Chapter 20 EVE
Chapter twenty
EVE
I’ve been surviving on Rosie’s delicious food all week, stealing moments of normalcy between patient visits and constant self-criticism.
Today, the café is packed with the lunch rush, festive garlands hanging from every available surface, and Christmas music fighting to be heard over the buzz of conversation.
“The soup of the day with a pear salad, Eve?” Rosie calls from behind the counter, already reaching for a bowl.
In days, I’ve become predictable. But today’s soup of the day is a curried sweet potato soup with coconut milk, apples and the smell is amazing.
Plus, the pear salad has blue cheese crumbles and pecans with a touch of honey and balsamic vinegar.
The Cuban sandwich was mouthwatering, but the rest of the menu has been equally as impressive.
“Yes, please. And maybe a—”
“Water with no ice, and a Columbian decaf with homemade coconut creamer and whipped cream?” Rosie finishes with a wink.
“Coming right up.” She hands me my coffee and as I find a table by the window, the bell over the door jingles.
In walks a man with light brown hair and a confident stride that draws glances from several women nearby.
He surveys the room and zeroes in on me.
“You must be Eve Foster,” he says. “The nurse from Chicago everyone’s talking about.”
I straighten in my chair, mustering a professional smile. “That’s me.”
“Frank Mitchell.” He extends his hand, and his grip lingers a beat too long. “I handle insurance for half the businesses in town. Including the clinic where you’re working.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, he slides into the chair across from me. “Small world, huh? I heard you’re staying at the B&B. With Adam Harrison.”
The way he says Adam’s name carries a weight I can’t quite decipher.
“I’m staying there, yes.” My voice stays neutral despite the insinuation. The entire town must know we’ve been sharing the honeymoon suite.
Frank leans forward. “Adam and my sister Faye were together for a while.”
“Oh?” I take a sip of water, refusing to show interest despite the very unwelcome tightness in my chest.
“She’s on a cruise until next week. Her ex has their kid until then, but she should be in Pine Creek as soon as she finds a place.” Frank watches my face carefully. “Faye always had a crush on Adam. When they finally got together, I thought it was for the long haul.”
I fiddle with my napkin, not wanting to be pulled into whatever this is.
“He broke my sister’s heart,” Frank says, his voice dropping. “Even though he’d say she broke his by taking that job in DC.” He shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the gesture. “He let her go.”
“Not everyone’s ready for compromises,” I say, aiming for neutral but hearing the defensiveness in my voice.
“The funny thing is,” Frank continues, “he never really sent her messages at night just wanting to make her laugh. Or didn’t learn crochet for her, either.”
Those details have me look up sharply. “Why would you say that? And what do you mean learning crochet for her?”
His smile turns knowing. “Kellan told me about you. Back then. Before the ghosting thing.”
The realization that Adam’s brother had talked about me—about us—sends a wave of heat up my neck. I focus on my coffee, stirring it unnecessarily.
“You planning to stay in Pine Creek long?” His question shifts abruptly, pointed as a scalpel. “Or is this a holiday layover on your way back to the big city?”
“I have a job in Chicago,” I say simply. Half a truth. Okay, a total lie.
“So did my sister.” Frank’s gaze drifts to the window, then back to me. “Sometimes I wonder if staying would’ve been better for her. The guy she met after Adam...” He shakes his head slightly. “Well. That’s ancient history.”
Something in his tone makes me think it’s anything but ancient history. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the weight of his unspoken implications.
His expression changes, a smile replacing the momentary vulnerability.
“You know, Pine Creek doesn’t get many big-city medical professionals who can handle both a Great Dane and small-town gossip.
” He leans forward slightly. “While you’re in town, you should see it properly.
The tree lighting’s on Friday. I could show you around.
” His smile reveals perfect teeth. “No pressure. Just a local showing a visitor the sights.”
A familiar voice cuts through the ambient noise. “Frank. Didn’t know you took lunch breaks.”
Adam stands beside our table, his expression carefully neutral, but I recognize the tension in his jaw. He’s wearing his clinic coat, the sleeves rolled up.
Frank’s smile doesn’t falter. “Catching up with old friends. Getting to know new faces.” He glances meaningfully at me.
“How’s Dana?” Adam asks, shifting slightly so he’s angled between Frank and me. Not possessive, but present.
“We’re on a break.” Frank stands, seemingly reluctant to surrender his position. “I should get going. Meeting across town.” He turns to me. “Think about Friday, Eve. The offer stands.”
As he leaves, Adam takes the vacated seat, his blue eyes finding mine.
“Sorry about that,” he says, voice low. “Frank has a habit of marking territory that isn’t his.”
“Marking territory?” I arch an eyebrow. “Are we talking about Frank or you right now? And am I the territory? Are you going to pee on me?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face before his lips curve into that half-smile that does dangerous things to my pulse. “Fair question.”
“So,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “You and Faye were serious?”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer the question. “We were together for a while,” he acknowledges. “It ended when she got a job offer in DC.”
“Frank mentioned neither of you would compromise.”
Adam’s jaw tightens. “We both wanted all or nothing back then. She wanted me to drop everything here, I expected her to turn down her dream job. Neither of us saw a middle path.”
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache.
“Dad was recovering from surgery. And he needed help with the administrative side of the clinic, I had a lot of new cases with some young farmers taking over older farms… but those were excuses. The truth is, I fucked it up.”
“What do you mean?” I wince. “You know what? I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“You can ask, Eve. You can ask all the questions you want.”
I shake my head, glancing around, lowering my voice. “Maybe, but everyone is watching.”
He gives me a smile that should be illegal before noon. Luckily, it’s twelve-thirty. “Right now? I honestly don’t give a damn about anyone else but you.”
The man wants me to fan myself with the bread basket. “Okay, Adam Harrison. How’s Kellan?” There, kind of a safer question.
“Wanting to know if I’m planning on crocheting a dick alien family with you.”
I choke on my coffee. “Alrighty, then.”
Adam tilts his head. “He’s also doing great as an EMT in Swans Cove in Maryland. Totally in love with his high-school sweetheart. But refuses to pull his head out of his ass.”
“Kellan should read more romance novels,” I tell him. “Might learn something about actually talking to the person you’re in love with.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll pass along the recommendation. What about Claire? Still causing her brand of perfect chaos?”
“Still causing trouble in the best ways.” I sip my coffee, trying not to stare at the way his forearms flex as he leans forward.
“She may have gotten a viral video of my ex trying to be ‘ER McDreamy of the Year’ but ended up making a fool of himself.” I can’t help the satisfied smile that creeps onto my face.
“He was so mad. That’s how he became Dr. Jerk Du Soleil… ”
“I’d like to see that,” Adam says, his voice dropping to that register that sends heat spiraling through me.
And the way he stares at me like he sees me and wants me for breakfast, lunch and dinner has butterflies ice skating figure eights below my ribcage.
Rosie sets my soup and salad down with a knowing smile. “Your usual too, Adam?”
“Please.”
When she leaves, I take another sip of my coffee, acutely aware of the whipped cream that must be on my upper lip. Adam’s gaze tracks the movement, darkening slightly.
“You’ve got a little...” He gestures to his own mouth.
“Where?” I deliberately play dumb, watching his focus narrow.
“Right...” His voice drops, “...there.”
Without thinking, I run my tongue slowly across my upper lip, catching the sweetness.
Adam’s breath audibly catches. “You’re playing with fire, Foster.”
“Am I?” The challenge slips out before I can stop it, fueled by a week of notes and near-misses and dreams that leave me aching.
“You said one night.” His voice is rough now, pitched low enough that only I can hear. “Your rule, not mine. I’m all for changing those rules though…”
I think about his notes. His smiles. Him.
“Maybe I was too quick.” The admission hangs between us, dangerous and thrilling.
Adam leans closer, close enough that our foreheads nearly touch across the small table. The café around us fades into background noise.
“Tell me what you want, Eve.” The intensity in his gaze burns through me. “No notes. No hints. Tell me.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I lean in too, drawn by something I can’t fight anymore. “I want...”
We’re inches apart now, his breath warm against my lips. Someone across the café drops a plate, the crash barely registering as his hand covers mine on the table.
“Yes?” His voice is barely a whisper, patient yet urgent.
I could close the distance. I could press my lips to his right here in Rosie’s, with half the town watching. I could admit that one night wasn’t enough—will never be enough.
Instead, I whisper, “Dessert. I want dessert.” My gaze flicks to his lips. “Rosie’s butterscotch, marshmallows, chocolate bars are supposedly... unforgettable.”
His eyes darken at the word “unforgettable,” catching my double meaning. “Definitely unforgettable,” I add, not breaking eye contact. “Like that night.”
As Adam opens his mouth to respond, a chorus of off-key singing erupts outside the window.
We both turn to see Margaret, Sally, and a few more women belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with more enthusiasm than talent.
Sally catches my eye through the glass and waves frantically, giving us an exaggerated thumbs-up.
“Your mom is outside,” I mutter, sliding down in my seat.
“Pretend we don’t see them,” Adam suggests, but it’s too late. Margaret is now pointing at us while mouthing what looks suspiciously like mistletoe opportunity to Sally.
“Oh God,” I groan.
“They’re harmless,” Adam says, though his ears have turned slightly pink. “Mostly.”
“Speaking of harmless,” he continues, recovering quickly. “LoverBoy has convinced Dorothy and three other dogs to stage a revolt during playtime.”
“Is Blanche leading the revolution?”
“Blanche,” he says with unexpected fondness, “has appointed herself their protector. She herded them all away from the open gate this morning. She’s doing great, by the way. I think her anxiety is improving.”
The way he talks about my dogs, like they’re important, like their personalities matter, makes my chest tighten.
“Speaking of improvements,” he murmurs, voice dropping so low I have to lean closer to hear him. “I’ve been wondering if you might need new batteries.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I immediately understand what he’s asking. “For...?”
“Adam Pro.” His thumb traces the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, where my pulse is betraying every attempt at composure. “Must be getting quite a workout with all those late nights alone.”
“Well...” I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “Yes, but the original model has topped all expectations. Very... hands-on approach.”
A flash of heat darkens his eyes as he processes my words, and I feel a ridiculous surge of triumph at making Dr. Cool-Calm-and-Collected momentarily speechless.
Rosie steps toward us with his to-go bag, breaking the spell between us.
“Double sandwich and coffee, Adam. Black, no sugar, just how you like it.” She sets down a wrapped cookie and a chocolate bar beside my plate.
“Here’s the Nordy bar. And a gingerbread man for later, Eve. Something to bite into.”
Adam reluctantly slides his hand from mine. “Thanks, Rosie. Duty calls.”
“You’re missing quite the lunch special,” she says with a knowing smile before walking away.
“Oh, I know. I’m sorry I have to go. Enjoy your lunch, Foster.” His eyes promise something that makes my pulse race. “Save me some gingerbread.”
“No promises, Harrison.”
Outside, Sally and Margaret have given up all pretense of singing and are now watching us through the window, until I turn my head toward them and they wave at me like they’ve just arrived. And haven’t been watching this entire time.
I smile. And it’s not forced. Or wrong. Or too much.
It feels like me. Not Eve the nurse, or Eve the patient, or Eve the ex-wife. Just Eve. Which doesn’t stop my brain from desperately trying to diagnose unexpected smile syndrome and catalog potential side effects.
Symptom one: reduced facial tension.
Symptom two: warm chest sensation.
Prognosis: cautiously optimistic.