CHAPTER ONE #2
“He’s an actor. Been in a bunch of stuff, but not like a household name.
Not like Chris Evans. Oh, golly The Nanny Diaries is one of my favs!
” Her face contorted. “Sorry. I’m sputtering about Chris Evans when you asked about Colm Feore.
Stay on topic Evie,” she simpered. “Colm Feore was in the Chronicles of Riddick. Truly terrible movie, but my mom has a thing for Vin Diesel, so I’ve seen all his movies—thrice.
My mom even has a Chihuahua named Diesel. Dreadful dog. He bites.”
“Vin Diesel?” Listening to her rapid speech was like riding a tilt-a-whirl at the carnival. Your equilibrium was off kilter, but your heart sped with happy excitement. He did not want to get off this ride.
“Yeah. Mom loves sexy bald men. Vin Diesel and Bruce Willis are her fantasy men. Although neither are sexy to me.”
“What’s sexy to you?”
Pink rouged her cheeks. “Chris Hemsworth.”
“Thor?” There was a knowing arch of his right brow. How often had Jonathan told him that he looked like a clean-cut version of the God of Thunder?
Evie’s blush deepened. “Back to Bruce Willis. We watch Die Hard every Christmas.”
“Oh,” Colm said, cringing inside at his less than smooth response.
“Do you have a movie you watch each Christmas? Oh wait, do you not celebrate Christmas? That might have been insensitive of me to ask.” There was a lip-biting frown on her face.
“Although you can still watch Christmas movies even if you don’t celebrate.
My friend Leo’s boyfriend Martin is Jewish but lives for the Hallmark Christmas movies.
If it has a princess from a made-up Eastern European country where they speak with British accents falling in love with a Christmas tree farm owner, he’s there.
” Evie’s face twisted in self-reproach. “Sorry. I’m babbling again.
Not even giving you a chance to answer.”
“It’s a Wonderful Life,” he offered.
How strange that the sputtering ways that he’d found grating in line now seemed delightful. Evie’s entire face lit up as she talked, and her voice was like an orchestra of inflections.
“Oh. That’s a good one.”
A cheeky grin covered his face. “Yup.”
“That face. Colm Gallagher, are you not a fan of the story of George Bailey’s redemption?” There was a glint of playful accusation in her eyes.
“The guy makes poor financial decisions and we’re supposed to applaud that,” Colm guffawed.
Mom would get so annoyed when he’d snark back at George Bailey, “Yeah, why did you have all those kids?” during their annual Christmas Eve viewing of the film.
Colm related more to Mr. Potter and never understood why the only member of Bedford Falls with a sound business plan was vilified.
Mom would grumble, but they’d watch the movie each year with peppermint hot chocolate and caramel popcorn.
It was tradition. And he never broke from an established plan.
That is, until today. Evie wasn’t on his plan for today.
“Can I admit something to you?” Evie bent close. Her vanilla-lavender aroma wrapped around him like a hug.
Inhaling deep, he smiled. “Sure.”
She wagged a warning finger. “You can’t tell anyone or I’ll…well I’ll think of something terrible. Like buy you decaf and say it’s regular the next time we have coffee.”
“Diabolical.” Colm liked the sound of a next time slipping from her heart-shaped mouth.
“I’m an evil genius.” She winked. “When that little girl at the end says ‘Daddy, Teacher says when a bell rings, an angel gets its wings’ I find her voice as painful as a root canal. Like it’s supposed to be cutesy, but it totally ruins the moment for me.”
“I feel the same way about Tiny Tim in every version of A Christmas Carol.”
Evie tapped her cup against his in a toast to them both being terrible humans.
“Colm. I like your name. How did you get it?” she asked, her fingernails skating across the smooth surface of the table.
Evie’s fingers were delicate and long with a pale pink sparkle polish. There was no ring. Again, his stomach did something men’s bellies shouldn’t do.
“I was named for my grandfather,” Colm said, trying to figure out a not-obvious way to display that there wasn’t now, nor had there ever been, a ring on his finger.
“Oh, good old Pop-Pop Colm.” That big smile danced with mirth. “That’s sweet that she named you after him.”
“There’s no Pop-Pop Colm, but a Grandfather Bill. My Grandfather was from Northern Ireland. Mom wanted an Irish name in honor of him but didn’t want to be so on the nose by naming me after him. I don’t know.” He shrugged, sipping his coffee.
“I like that. It’s super clever and totally original of your mom.”
Most people would snark about how that didn’t make sense. Nobody ever got his mom’s reasoning behind his name, but Evie did. There was no sarcasm in her words, just an earnest admiration. To Evie, his mom was ingenious, not fanciful.
Something about those blue eyes told him that she could understand him, though there was no logical explanation for why he thought so. That made him uncomfortable. Decisions were made with research, facts, and lists, not with the gut. Especially when the gut was somersaulting like a backup dancer.
“I bet it must have been hard to find those pens with your name on them in gift shops as a kid. I could never find Evie, but sometimes I could find Evelyn. Evelyn is my birthname, but I go by Evie. I’m named after a character from a book my mom read in high school.
Fun fact, she doesn’t remember the name of the book or the plot, but still named me after that character. ”
“Huh,” he said.
Really? Huh? So smooth, man.
Colm never wanted to be smooth as bad as he did right now. To have all the swagger of Jonathan, who could chat up women at the bar like a modern-day Casanova. To be able to flow between topics, easing into a comfortable current of conversation.
As she spoke, he continued to nod and give one-word answers or grunts. More grunts than were appropriate for a non-neanderthal. He should have just said his name was “Ugg” with his monosyllabic answers.
Evie talked about her job as a hospital social worker. Colm nodded.
She asked what he did. He said “teach,” and sipped his coffee. When she asked what he taught, he said “kids.” They both cringed and she changed topics.
Evie talked about moving from Kansas City to Long Beach three years ago. Colm said, “Oh.”
When she asked if he grew up in Long Beach, he said, “Nope” and didn’t elaborate.
Evie talked about wanting to get a corgi. Colm wasn’t sure what sound he made, but it was either a huff or a “Ha” in response.
I have no game. He sighed, closing his eyes.
“So, you’re a coffee guy,” she said, her smile collapsing in mortification. “I’m being awkward. Of course, you’re a coffee guy. You ordered coffee. Sorry. I get nervous meeting new people. Look at me chattering away like a train with no brakes. Sorry…I’m clearly annoying you.”
Whatever had fluttered in his stomach earlier now gave him a swift kick, telling him to reassure her and bring back that smile. God, he wanted to drink up that smile.
Drink up? You sound like an Ed Sheeran lyric.
This little whirlwind of cheerfulness shouldn’t be darkened by his cloudiness. Even if his cloudiness was a mere trick of the mirrors of how people saw him.
“You’re not talking too much,” Colm assured. His eyes met hers, hoping to soothe her uncertainty.
“Phew.” She wiped her brow with goofy theatrics. “Can I get you to sign an affidavit to that for my friend Leo? He’ll never believe that someone said I didn’t talk too much.”
“Gladly.” There was a playfulness to Colm’s tone that he hadn’t heard in a very long time. Dare he call it flirtatious?
“I was worried when you weren’t talking that I was mowing you over with my blathering. I know I can do that at times. Like I only have one speed when I talk.” Concern sobered her sweet features to serious as she spoke, “It’s okay to tell me if I am. People tell me I talk too much all the time.”
The idea of anyone making Evie feel bad for talking sparked a desire to get a list of their names and rage through the city like Liam Neeson seeking revenge on her behalf. Of course, he lacked Liam Neeson’s particular skillset. The only skill he had would be quiet intimidation and pop quizzes.
Everyone would get a pop quiz!
While he wanted to protect Evie from sadness dulling her effervescence, this was another thing they shared. Neither quite fit the expectations of others. One too much. One not enough.
“People say I talk too little,” he offered.
“So, it’s not me?”
“No, it’s me,” he sighed, looking down. There was no Colm scribbled in ink dancing on his cup. Just another way he didn’t fit in.
“Then it’s us.” Evie reached across the table, her warm hand resting on his in solidarity.
“Ok.” He placed his other hand atop, blanketing hers. “Then it’s us.”