Chapter 8 ADAM
Chapter eight
ADAM
The rest of the ride Sally chats on the phone about the Great LoverBoy rescue, while I hear every breath Eve takes beside me. Main Street glows with enough Christmas spirit to power a small grid. I’m going to miss this place.
I text Wes to apologize for missing his birthday party.
Wes
You know you missed your own goodbye party, right? We got you a cake.
I wince.
Me
Have I mentioned how sorry I am? I'll pass by tomorrow.
Wes
Do. Megan’s been sleeping with that dinosaur you gave her.
Me
Promise.
Once Sally parks in front of the B&B, I glance at Eve. She’s staring at the Christmas decorations, mouth slightly open.
“Gorgeous, right?” I rasp out and she nods.
“It’s beautiful.” And it is.
Sally chimes in. “Been in three movies over the past sixty years. Wooden beams. Brick walls. Love stories.” She waggles her eyebrows and I clear my throat.
“Let’s go.”
Getting everyone inside is like herding cats. Giant, mule-phobic cats. But somehow, we manage, even with Blanche using Eve as a shield every time one of the mules snorts.
“We’ll get you two settled in no time,” Sally announces as she ushers us through the door. Sally’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Walker, must be stress-baking again—the whole place smells like cookies and coffee and home.
A dripping sound echoes from the east hallway, and Sally’s smile turns apologetic at Eve’s puzzled expression.
“I’m afraid you’re experiencing one of Pine Creek’s oldest traditions: our historic plumbing system with impeccable theatrical timing.
It’s fine though. We’re used to it. The keys to your room are on the door, dear.
You’re in the East Wing.” And then she adds, “Adam, do you mind showing her? I need to grab something in the kitchen.”
Of course.
As we walk, I lean closer to Eve, lowering my voice. “There’s quite a story behind these pipes.”
“Let me guess. They’re haunted?” She arches an eyebrow, skepticism clear in her voice.
“More like... romantically inclined,” I murmur. “Legend says a lovesick plumber installed them, and now his ghost causes strategic floods to push people together.”
“A plumbing Cupid?” Her tone’s dry, but a spark flickers in her eyes. Humor edging past the wall. “That’s medically improbable.”
I smile at her analysis. “My parents stayed here for their 25th anniversary, but there had been tension. Arguments that rotated for years without resolutions. And they ended up staying in separate rooms, until every room flooded except the honeymoon suite. By morning, they were laughing and they proposed to each other again.”
Her expression softens. “That’s...”
“Pure coincidence, I’m sure,” I finish for her.
“Exactly,” she agrees and the steps creak under us and when we stop, Eve stares at the bright sign hanging on the door.
“Welcome To Pine Creek’s Newest Nurse!”
Underneath there’s a note with my mother’s handwriting: My son’s staying on the other side, call him if you need anything.
With my number.
I’d groan if Eve wasn’t staring at all of it like she was planning her escape. Years ago, pink-haired Eve would’ve laughed. Snapped a picture. Texted me something ridiculous.
Now, we just stand there, seven years of silence between us.
“I’ll take LoverBoy and check him out,” I murmur, crouching for the chihuahua. “He should see a vet after his adventure.”
It’s easier to focus on the dog than the thrum in my chest or the way her fingers start that familiar tapping against her thigh.
And because she used to know everything about me and I thought I knew everything about her, and she’s here, in front of me, looking more lost than the chihuahua ever did, I whisper, “You’ll be okay there. You will.”
Something raw and unguarded flashes across her face. A glimpse of the Eve I knew, the one who’d stay up talking to me until dawn, who challenged and understood me in ways no one else ever had.
Then, it’s gone, replaced by that careful clinical mask she wears so well.
“You don’t know me anymore,” she whispers more to herself than to me, but yet that stings and I turn away before she obliterates me further. I’m no longer twenty-four and desperately in love with her.
I’m thirty-one.
And that makes it worse. Because now I know exactly what I’m feeling, exactly what I could lose.
And yet? I’m still not immune to her.
Not even close.
“And this is Main Street, but you know that already.” Because yeah, I now talk to LoverBoy like he’s a buddy of mine.
“And that’s the new pop-up romance bookstore.
” Definitely mom-doing. And I’m definitely not thinking of all the times I read romance novels out loud to Eve Foster.
Instead, I focus on the park in the distance with the Christmas tree not yet illuminated where Kellan and I used to sprint, trying to get to the lake first. Even after the IED, he still managed to outrun me on his good days.
As if he knows I'm thinking about him, my big brother texts me.
Kellan
Wes told me you never made it to the birthday party? Another evening emergency with your four-legged patients?
Me
Yes. And EveNoName123 is in town. And she's Dad's newest nurse.
Well, that gets him calling.
"I'm fine."
"Sure. You're always fine. The same kind of fine as when you worked three weeks straight after Pittsburgh? When you volunteered for every emergency shift, every late-night call?"
"That was different." My voice comes out harder than intended.
"Was it?" His voice carries that edge - the one he uses on particularly stubborn patients. The same way I do with some pets’ parents. "Because from where I'm standing, you're doing the same thing now. Taking care of everyone else so you don't have to deal with your own shit."
"Yeah?" The word comes out sharper than I meant it to. "How's Zoe?"
Silence.
"Low blow, little brother." But there's no heat in it. Only regret. "Also, Mom says the new nurse seems nice. Wait until she realizes who it is. She also said Sally mentioned a Dickle?”
Of course Mom and Sally already chatted.
Kellan continues, “What the fuck is a Dickle?”
“I think it’s supposed to be an emotional support pickle."
"Of course… So how is she?"
"Good. Well…Divorced. Asshole ex. Wary with big walls."
"Remind you of someone else?"
"You trying to tell me I should crochet Martian dicks too?"
“You could." His voice softens. "All I’m saying is that she's single. You're single. You could crochet a whole damn Martian Dick Dynasty together if that makes you happy."
I scrub a hand over my face. "You make it sound so poetic. Doesn't matter. I'm leaving. To another small town. And she doesn't do small towns."
"Would she do the small-town vet?"
"Hilarious."
"Yep. One of my best qualities, really."
"Goodnight Kellan."
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And that leaves you a TON of possibilities."
And on that note, I hang up, my stomach rumbling as I remember that I haven’t eaten since I didn’t go to the birthday party. My own party. Shit.
So, I scratch LoverBoy’s ears, before venturing out and dropping the carrier she used in front of her door. Not knocking. Not trying to see her again.
I head down to the kitchen, avoiding the parlor and dining area where guests are laughing, playing games. "And I love you!" Someone yells. Someone definitely had wine. Pine Creek is small, but the winter season always brings tourists looking for that holiday magic.
I push the door open enough to slip in. The kitchen lights are off except for the faint glow over the stove, casting everything in soft yellow.
Eve's standing at the far end of the kitchen, one knee propped up on a stool.
She's in slippers and wearing an old University of Chicago sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up.
Her hair's messy in a way that shouldn't make my ribs feel tight, wondering if that's how she'd look after I ran my fingers through it.
She’s muttering at the cabinet, cradling a box of Will Flour B&B Pancake mix like it's a puppy.
“That one’s delicious,” I say, stepping inside. “Gluten-free. She gets it from the Moose Meadow Lodge & Tree in Vermont. With their maple syrup. And she sends them her snickerdoodle mix.”
She spins, clutching the box tighter. “Adam.” But when she tries to put it back on the shelf, it slips, hits the counter with a thud-pop, and explodes in a flour bomb that fogs the whole kitchen.
We freeze.
Flour clings to her lashes, her cheekbones, the soft waves of her hair. She looks like a pissed-off holiday cookie and somehow still manages to knock the air out of me.
“Sally’s going to kill me,” she says, stunned. “First day in town and I’ve destroyed... her pancake mix supply.”
“You did save a chihuahua, so you’re still net positive.”
She huffs, half laughing as she wipes at her sleeve, only smearing it more.
“You’re just making it worse,” I say, and for a second, she looks at me like she might crack up or throw the rest of the box at my face.
I missed her.
Then, a sound between a laugh and a sigh escapes her. “This is perfect. The universe really wants to make sure I know exactly where I stand, doesn’t it?”
“The universe?” I raise an eyebrow, feeling powder fall from my hair.
“You know,” she gestures vaguely, “Whatever’s making sure I get properly humiliated in front of the one person who—” She stops abruptly, her eyes darting away.
The one person who what? The question hangs between us, as tangible as the powder in the air.
I step closer. “Sally won’t care. She has a lot of those boxes.”
I brush a bit of pancake mix from her shoulder, and her breath catches.
“You’re really leaving tomorrow,” she says quietly.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “First thing.”
She nods, her fingers resuming that familiar uneven tapping against her thigh. I wonder if she knows it’s a tell. Like her throat clearing. And my need to overstretch myself with responsibilities.
I walk past her to the stove, keeping my voice low, stepping back into safer territory. “Sally lets me cook in here after hours. Perk of lifelong small-town status.”