4. Evelyn
CHAPTER FOUR
evelyn
It’s the last full week of the season here at the state park.
I finished my final interpretive program this morning, teaching a group of visitors about geologic features around the park.
Next week, we’ll start fall cleanup and maybe some grounds mapping for future trails.
We’ll still receive some visitors for leaf peeping season, but programs have ended and the campgrounds are closed.
It’s also the beginning of a terrible waiting game to find out if I’ll still have a job next year.
The budget is tight and elective programs are often the first to get cut.
Housing is included with my job, so I hate to think about what will happen if I can’t stay here.
Living in Maine was always my dream. I’m not sure I could afford to stay without free housing, especially out here in the mountains where jobs are scarce.
I’ve only been living here for a few months, and I’d hate to have to leave the state so soon.
“Evelyn, glad you’re back. Could you do me a huge favor and check on the volunteers over at the camping cabins? They need more paint.” My boss, Felix, peers at me from behind the paint can sitting on the welcome desk.
Delivering paint isn’t exactly in the geologist job description, but I’m willing to do anything around here if it increases my chances of keeping this job. Staying on Felix’s good side is part of that equation.
“Absolutely, I’ll head over there now,” I say, with the brightest smile plastered to my face. “Anything to help.”
“You’re the best!” He beams at me like he’s going to give me a gold star for a job well done. It’s just paint.
The park has two campgrounds: one section is for tent and RV camping, and the other has rustic cabins.
They’re cute, one-room structures, but they basically have no amenities.
Campers get a bed and table on the inside, and a fire pit outside.
There’s a public bathroom between the two campgrounds because there’s no running water.
It’s definitely not a glamping situation.
Our staff cabins aren’t much better, but at least they each have their own tiny private bathroom.
The cabins are all in need of a refresh, so it’s great they found volunteers to help fix them up before next season.
There’s a man standing outside Cabin One, pouring the last bit of paint into a tray.
Even leaning over, I can tell he’s tall, well over six feet.
His shaggy chestnut hair peeks out from under his backwards baseball cap.
He turns to face me, and I’m met with eyes that are as green as the moss covering the forest floor.
The guy is wearing a pair of gym shorts and an old shirt that says Maine across the front.
It’s the kind of thing a tourist might wear like a badge of honor.
But he’s here volunteering, so that doesn’t scream tourist to me.
“I heard you’re in need of more paint,” I say with a cheerful wave.
“Thanks.” He takes the can from me, grabbing the metal handle with a single finger, as if it weighs nothing. He offers me a hand. “I’m Nate.”
“Evelyn. Thanks for volunteering.”
“Oh, so you’re Evelyn?” His lips pull into a knowing smile. Nate’s muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt as he continues to shake my hand, holding on a little bit longer than would normally be socially acceptable. He’s strong, lean, and looks like an athlete. Oh, crap.
The front door of the cabin swings open, and though I’m far enough away, it might as well have knocked me on my ass, because I stumble anyway. Zack. Nate catches me with his strong arm, propping me up while I find my balance.
“What are you doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth. Yesterday, I didn’t allow myself to truly look at him, but as he moves closer, I can’t stop myself from examining the man I once knew so well.
The man whose body I once knew better than my own.
Risking a glance, I study him carefully.
Dark brown hair, rich like espresso, falls just above the nape of his neck.
The perfect amount to tug on when—no. Memories of nights spent running my fingers through it start to creep up, but I squash them right back down where they belong.
He’s got some stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in a few weeks—only adding to his appeal.
Tattoos peek out from under his short sleeves.
Pine trees are inked on one arm, and ferns on the other— reminders of the state we both find ourselves living in.
Ugh. Familiar brown eyes I used to get lost in meet mine, but I quickly look away.
“Well, you see, Evvy—”
“Evelyn!” I won’t allow him to call me that.
“Okay, Evelyn.” He grimaces a little when he says my full name, as if the taste of it is bitter on his tongue.
Using my old nickname as a term of endearment is where I draw the line.
“Yesterday, you pretended you didn’t know me.
I’m not sure what that was about. Then, you refused to talk to me.
So, here I am.” He shrugs matter-of-factly, as if that makes all the sense in the world.
Thirteen years he’s been out of my life, but I’m just supposed to accept that he’s here now? For what? For fun? To torment me?
“So, after all that, you came back here anyway?” My eyes narrow at him.
He gazes back at me with the sweetest smile, making my stomach bubble. “If you’re here, I’m here.”
Stay strong. He’s always had this gravitational pull that sucks me right into his orbit. Not this time.
“That’s called stalking!” I throw my hands in the air.
He barks a laugh. God, I forgot how much I loved that laugh. “No, it’s called volunteering. Why can’t the two of you understand that?” His eyes bounce between me and Nate.
Nate looks at me with an apologetic smile, silently mouthing, I’m so sorry. With a shrug of his shoulders he goes back to staring at his feet.
“How long?” Please say it’s just today. It’s not like he can miss hockey for this.
He’s under contract. After I calmed down yesterday, I may have done some internet sleuthing and found out that he was traded to the Maine Meteors at the end of last season.
Zack got me into hockey while we were dating.
But after everything ended, I couldn’t bring myself to watch it anymore.
Reading articles about him was too much for my fragile soul to handle, which is why I had no idea that he was in Maine.
In my town.
“Until you talk to me.” He has a look of determination that I’m all too familiar with. He didn’t get this far in his career without it.
“I guess you’ll be waiting a while.”
“Fine by me. There’s three weeks until hockey picks back up, and plenty of projects to work on around here. So, I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He winks, flashing me another one of his signature smiles.
“Ugh!” A groan from deep in my belly works its way out of my lips.
It feels good to let it out. It’s been thirteen years.
Why now? Why at my work? Why does he have to come whirling back into my life like a tornado just when I was finally starting to feel a sense of peace here in Maine?
I know he was from here originally, but he’s lived in Canada forever.
Couldn’t he have been traded to another team?
He was the last person on the planet I ever expected to see, especially out here in my little wooded sanctuary.
I turn away from Zack, avoiding eye contact. “It was nice to meet you, Nate. Thanks for helping out today.” And I mean it, even if Zack dragged him here against his will. He seems like a decent guy, and I’m sure this whole thing is making him uncomfortable.
He offers me a nod and a small smile before I turn to leave. Two steps. That’s as far as I make it before I feel calloused fingers gently gripping my bicep.
“Evvy, wait.” He spins me to face him. “I got this for you. Cold brew coffee, just black. Is that still how you like it?” Zack’s looking down at me, all hopeful and swoony, and my stomach starts betraying me, doing flip-flops.
“Yeah. That’s still how I take my coffee.” He pushes the cup towards me, like an ice-cold, caffeinated peace offering. “Thanks.”
His fingers graze mine, making me jump. A small laugh escapes from his lips as he reaches for my free hand. He uncurls my fingers that have been clenched in a fist, dropping something into my palm, then curls them right back up.
“Save that for later,” he says with one final pat to my closed fist. He has a sparkle in his eyes, like he’s so proud of himself. It makes me a little worried to look at what he’s placed in my hand.
“Umm, thanks,” I manage to squeak out. Turning on my heels, I bolt down a path toward the stream, needing to create some distance between us. Running away from Zack seems to be my new hobby.
Collapsing onto a boulder beside the stream, I take a long sip of coffee as I work up the courage to look at the objects burning a hole in my palm. Slowly unfolding my fingers, I glance down at the little morsels sitting atop a tiny piece of paper.
Two pieces of candy corn.
A treat he always had on hand.
My favorite candy.
Our candy.
Flipping over the paper, I instantly recognize Zack’s familiar chicken scratch writing. Tears run down my cheeks faster than the water rippling beside me.
For my Halloween girl.
-Zack