5. Eve
EVE
AGE EIGHTEEN
The bonfire crackles against the December cold, sending sparks spiraling into the star-drunk sky. I pull my wool coat tighter and nurse my third cup of spiked hot chocolate, letting the burn settle in my chest where it might crowd out the restless ache that's been living there for months.
Sarah shifts beside me on the log we've claimed, her breath forming small clouds as she mutters creative insults at the display happening across the fire. Melissa Crawford has her tongue so far down Marcus's throat I'm surprised she hasn't found his appendix.
"God, I can't believe I dated him for two years." Sarah's voice carries the particular venom reserved for ex-boyfriends and their rebound relationships. "And they are going to devour each other. I swear they are about to tumble into the fire."
"Maybe they will and put us all out of our misery," I mutter, watching the flames dance between us and the spectacle.
The truth is, I don't care about Marcus or his wandering hands or the way Melissa's manicured fingers are currently tangled in his hair. What bothers me is how empty I feel watching them—how I never once felt that desperate hunger with him, never lost myself in a kiss the way Melissa clearly has.
"Speaking of misery, I heard Nash is back in town for the holidays." Sarah's voice goes carefully casual, the way it does when she's dropping information she knows will detonate.
My stomach performs an impressive gymnastic routine.
Nash Callahan. The name alone sends heat crawling up my neck, and I hate myself for it.
He's been gone since August, off conquering Columbia and probably half the female population of Manhattan while I've been...
what? Filing invoices at Turner Timber after school and pretending I have any idea what I want to do with my life.
"Oh." The word comes out smaller than I intended.
Sarah shoots me a look. "Just 'oh'? Eve, the guy's been your weakness since we were kids."
"He's an asshole." The response is automatic, well-practiced. "And he's probably sleeping with some pre-med princess who actually knows what she wants out of life."
"Unlike you?"
I glare at her. "I know what I want."
"Really? Because last week you were crying into your coffee about having no direction, and the week before that you were researching community colleges, and before that?—"
"Okay, okay." I hold up a hand. "Point taken."
But that's the thing—I don't know what I want.
Everyone else graduated with plans: Sarah's heading to UVM for education, Emma got into the forestry program at Paul Smith's, even Melissa bloody Crawford is going to nursing school.
Meanwhile, I'm eighteen years old, working afternoons at my father's lumber business because I have absolutely no clue what comes next.
The bonfire pops, sending a shower of embers toward the frozen ground. I watch them die out one by one, feeling distinctly related to their brief, purposeless existence.
"Speak of the devil," Sarah murmurs.
I look up to see a familiar silhouette emerging from the tree line, and my heart forgets how to function properly.
Nash Callahan moves through the crowd like he owns it, all confident stride and a cocky smile for the people who call out greetings.
Somewhere through high school he became popular—like all jerks do.
He's taller than when he left—broader through the shoulders—and his sandy hair has grown out enough to curl slightly at the collar of his leather jacket.
He looks good. Annoyingly, devastatingly good.
"Don't look," I mutter to Sarah, but she's already grinning like the traitor she is.
Nash scans the bonfire, and when his gaze lands on me, something electric shoots down my spine. Those ocean-blue eyes hold mine for a beat too long before he starts walking in our direction.
"Eve Turner." His voice carries that familiar hint of amusement that always makes me want to either kiss him or punch him. "Mind if I sit?"
Without waiting for an answer, he settles onto the log beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something expensive and distinctly un-Vermont. Close enough that the warmth radiating from his body makes me hyperaware of every place we're almost touching.
I keep my eyes fixed on the fire. "Free country."
"How charming. Some things never change." He leans back, casual as anything. "So what have you been up to, sweetheart?"
The endearment hits like a physical blow. I grip my cup tighter, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Working. School. The usual small-town excitement."
"Working where?"
"My father's business." The words taste like failure in my mouth. "Just temporary, until I figure out... things."
"Things?"
God, he's persistent. "You know, life. College. Career paths. All those important decisions that apparently everyone else figured out while I was asleep."
Nash chuckles, a low sound that does terrible things to my equilibrium. "And here I thought you had it all figured out. You always seemed so sure of yourself."
"Well, you were wrong." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us, filled with the distant laughter of our classmates and the snap of burning wood. Across the fire, Melissa has somehow migrated onto Marcus's lap, and I find myself staring at them with something uncomfortably close to envy.
"How's Columbia?" I ask, because the silence is worse than conversation.
Nash's grin turns sharp. "Keeping tabs on me, sweetheart?"
"Everyone knows you got into Columbia. It's not exactly classified information in a town this size." I take a sip of my drink, hoping the alcohol will steady my nerves. Being next to Nash is fucking impossible right now when I'm already drowning.
Nash shifts beside me, and I can feel him studying my profile. "Look at me."
"I'm watching the fire."
"Eve." His voice drops lower, more insistent. "Look at me."
"I don't want to."
Before I can react, his fingers catch my chin, turning my face toward his. The touch sends electricity racing through my veins, and suddenly we're much too close, close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes and count the individual lashes framing them.
"Why won't you look at me?" His thumb brushes across my jaw, featherlight.
Because it hurts. Because looking at him makes me want things I can't have, makes me remember the taste of his mouth and the way he walked away afterward like it meant nothing.
Because I'm eighteen years old and completely lost, and he's off conquering the world while I'm filing paperwork and pretending I'm not falling apart.
"Because you're leaving again," I say instead, and immediately wish I could take it back.
His eyes darken. "So?"
"So I'm not interested in being your hometown entertainment. I don't know what you want from me, Nash, but I'm in no mood."
Nash's thumb stills against my skin. "Is that what you think this is?"
I force myself to hold his gaze, even though it feels like staring directly into the sun. "Isn't it?"
The tension between us pulls taut, dangerous. I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat, can see the exact moment Nash's attention drops to my mouth. The air around us seems to thicken, charged with the same electricity that's been crackling between us for years.
Then a high-pitched giggle cuts through the moment like a blade, and I jerk away from Nash's touch, the spell broken. My eyes go to the sound, where I see Danielle laid out on a log with her new boyfriend—and my ex—hovering over her, kissing down her neck.
"God," I mutter, watching Danielle and Ryan practically consummate their relationship in front of half our graduating class. "Get a room."
Nash follows my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Bothers you?"
"The public display? Yeah, it's gross."
"That's not what I meant."
I know what he meant. I can feel the question hanging between us, heavy with implication.
Ryan and I were still together when Nash left, and he can see with his own eyes that that is no longer the case.
Does it bother me that Ryan moved on so easily?
That he's touching someone else the way he used to touch me?
"No," I say quietly. "It doesn't bother me the way you think it should."
And that's the problem, isn't it? I dated Ryan for eight months, let him kiss me, let him fumble with my bra in the back of his pickup truck, and I felt nothing. Nothing close to the wildfire currently burning under my skin just from Nash's proximity.
Or the one time I got a taste of him.
"It just sucks being a small town where everything feels a bit too incestuous.
We've all known each other long enough to be family," I say, feeling more lost than ever.
And then the next words out of my mouth can only be blamed on the hot chocolate.
"I bet you get plenty of action from all those college girls. "
I shouldn't have said that. It's not because I don't want other girls with Nash. I just wish I could hookup with someone that hasn't known me for ten years.
I take another sip, and because I can't stand the silence, I mutter, "I think I need to get fucking laid."
Nash goes very still beside me. When I risk a glance at him, there's something predatory in his expression, something that makes my breath catch.
"If you're looking for a willing participant," he says, voice rough, "I'll volunteer."
The words catch me completely off guard. I stare at him, searching for the catch, the cruel punchline that always comes with Nash Callahan. But his eyes are serious, dark with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
He's leaving again soon. Back to his important life and his bright future, leaving me behind in Wintervale with my filing and my uncertainty and my complete inability to figure out what I want.
Except I do know what I want. I've always known.
Maybe I can't have him forever, but I can have him now. Maybe I can finally get him out of my system, scratch this itch that's been driving me crazy for years. Maybe I can stop wondering what it would feel like to have all of his attention, all of his focus, directed at me.
Before I can lose my nerve, I stand abruptly, my cup tumbling to the snow. Nash looks up at me, surprise flickering across his features.
"Let's get out of here." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
Nash blinks. "What?"
"Is your mom working tonight?" I know she is. Mrs. Callahan works the night shift at the hospital one town over. "Your apartment's empty, right?"
For a moment, Nash just stares at me like I've sprouted a second head. Then something hot and dangerous flashes in his eyes, and he's on his feet so fast I take a step back.
"You sure about this, sweetheart?" His voice carries a warning, low and rough. "Because once we leave here, I'm not bringing you back until I'm done with you."
The promise sends heat spiraling through my chest, pooling low in my belly. This is stupid. Reckless. Probably the worst decision I've ever made.
I reach for his hand anyway.
"Then let's go."