4. Evangeline #2
I spend a lot of time in my head, worried about what others think of me, concerned my behaviors and some of my idiosyncrasies make people view me as different.
No one can control the perceptions of others.
Worrying about how I’m being perceived is a huge trigger for me.
One I have to actively work to overcome every day.
“Some people will want you to fail,” I continue.
“They’ll look for the worst in you and cheer when you stumble, just to validate their opinion.
You’ll never win them over, so it’s silly to even try.
All you can do is show the people who matter how much you care.
With your words, but more importantly, with your actions.
If you do that, everything else will slot into place. ”
His pinky finger brushes against mine, a tiny sign of gratitude, maybe, the contact sending a strange spark up my arm.
I hold my breath, frozen. If I stretched out my hand a little, our fingertips would touch again. My body hums from the proximity. All it would take is one small shift from either of us.
“Thank you for saying that,” he murmurs.
The heaviness of the moment clouds any reasonable response I can come up with. So with a groan, I curl up and rest my elbows on the pavement, looking over at him once more.
“Did it help?”
His face, twisted in with apprehension, smooths out. “Did what help?”
“Lying on the ground.”
The corners of his mouth turn up in an abashed smile. “Surprisingly, it did. Although my confessions may have been less inspired by the concrete under my back and more inspired by the person by my side.”
The compliment washes over me like sun-kissed satin. His praise is warm, the words a silky balm.
I quash the silly sensation, and rather than allow myself to relish the moment, I scan the property. I need to get out of here. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.
The depth of his inquiry hints at the sincerity behind the sentiment. Like if I asked for his help, he’d give it without hesitation. The respect he’s given me is so different from the treatment I’ve come to expect from Luca, and by extension, people in general.
A stinging sensation prickles at the base of my nose and heat gathers behind my eyes.
“Hey.” Alaric reaches out, but then, as if thinking better of it, retreats quickly. “Please, Evangeline. I want to help. Tell me what I can do for you.”
I bite down on the insides of my cheeks to suppress the tears. With my mind half occupied with that task, I blurt out, “For starters, you could tell your son to pay me back everything he owes me.”
The espresso eyes fixed on me darken further as Alaric’s features shift into a scowl, making his perfect brows knit together.
Dammit. Why did I say that?
Arduously, he asks, “How much does he owe you?”
My heart thunders in my ears. Nope. Not going there.
I will not tattle on my rat-bastard ex-boyfriend to his handsome, compassionate father. The man’s clearly got plenty of other things on his plate right now. I refuse to cause him any more strife.
Besides. I never could make myself tally up all the debt. I try not to think about it, but I suspect it’s at least twenty thousand dollars.
“Forget it.” I shift to my knees, then rise to my feet and take a moment to adjust the waistband of my shorts and stretch my legs.
Embarrassingly, my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten yet today and I only managed to ingest half of the travel mug of coffee that’s sitting in the cupholder of my car.
Alaric rises to his feet as well, a no-nonsense scowl on his face.
“I should get going,” I say with what I hope is a convincing smile.
He crosses his arms over his chest, assessing me. “It’s lunchtime. Why don’t you come in and let me make you something?”
“I—”
Another gurgle from my gut interrupts my rejection.
Gross.
“You have to eat,” he insists, cocking one brow as if tempting me to challenge him.
He’s right. I do. But I have no interest in wasting more of this man’s time or insulting him with my toddler-like palette.
“I’ll pick up something on my way back to South Lamar.”
His eyes widen. “You live in South Lamar? That’s an hour from here. More with lunchtime traffic.” Dropping his hands, he steps forward slightly. “Please come in and allow me to make lunch for you. I have to eat anyway. It’s the least I can do, so I really must insist.”
The least he can do? I don’t get it. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
But… I bite down on my bottom lip, contemplating my options.
The breeze floats around us, stirring up the scents of sharp citrus and rich leather. Dammit. Not only is this man painstakingly handsome, but he smells divine.
“I’m a picky eater.” My words are laced with the shame that’s built up like sediment over years of disappointing people.
Picky is an understatement, really. I’m embarrassingly particular, and my repertoire of “safe” foods is tiny.
I have enough anxiety around eating as it is.
I’d hate to give this man any more ridiculous evidence to judge me by.
Today has been more than mortifying as it is.
One side of Alaric’s mouth quirks up in a smirk. “I’m a decent cook.”
With that, he turns and strides toward the house.
My feet remain glued to the pavement, and like he can sense that I’m not following, he glances over his shoulder, cocks that devilish brow, and calls back, “Come on, Evangeline. You have to eat. And I have another meeting in forty-five minutes.”
I shake my head, gearing up to protest, but when that brow only arches higher, I sigh and give in. I am hungry. I need to get out of the sun. And I’d much rather have a full stomach and a clear head when I make the drive back to South Lamar and figure out what’s next.
Decidedly, I follow my ex-boyfriend’s dad up the cobbled path toward the back door of his house.