Page 10 of Firefly Effect

“On my couch,” I add stupidly. I’m making it worse, throwing gas on an already blazing fire, and I don’t know how to stop. “Jesus, I just meant…”

She holds up a hand, seemingly unfazed now that the initial shock is over. “I get it, Dr. Re?—”

“Lincoln,” I cut in, reminding her.

“All right, Lincoln. No offense. I’m sure you’re amazing, but I’m not looking for a new therapist. I’m not even sure why I continued seeing J.D. as long as I did.” She shrugs. “Habit, I guess.”

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from launching into a diatribe about how caring for your own mental health doesn’t have an end date and can be beneficial in all phases of life. Instead, I say the only thing that comes to my mind next. “Twelve years is a long time.” I search her stunning blue eyes, hoping to catch any reactions. “I’m sorry about Jenkins.”

There’s a flicker of something I can’t totally identify. Disappointment, sadness, fear? Maybe it’s a subtle combination of the three, and something about it tells me I shouldn’t give up on her.

“If you change your mind, I’d still like to give you that free consultation. No commitments.” I attempt a smile. “After that, you can determine if I’m a good match for you or not. And vice versa.”

She reaches forward and wraps her hand around the glass tumbler. “You said it yourself. Twelve years is a long time. You think you can just read my file and pick up with me where J.D. left off?”

This nugget of hope gets my heart going like a kick drum. “Of course not. We would establish something new. We’d start a new file.”

Evelyn shakes her head like I’ve completely missed the point, and I know that somehow, I have. “It took me a long time to feel comfortable with J.D. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to go back…”

Something about the way the words die on her lips squeezes my heart. “Understood.” It’s a knee-jerk response—fight or flight—because the last thing I want is for her to be upset with me. That would completely dismantle any chance I have of gaining her trust.

I’m just starting to wonder if there’s any chance at all.

I take the envelope from the bar top and push out a smile. “Well, it has been good to see you again, Ms. Vaughn.”

“Evelyn,” she corrects with a stern look.

“That’s right,” I say, delighting in the fact that just the way I say her name gets a little bit under her skin.

As I start to back away, not wanting to leave but knowing I must, Patrick makes his way back in our direction.

“Hey, Lincoln. Before you go.” He slides up behind the bar so he’s directly beside his niece. “I know you said you only needed the house temporarily, but there’s some information in the envelope about renting-to-own, if you’re interested. A portion of your rent would go toward paying down the costs to close. Just think about it and let me know if you’re interested.”

I don’t want to tell him that Bryson City isn’t a place I’ll ever consider home, no matter how great a deal he cuts me. I’m simply here for a job opportunity I couldn’t ignore. It’s all temporary—but just like so much about me and my reasons for being here, no one can ever know.

Instead, I nod. “Thanks, Patrick.”

“No problem,” he says. Evelyn looks between us with obvious confusion but says nothing as Patrick wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I see you’ve already met my niece. Evie here will be looking after things for me while I’m gone. I left her contact information in that envelope, but if you can’t reach her, you know where to find her.” He gestures around the bar with his free hand.

This information feels like an unexpected treasure. Smiling for real, I back farther away from the bar, my eyes landing on Evelyn’s. “Then I guess I’ll be in touch… Evie.”

She pins me with a glare that leaves me with a sick sense of satisfaction before I turn around and exit the bar.

CHAPTER

THREE

EVELYN

It’s late on Saturday afternoon when I make my way to the festival at Livingston Farms. Every weekend, the owners put together a full family event with live music, local food and craft booths, activities for kids, and an epic U-Pick experience that benefits them all year round. While I’d happily attended the event with Uncle Patrick when I was a kid, it’s one I’ve tried to avoid in my adult life. The festival involves too many people and too many opportunities to be socially awkward.

On the other hand, it’s great for Patrick’s bar since he’s the exclusive beer and wine vendor every year. He’s out of town this year, though, so I’m the one running Firefly’s tent along with two of our employees—my childhood friend, Janessa, and her husband, Armando. Luckily, I always feel comfortable behind the bar, no matter the size of the crowd.

“I’m going to take a break and do some shopping for the bar,” I tell Armando as I slip off my apron. He’s ringing up a customer while Janessa helps another, so he simply gives me a nod to acknowledge he heard me.

After a pit stop in the bathroom, I make my way through the Livingston Farms market like I normally do every Saturday morning when there isn’t an event. If I’m not shopping for my personal kitchen, I’m grabbing fresh ingredients for the bar—fruits and herbs for the garnishes, cheese and nuts for the complimentary snacks, and fresh vegetables for all the bloody marys I know I’ll be making tomorrow afternoon with the brunch crowd.

While Beth, the cashier, is ringing me up, a figure catches my eye outside the window, someone who doesn’t belong here. That much was certain from the moment Lincoln walked into J.D.’s office. It’s not every day that the town of Bryson City acquires a new resident, most certainly none in my age range, not to mention a doctor—a psychologist, even. But there he is now, in my neighborhood market, standing six-foot-something with his ruggedly handsome beard, dressed in dark shorts and a sleeveless athletic shirt that reveals a well-sculpted body.

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