Page 62 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“Zach has too much on his plate already. He doesn’t need to be my caretaker along with everyone else’s.” I squeeze my eyes tighter to keep from thinking about how much I would like Zach to take care of me.

But I can’t stop the images of him pressing the cold pack against my ankle or me waking up covered by a blanket, my phone charging and my coffee maker ready to go.

“Even if he wants to?”

I open my eyes and shake my head. “He only offered to be nice. He thinks this is his fault because I tripped over his shoes.”

I leave out the part about him using me to forget Carly. That’s too painful to say out loud, but I’m sure it’s true. I also don’t want to say anything about him and Carly that he hasn’t already told his family. For all I know, he’s making plans to get back together with her and doesn’t want his family to be mad at her for cheating on him.

“Pretty sure he offered because he cares about you.” Evie takes a throw pillow from under her arm and lifts my feet to place it under them. “He checked his phone about a million times during dinner to see if you’d texted.”

I scoff. “I doubt that very much.” Once again, I don’t mention Carly, but I’d put money on the fact he was hoping to get a text from her.

“I’m only telling you what he said when his dad reminded him they’d all agreed no cell phones at the table. He wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.” She twists the toes on my good foot and declares. “Girl, you need a pedicure.”

“I know! I haven’t had one since I’ve been here because Kelly’s not coming back until Memorial Day.” I’m more than happy to change the subject from Zach to the impossibility of getting a good pedicure in a town where the one-woman nail salon closes as soon as the first snow falls and doesn’t open again until flip-flop weather returns.

“If I paint your toenails, do you promise not to wear any open-toed shoes until your ankle is completely back to normal?” She squeezes my big toe. Not hard, just enough so I understand she isn’t taking no for an answer.

“Deal,” I say.

All my open-toed shoes have heels. Evie knows this. But my Timberlands aren’t open toe.

“And no heels.” She still has my toe in a tight grip.

“Fine.” I glare at her, but I really want my toenails painted.

“Promise?” She squeezes harder.

My hand is hidden under the blanket, so I cross my fingers. “Promise.”

If she’s going to use torture to make me agree to her unreasonable terms, fingers-crossed is fair game for breaking a promise.

She scoots out from under my feet and walks to my bedroom, which since the renovation includes an ensuite bathroom. As hard as it was not to feel like I was erasing Grandma Rose from the house when we renovated it, I love having a bath attached to my bedroom now. I’m determined to make sure every house in Little Copenhagen will have the same when we’re done with all the renovations.

Evie returns a minute later with my plastic bin full of nail polish, evidence of my obsession. She holds it toward me, and I pick out a bright yellow. I need some sunshine in my life, and this is the most I’m going to get in Paradise for the next few months until it really starts to warm up.

After putting down an old towel on the antler-legged coffee table she designed, Evie goes to work on my toes. Which is something only a true friend would do, because toes are kind of gross. Especially my little sausage toes. That’s why I love having them painted. Maybe it’s a lipstick on a pig sort of situation, but I think they look pretty when they’re decorated.

While she paints, we talk through some of the design ideas she thinks we should use in the Thomsen place. Little touches that incorporate memories the Thomsens have of the house. Black and white pictures. A favorite cookbook. An old plate brought from Denmark that’s been handed down in their family for three generations. It’s the one thing that survived the journey from the old country, the trip across the plains, and a lot of little hands.

Then, out of the blue, she blurts, “I think Hope wants to stay with me this summer.”

“Your stepsister Hope?” That’s the only Hope I’ve ever heard her talk about, but their relationship is complicated, and Evie is at least six years older than her.

Evie closes my yellow polish, then nods.

“With the baby?”

“She’s almost three now.” Evie waves her hands over my toes to dry them. “But no, she’d leave Charity with my dad and stepmom.”

“Do you want her to come here? You’re going to be in the middle of planning a wedding.”

Her silence and the worry on her face are all the answer I need. Evie needs a distraction from hard questions as badly as I do. But I can’t keep my foot elevated and paint her nails. So I stick out my hands to show her my fingernails. “These look pretty bad too, don’t you think?”

Evie laughs, then opens the yellow polish again. She has the first layer on my left hand done before she answers my question.

“I think she wants a fresh start in a place where no one knows she had a baby at nineteen.” She covers my thumbnail in a second layer. “Where else could she go but here?”

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