Chapter 17 ADAM
Chapter seventeen
ADAM
This isn't what I planned, but I can't let the animals here down. So what if that gives me a tighter timeline once I get to Sandwich Bay? I've handled worse.
And if staying means more time with Eve... well, that's not exactly a hardship, is it?
Me
Tell Megan I'm not leaving yet. I'll make sure to spend time with her. Tree lightning?
Wes
Will do. I'm sure you're helping someone by staying longer. But hey, maybe this time you won't miss your goodbye party.
"Yes, Mom. I'll let you know. Tell Dad I love him, too." Eve hangs up the phone, but despite the warmth in her tone, her smile isn't all there.
With her hair up in a bun and the dogs taken care of, her movements turn precise, focused, like she's prepping for surgery rather than getting dressed.
When I brush my fingers against her waist as I reach for my shirt, she shifts away, her shoulders tensing.
Her pulling back would've stung worse than Mama Bear's claws if I hadn't noticed how she couldn't stop looking down my chest, her teeth catching briefly on her lower lip.
My stomach clenches and my cock stiffens to say hello, not the only part of me not immune to her.
That "one night" rule isn't about keeping me at a distance because she doesn't want me.
It's about protecting herself from what we both know is happening between us.
“We’re not having sex again,” she mutters, mostly to the air.
“You telling me or yourself, Foster?”
“Myself. Obviously.” She clears her throat. “It's just…hormones. And wanting more is all because orgasms release—” She stops herself, like she's saying too much, not realizing hearing her flustered but herself has me wanting to find all the ways I can recreate that feeling.
“Oh, I’m dying to hear this.”
She narrows her eyes. “Endorphins. Dopamine. Sometimes oxytocin. The cuddle hormone.”
“Ah. So what I’m hearing is… more research on the Adam Harrison method is needed.”
She flushes crimson, her composure cracking as she glances out the window. "Is that mechanical Santa's candy cane pointing at... oh my god, it is."
I let the distraction fill the space and follow her gaze to the town square display. "Yeah, that thing's directional preferences have been questionable since Thanksgiving. The HOA sent three letters to the town administration."
"That's not very... anatomically accurate.”
"Unlike your detailed assessment of my anatomy last night?"
"And we're done with this conversation." But she's fighting a smile, and for now, that's enough.
I don't tell her I drafted a message three years ago wanting to show her that display because she once mentioned a similar one from her childhood. The scent of Sally's caramel scones waft up from downstairs as Pine Creek comes alive with the scrape of snow shovels and muffled morning conversations.
I shoot off a quick reply to Dr. Chen.
Dr. Alyssa Chen
Don’t stress about the delay. I’ve got Pine Creek covered through the 26th. Take care of your emergencies. Canine or otherwise.
It’s a domino effect. Chen’s replacement got stuck at her clinic, so now I’m here longer.
Which I’ll make work. Yes, my practice in Sandwich Bay still needs work before reopening, and I have to prepare for the first college meeting and I am already renting a place I won’t move to until later, now. But it’s okay.
Cape Cod can wait a bit longer.
I still haven’t told Eve that’s where I’m heading.
And I don’t know why.
Except that I do. I know exactly why. Dropping “Hey, I’ll be living fifteen minutes from your hometown” isn’t only a logistics update. It’s potentially upending her life. Like I’m forcing her hand. Not sharing information.
Kellan’s name lights up my phone.
Kellan
So, how was the world's longest foreplay session?
Me
Mind your business.
Kellan
You were practically feral. Did Santa come early this year? Better yet, did she? Ha-Ha. Or rather Ho-Ho-Ho.
When I don't answer, he continues.
Kellan
Fa-la-la-laaaaaaaaaaaaAdam?
A few seconds later:
Kellan
And by "come" I mean exactly what you think I mean. And the aaaaaaaaAdam, too. You know what I mean, right, A.? Or do I need to draw you a picture?
Before I can tell my brother exactly where to shove his questions, another text pops up.
From Mom.
Shit.
Mom
What exactly are you two talking about?
My whole body locks up.
Kellan
Oops. Wrong chat.
Mom
Adam, sweetheart, I don't need details, but if you've finally stopped pining... your father and I fully support you. Also, cinnamon rolls if you want to bring her by.
Me
We're having breakfast at the B&B. Goodbye everyone.
I drag a hand down my face as Kellan responds with three cry-laughing emojis because he’s an actual twelve-year-old trapped in a grown man’s body.
The phone goes in my pocket. Deep in my pocket. Where if I’m lucky, I can pretend this entire conversation never happened.
At least until Mom starts texting Eve directly.
Which, knowing her, it will happen.
Fuck.
My gaze drifts to my half-packed duffel bag, where the corner of the college acceptance letter peeks out between veterinary textbooks. And in there, too, the contract for the vet office I’m taking over.
The pit in my stomach deepens every time I think about it.
The position is everything I’ve wanted professionally.
I’ve seen her tense up at the mere mention of going back to the Cape.
Last night, when she murmured in her sleep—something about “not going back there”—I almost tore up the contract. Almost.
I can’t. I won’t.
Now, with this careful distance between us, it’s even more challenging to tell her.
When Eve’s phone buzzes, she glances at the screen, and that familiar tightening around her eyes tells me whatever she saw is bothering her.
“Bad news?” I keep my voice casual.
She locks her screen quickly. “Chuck. He’s getting engaged, apparently.”
“And he’s telling you because...?”
“Because he’s an ass.” She sighs. “He sent a picture of his grandmother’s ring.
The one he told me was ‘too meaningful’ for someone as cold as me.
Said he wanted to give me a heads up since today might be difficult for me.
First day back at work after my suspension.
No idea how he found that out.” She clears her throat.
“And it’s also our wedding anniversary. Perfect timing, as always. ”
I bite back at least five comments that would definitely cross a line. “Sounds like a real winner.”
“Oh, he is in some ways. Brilliant diagnostician. Charming at parties. Half the hospital worships him.” She shrugs, like she’s trying to be fair. “The other half sees through his bullshit.”
This glimpse of the Eve from last night, honest and unguarded, arrives like a gift I didn’t expect this morning. After the way she’d pulled back, I figured those walls were back up for good.
“I actually tried to warn Jennie.” Her voice drops lower. “Last week, I sent her a text. Pretty sure she blocked my number.”
“You warned his fiancée?”
“Tried to. She’s the one I found in the closet with him. My former mentee. He’s marrying her.”
“Shit, Eve.”
“Yeah.” She glances away, then back. “Jennie’s the same age I was when we started dating,” Eve adds quietly. “Young. Vulnerable. Looking for approval.” She shakes her head. “I wish I could get through to her before she ends up where I did.”
I nod, understanding her concern isn’t pettiness or jealousy. It’s genuine worry for someone walking into the same trap she did.
“Maybe she’ll figure it out on her own,” I offer, wanting to give Eve some peace of mind.
“Maybe, but learning it the hard way shouldn’t have to hurt so damn much when Chuck’s lied to her over and over again. I used to believe him, too. So, I get it. I get her.” The weariness in her tone tugs at my heart.
I scratch LoverBoy’s ears as Dorothy and Blanche gather near me.
Dorothy’s tiny body vibrates with morning energy, her tail a blur as she spins in excited circles.
Blanche eyes the door with what I’m learning is her characteristic mix of anxiety and resignation, a dramatic sigh escaping her massive chest.
LoverBoy, who once wouldn’t let anyone touch him, now leans into my palm with complete trust, his tiny eyes closing in contentment. He’s even started mimicking Blanche’s dramatic sighs. A tiny version of her larger-than-life personality, like he’s found a role model.
They’ve positioned themselves between Eve and me, like furry mediators in a negotiation neither of us knows how to begin.
“I need to get going.” Eve tucks her phone away, double checking her bag, adding her e-reader to her purse. “Also, I’m sorry about the mess.”
“What mess?”
She gestures to her half-open suitcase, to the clothes on her side of the bed, to the dog’s beds and toys and food. Her fingers flutter nervously, like she’s mentally cataloging each item out of place.
“Don’t get me wrong, I like tidy, but you arrived yesterday. There was a pipe issue…”
“That’s right. I still have some suitcases there.”
“I’ll ask Sally to get them or I’ll do it myself.”
“I’ll ask Sally. You have plenty of things to do.” She rubs the spot between her eyebrows.
“Okay.”
“But you’re starting a new job today. This isn’t messy…”
“I’ll clean it up tonight.” She hesitates as she glances at her crochet project, tugging absently at the sleeve of her scrubs.
“You’re not bringing it with you?” I nod toward the half-finished Martian Pickle still on the desk.
“It’s silly.”
“It’s charming.”
“It’s a Martian Dick.”
I shrug. “Emotional support pickle.”
She huffs. “I was going to make a bigger one.”
“A super-sized emotional support pickle? Bold move.”
She shoots me a look but can’t quite hide the smile as she steps toward the coffee machine. “Mind if I take the decaf pod? Coffee to go. I know decaf’s kind of pointless…”
“Pointless is drinking bad coffee. You like it? Take it.”
She hesitates. “I also use too much cream. Hazelnut. Vanilla. Pumpkin spice all year, even when they’ve stopped stocking it.”