Chapter Twenty-two
Evan
“I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”
—As You Like It
I awoke Tuesday morning to a clattering sound and the smell of smoked meat.
Yawning, I threw off the cover and hauled myself to a sitting position on the sofa.
Elbows on my knees, I leaned forward and stretched out my neck, cringing at the sounds of popping joints.
As much as I loved Bas—and his cooking—I was so ready to move into my own place.
Fortunately, I’d signed the lease on a gorgeous little house for rent downtown, but I still needed to get my furniture out of storage.
In the kitchen, Bas hummed as he poked at some sausage frying in a pan.
“You’re in a good mood,” I said. “Anything to do with Chelsea?”
The two had watched my mortifying weather report together the night before, but I’d been too tired to check in on how their non-date date had gone.
“Maybe.” He quirked a secret smile before pulling down a couple of plates. “Pour yourself some coffee.”
I did as he asked, settling in at the counter to await what would probably be a better breakfast than I could get at any restaurant in town.
“She’s coming here Saturday night to watch a movie,” he said, a little too casually. He plated the sausage along with eggs and toast and pulled up a stool. “Juice?”
“No, thanks.” I bit a corner of the toast. “So you’re tilting at windmills still?”
He shook his head, poking at the piping hot food. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m just saying.” I couldn’t build enough trust to start a romantic relationship, but Bas would rush in like a house on fire and then burn out when his passion ran its course. “Are you just in this for the challenge?”
He shot me a look that told me I’d crossed a line. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, but Chelsea came with a fireproof romance suit, and I didn’t want him to get torched.
I changed the subject tactfully. “Can you help me move on Saturday?”
He stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Has this been a long con? Friend me, keep in touch for years, and then bam, ask me to carry furniture?”
I laughed. “I’d have to be a glutton for punishment to put up with you that long.”
“You like me enough to accept my hospitality, jerk face.” He was smiling, so I just gave him a fake look of insult.
“It’s not that much stuff.” I pictured the bed frame, sofa, dining table, and TV leaning against the wall of the storage unit.
“Okay, but as payment, give me some space Saturday night?”
I shrugged. “Once I’m moved in, I’ll be out of your hair completely.”
“Where are you off to so early?” he asked as I savored the perfectly crisp bacon.
“The library,” I said with a secret smile. “With Elizabeth.”
He nodded, frowning appreciatively. “Does that mean you’re over your grudge?”
Was I? “I’m trying to let it go.”
“You always did tend to shoot first, ask questions later.” He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and leaned forward. “Some trouble is worth it, though.”
Spoken like a heedless fool in love.
As soon as I finished eating and dressing, I threw on a faded University of Virginia sweatshirt, grabbed my backpack, then walked the quarter mile or so toward our agreed-upon meeting place.
There was a bit of cloud cover, but I knew not to expect any precipitation this morning.
By ten, it would be blue skies, though chilly, typical for November.
The temperatures would drop steadily until this weekend when it might get near freezing, at least overnight.
We might even see snow. Unlikely, but possible.
At the corner of Main Street, where there used to be a statue of Lewis and Clark, I waited for Elizabeth to catch up.
A hotel had replaced the cool old bookstore.
This entire stretch of road from the Downtown Mall to the university had been gentrified little by little.
Some run-down buildings and vacant lots remained, but not much else. The tattoo place. The Baptist church.
When I turned to face the other direction, I spied Elizabeth hurrying through the crosswalk, carrying two paper coffee cups.
She raised one in greeting as she raced to meet me, a little out of breath.
“Sorry, I thought you might want some caffeine.” After handing me a cup, she reached into her pocket and produced some packets of sugar and creamer. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
I coughed a laugh at the innuendo. “Well, I’d like to say I’m pretty easy, but we both know that’s a lie.”
As I dumped in both the sugars and one of the creams, her face twisted in disgust. “You must love coffee ice cream.”
I tossed the trash into a nearby receptacle and replaced the lid. “In fact, it’s my favorite.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “You learn something new every day.”
“Well, what’s yours?”
“You seriously don’t know?” She sipped her coffee.
My mind drifted back to our fake date, sitting in the coffee shop late at night, just talking, so nice and familiar. Warm. “Chocolate mint, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“And how do you drink your coffee? I should probably know this about you.”
She held up her cup. “Steamed milk and nothing else. As God intended.”
“And on the seventh day, God created the espresso machine?”
She cracked a smile, and damn she looked so cute, I wanted to lean in and kiss her. “Alongside chenille throw blankets and chocolate croissants.”
“Cozy.”
“My middle name.”
It really was. There was something about her that reminded me of a ski lodge or a cabin at Christmastime.
At work, she’d been dressed professionally, heels, skirts, hair twisted in a messy bun.
In other words, sexy as sin. But dressed down in jeans and a soft sweater, she was the quintessential girl next door.
Her aura exuded comfort, safety—trust. “Funny. What do you think mine is?”
“Your middle name?” She scrunched her mouth, eyes rolled heavenward. “Hmm. Disco ball.”
Her answer took me so off guard, I burst out laughing. “What? Why?”
“Cause you’re all sparkly on the outside.” She fanned her free hand like she was painting me a picture. “But prismatic. You have a lot of facets, Evan Disco Ball Spurlock.”
We started walking, me blowing on my own coffee before attempting to take a sip. “Did Chelsea make this?”
“Yup.”
“And she didn’t poison mine?”
She sputtered a laugh. “I don’t know what you two did to each other.”
“Pretty sure she hates me.”
“No offense, but Chelsea hates everyone. Especially guys.” She paused. “That is, she likes guys but in a limited capacity.”
“But she likes Bas, right?” I really worried he was rushing headlong into a meat grinder. “I mean, she did warn him not to feed the animals.”
Elizabeth continued along the sidewalk. “Chelsea lashes out as a deterrent. Most guys see all her red flags and run, which is what she’s counting on.”
“Meanwhile, Bas has no sense of self-preservation.”
“It’s a match made in heaven.”
I snorted. “If you say so. Feels like a lot of games to me.”
“Sometimes,” she said, eying me, “games are the only way people can get past their own defenses.”
I chewed my lip, trying that bit of wisdom on for size. This felt like a great opening to talk about the elephant in our relationship. “There’s a vast difference between games and deception.”
“Noted. But you have to know the night we met, Chelsea was just pushing me out of my own way. Think of it as an exercise in overcoming my own fears.”
I understood that well enough, but it begged the question. “Why did you pick us? Why me?” I adjusted the strap of my backpack, trying to seem casual. “Obviously, I’m glad you did, but it felt like your whole routine was an elaborate pick-up line.”
“Post hoc fallacy,” she said with a little shrug.
I considered myself a little bit of a nerd, but I couldn’t compete with an actual English major. “What is that?”
“It means correlation does not imply causation.”
I was so lost. “Which means what in this context?”
A passing group of students forced us to walk single file, but once we were alone, she explained, “Just because we hooked up, it doesn’t mean that was my end goal that night.”
We’d made it to the bridge by the train station, and I paused to stare up the tracks, not really taking in the view as I worked out what she was saying. “You know, intent does not negate impact.”
She sighed, leaning in next to me against the rail. “I don’t know how many ways I can apologize for misleading you.”
“Lying to me,” I clarified.
“Fine. I lied to you. I’m sorry.” She blew a raspberry like there really was no difference. “Are we ever going to get past that? Have you never pretended to be someone you’re not? For fun?”
That was downplaying what she’d done.
She couldn’t possibly understand how pranks like she’d pulled on me burrowed deep into my muscles, into my bones, and I had a hard time letting go, learning to trust again.
But I didn’t want to pick another fight, so I confessed my own secret. “Actually, I pretend I’m someone I’m not almost every night. But it’s my job.”
“What do you mean?”
I rubbed my neck, feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean, the TV personality is something I have to put on, like a costume.”
“Like those glasses?” She cocked her eyebrow all saucy. “Those are for pretense, right?”
“I guess so, yeah.” I slipped them off sheepishly.
Elizabeth stepped back, hand over her heart, eyes wide. “Who are you?” She twisted around to look behind her, then peered around me. “Where did Evan go? He was right here?”
I chuckled. “Okay. Okay. Very funny.”
She stopped joking around and gave me a sincere smile. “If it helps you be braver, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
“No?”
“Who am I to judge?” She shrugged. “I mean, honestly.”
“So,” I started, her point hitting home. “I guess we all pretend sometimes.”
“Yeah. I agree it’s better when we can show our real selves to someone.” She leaned in and poked me in the chest. “Maybe we can try that?”
“That would be”—I shook my head, looking skyward, searching for the right word—“perfect.”