence, smiling to myself. It’s hard to take my eyes off her when she’s like this. It feels like the sun has finally come out.
“Oh! I didn’t say thank you for helping me with Winnie this morning,” Gladys comments. Her gaze shifts between us. “She wanted me to be sure and thank you both.”
“Don’t thank me,” I say diplomatically, looking at Evie.
“It was all Evie.” I wasn’t surprised when I found her crouched on the floor in front of Gladys’ patient, guiding her through her panic attack with the gentle, experienced hand of someone who has been in her exact shoes.
Compassion comes by Evie naturally. It’s one of the many reasons she made such a wonderful caregiver.
Evie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. That humble, bashful look on her face could bring a dead man back to life. It certainly makes my heart go pitter-patter. “I was just doing my job.”
“Well, you did it exceptionally well,” Gladys boasts, glancing down at her watch as it buzzes on her wrist. “Oh, I hate to run off like this.” She pauses. “Well, that’s a lie. But it’s three o’clock, and you know what that means. It’s time to call it a holiday wrap!”
Evie giggles almost girlishly at the lame joke, and I stare at her shamelessly, completely in awe. That carefree, almost childlike peal of laughter. I haven’t heard it in so long.
What has gotten into her?
Gladys scurries back to her office, emerging with her bag seconds later. She shrugs her coat on and fixes her hair. “I’ll see you two tomorrow! And then it’s only two more sleeps until Christmas! Yay!” She waves at us as she darts out of the building.
Silence ensues, but for once, it’s not tense or awkward. Evie seems oblivious to the way I’m watching her. She starts humming to herself again, as cheerful as Santa’s little helper.
“So,” I begin after a moment. I’ve stopped adding to the tree now, considering it’s wilting under the weight of its current load. “Do you mind explaining to me why you’re suddenly in such a good mood?”
She flits past me like she’s no longer in any kind of pain, and it makes me do a double take. Did she experience some kind of Christmas miracle while I was busy this afternoon?
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, grinning to herself as she packs up the remaining ornaments.
I follow her to the counter and lean against it. I’m still smiling like a fool. “Tell me.”
Her grin widens. “It’s nothing. Honest.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. You’re acting like Christmas has come early this year.”
She actually laughs. “Maybe it’s the coffee. You and Gladys have good taste.”
She meanders past me, and I feel like a stalker as I follow her down the hall to the kitchenette. She sets the bag of ornaments on the break table and pulls two mugs from the cupboard, then sets to work pouring us both a drink, despite the fact that our work day is almost over.
When she’s done, she prances up to me and hands me the mug with a peachy smile.
“Spill the beans,” I implore, blowing on the coffee.
She shrugs nonchalantly, grinning up at me. “I might have learned that someone likes me.”
My eyes narrow as my mug pauses midair. “Adam?” I question, thinking back to the roses. “Sweetheart, that’s been obvious to everyone but you.”
Her grin widens. “Nah. Not Adam.”
I bristle. “Who, then?”
“No one important,” she teases, sipping on her coffee as she leans against the counter across from me. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’ll never happen. I just like knowing he wants me.”
I lean against the table, studying her. We stare at one another for a few seconds, her smiling, me leering. “Tell me who it is. If it doesn’t matter, you won’t mind sharing.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter.” She waves dismissively. “Besides. Been there, done that. He was nothing spectacular.”
I arch a brow. I’m beginning to think she’s messing with me. “Nothing spectacular?” Is she referring to me? And that night?
Would she really imply I was nothing spectacular? Right to my face?
I step closer, and she automatically stiffens. Casually, I set my mug down on the table, acting like I don’t notice the way she’s alert to my every move. If she’s going to toy with me, then two can play that game. If she can’t take the heat, she’ll just have to learn to stay out of the kitchen.
Like a frightened meerkat, Evie straightens and backs up as I descend upon her, coming within just a few inches of her.
She jumps when I reach out to grab the broom that’s resting between the fridge and the counter behind her.
She shuffles in the opposite direction, the warm, freckled skin of her cheeks burning with a blush when she realizes I’m not a real threat to those lips.
Not right now, anyway.
“Why are you acting so jumpy, Spitfire?” I tease, my arm brushing up against hers as I pull the broom toward me. I gesture for her to step back, and she does, her movements frantic.
“I’m not.”
“You could have fooled me,” I say, sweeping up the coffee grinds on the floor.
I keep my gaze downcast as I speak, my cheeks hot with adrenaline.
“You might have thought he was boring,” I continue in a low voice, trying to keep my voice steady as the memories come rushing back.
“But if he still likes you as much as you say he does, then have mercy on the poor fool and give him a second chance. He’s probably desperate for it. ”
I look up to find her eyes are as wide as saucers.
I smirk, amused. Oh, Evie. You really have no idea how much I love you, do you?
I prop the broom up and lean against it, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper as I lean into her ear. “Because were he here to respond right now, he’d probably tell you that that night was the best night of his life.”