Page 14 of Whiskey Kisses

“Oh, no,” she murmurs, brows knit together in sympathy. “What happened?”

“I got shot.” Evie stops walking. Chuckling, I slow down and turn to look at her. “It’s fine. I survived, obviously.”

“Tristan,” she breathes, horrified. “How the hell did you get shot?”

“Long story I really don’t feel like getting into,” I say, taking a few steps backward. “Or thinking about.”

She stares at me for a moment, a couple of emotions playing across her face that I can’t quite read. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, your dad is usually the one that deals with my dad.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Evie’s always been so damn perceptive. She’s right—myfather was the one handling this. But taking care of his heart means mitigating stress, and that means delegating tasks like this to Lucky and me. “He’s got a lot going on these days, and I don’t, so it made sense for me to take over.”

“I see,” she says, lowering her eyes.

Not sure what that’s all about either, but I’m hungry and, honestly, over this conversation. “Can we go eat now?”

With a reluctant nod, she catches up to me and we continue on. It’s obvious that there’s way more left unsaid between us than she’d like, but we’re not here to dig into family shit. If we were, I’d ask if she gets along with her dad because he was pretty angry the morning I stopped by. I’d let her know how sorry I am her mom passed away. I remember my parents flying down for the funeral years ago, how sad my own mother had been.

But I keep it light, coaxing Evie into reminiscing about nicer things, letting the awkwardness between us fade more and more with every recovered memory.Remember when we caught fireflies and you cried and made us release them? Remember when I cut my foot on that nail and had to go for a tetanus shot? Remember when Lucky and I sneaked your dad’s whiskey and got so drunk we puked in the garden?

The Thai restaurant comes into view, a hole-in-the-wall with a faded sign and a bunch of people lingering out front. Evie tosses a look over her shoulder. “See? Told you it was close.”

An hour and a half later,we leave with very, very full bellies. It’s late enough that we closed down the joint and the sidewalks are nearly empty, streetlights casting pools of yellow on the pavement.

Evie yawns widely, covering her mouth with both hands. “Man, I’m sleepy.”

“Lightweight,” I tease.

“Some of us are used to getting up early.” Digging around her purse, she pulls out her phone and checks it. “Some of us have towork.”

“On a Sunday?”

“No, thank God,” she says. “Although Opal’s mama usually tempts me with brunch if I go to church with them.”

I chuckle, nodding. “Sounds like my mom.”

“Yeah, my mama used to be pretty strict about us going as a family, but now Daddy doesn’t give a shit. That holy water would probably burn his fingers, anyway.”

“Hm.” Her father is a piece of work, for sure, but this is the first bad thing she’s said about him and if I want more unfiltered Evie, I need to listen more than I talk.

She quiets, maybe realizing the same thing I just did.

“What are you up to tomorrow, then?” I ask. “If you don’t go to church?”

“I’ll probably work in the garden for a while.”

“That’s how you kick back, huh? What d’you have growing?”

“A little of everything. Lots of herbs, plants. A few flowers.”

“My mom’s really into flowers and herbs, too. She prefers to use her own stuff when she’s cooking.”Why do I keep talking about my mother?“You cook?”

“No.” She huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I make teas, creams, tinctures, medicines, stuff like that.”

“Edibles?” I ask, only half-teasing.

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