Page 102 of Whiskey Kisses

“No, but I think she actually loves him,” she says with a shudder.

“So why did she marry someone else?” I ask. “If she loves him and they’ve been messing around since high school?”

“Optics, probably. The Deschamps are well known around here, but Dylan Spencer’s family is the crème de la crème,” she replies. “Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe Cole didn’t want to get married.”

“Probably a little of both.” I shut my laptop as Timmy finishes rolling his baseball bat of a joint. “Cole has always been obsessed withyou. Marrying your sister would’ve eliminated any chance he had of getting you back.”

“But fucking Maribelle and then knocking her up wouldn’t?” Evie looks like she just drank spoiled milk.

I shrug. “I didn’t say it made sense.”

“He probably liked the idea of having you both,” Timmy says, tucking the joint behind his ear and rising from the table. “Let’s smoke.”

27.Evie

Tristan and I spend the holidays with his family in Boston. I’ve spent every Christmas of my life in Savannah, so leaving feels bittersweet at first, but mostly I’m just excited to see Tristan’s city. I’m hoping for snow.

It's fun catching up with Lucky, who I haven’t seen in years, and meeting his adorable little boy, Liam. His wife Bria is classy and beautiful, but that’s not surprising. Her kindness complements his sharper edges perfectly, too. Maeve flies back for just four days, much to the family’s chagrin, because she has rehearsals in Oakland. And—she reveals to Bria and me—because Callum wants her to spend New Year’s with his extended family in Belvedere, a fancy city in fancy Marin County. I’ve never been to California, so I don’t know much about that, but she seems happy, if not anxious, to fly back when it’s time.

Bria takes me holiday shopping at the winter markets and Beacon Hill’s boutiques. Tristan and I go on a holiday cruise around Boston Harbor with Owen and Sloane, and to a Celtics game with Lucky and Bria. We go ice skating with Liam, which I suck at, and have dinner with the entire family, uncles, aunts, and cousins included, at an upscale restaurant in Back Bay.

On Christmas morning, we wake up to a sparkling white wonderland. After breakfast and opening presents, we make snowmen andsnow angels in Boston Common until our fingers are numb. The only person more excited than Liam is me.

I love seeing Tristan’s beloved city through his eyes. He takes me to all his favorite haunts from Callaghan’s boxing gym to Salty’s, a rooftop bar with stunning city views. “It’s better in the summer,” he says from within our igloo-for-two, designed to keep the elements out.

“I don’t know.” I take a big sip of my Dirty Snowman—a boozy, hot chocolate with loads of Bailey’s—and sink back into my chair. “This is pretty perfect to me.”

“I keep forgetting you’re not used to real winter,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “You actually like when it’s cold.”

Seeing Tristan in his element is jarring, but in a good way. This is where he belongs, the place that made him who he is. He and Lucky have a ton of family and even more friends, some of whom I recognize from their trip down south. Alex hugs me when he sees me, telling everyone else that I’m the badass Tristan’s needed all along. They treat me like family, like I belong, just like Tristan promised. Bria and Sloane confide in me and include me like I’ve always been around, and Liam even calls me Auntie Evie.

It’s so nice that when our last night in town rolls around, it’s almost as bittersweet to leave Boston as it was to leave Savannah.

“We’ll be back soon,” Tristan says with a smug smile, drawing his finger down between my breasts to my belly button.

“You knew I’d love it here, didn’t you?” I accuse, gazing at Boston’s glittering skyline just beyond the sliding glass doors. We’re tangled up in each other on the cushy white carpet in his living room, where we just had sweet, tipsy sex by the crackling fireplace.

“I did,” he agrees, capturing my nipple in his mouth.

I thread my fingers through his hair, wavering between holding him close and squirming away. “Too sensitive,” I whisper after a moment.

He gives it a chaste kiss and rests his head on my belly instead. “I love your tits.”

“They love you, too.”

“I want to live here,” he says, gazing up at me. “With you.”

“I want that, too.” I loop one of his curls around my finger. “But not all the time. I’d miss home too much.”

“Notall the time,” he agrees. “We need to be in Savannah sometimes for the distillery, anyway.”

“Don’t forget about Opal, and my garden,” I say with a smile. “And Poppy and Juniper.”

“I’d never forget about the kids,” he says so solemnly that I giggle. “Seriously though, we can live where we want, Evie. Home is wherever you are.”

“Oh, boy.” I sigh as I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, feeling the slight stubble that’s grown over the day. “If I wasn’t already in love with you, that probably would’ve done it.”

Tristan keeps ribbingme that nobody does St. Patrick’s Day like Boston, but Savannah goes hard too—our celebrations are some of the largest in the country. Some of my earliest memories are of the parade, riding on my dad’s shoulders as we watched the floats and musicians go by.

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