Page 50 of Whiskey Kisses

All I can think about is Evie, how she felt in my arms last night. How good kissing her felt. I hadn’t planned on making a move, but when she kissed me first, I couldn’t think straight. We’d gotten kind of flirty at the bar and I acted on instinct, taking what she was giving because it felt like a natural progression … until I remembered how fucked-up she was. I’d watched her hop from bar to bar all night, looking like a dream in that short, little skirt, downing drinks and taking shots with Opal, and now she was high, too. I couldn’t fuck her when she was like that.

Because that’s where things would’ve gone, guaranteed.

And anyway, Evie said from the very beginning, right before we signed that marriage license, that there would be no messing around. I respected that, enough to push her away and prevent her from doing something she’d undoubtedly regret. But she took it wrong, becauseshe’s Evie and her self-esteem needs work. She doesn’t see what I see, that she’s loyal and smart and so fucking cute, almost kittenish. Kinda like her little ginger tabby. She’s a lot stronger than she used to be, too. She stands up for herself now, and that’s hot in a way I didn’t expect.

But for some reason she still doesn’t think she’s good enough. Come to think of it, she probably only went for it last night because she’d had a healthy dose of liquid courage. Because when she’s sober? She keeps that line drawn.

After looking around the rest of the house, I knock on her door. When I don’t get an answer, I push it open, unsurprised to see her empty bed neatly made. Juniper ignores me, but Poppy meows from the window. “Where’s your mom?” I ask them, grabbing my phone from my pocket.

I shoot Evie a text.

Where are you?

For once, she replies to me in a timely fashion.

Aunt Myrtle’s.

My chest tightens. Frowning, I look around her room. Sure enough, a bunch of the boxes are gone. She must’ve started moving this morning while the rest of us were still asleep.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. This is worse than I expected.

Finn emerges from his room, raising his eyebrows when he finds me in the doorway of Evie’s room. “Trouble in paradise?”

Evie opens the front door,wary—but definitely not surprised— to see me. She’s got a pair of old gardening gloves in one hand, and there’s a smear of dirt across her cheek. “Hey,” she says, zeroing in on the hefty box I’m carrying.

“Hey. Catch you at a bad time?” I ask, looking pointedly at the gloves.

“Not really. I’m just doing a little weed pulling.”

“Gardening’s your therapy, huh,” I surmise, easing past her and setting the box on the floor. It’s full of books. It was beside the front door back at the rental, so I grabbed it on my way out.

“Are there more of those in the back? I can get them.” She moves toward the door, tossing her gloves to the floor. She’s wearing loose cotton short-shorts and a black tank top, thin enough that I can just make out her nipples. Her creamy skin is clear of makeup, showing off a few freckles, and her hair’s up in a bun like it was last night. When she kissed me.

When I kissed her.

“No, just that one.” I straighten up, shutting the door. “Was I supposed to bring the rest?”

“You didn’t have to bring any at all. Unless you’re trying to get rid of me.” She huffs a soft, fake laugh.

“Don’t turn this around,” I say lightly. “You’re the one who’s moving out in stealth mode.”

“Because I have a house of my own now.” She still won’t give me her gaze. It’s annoying. “It’s time I got settled.”

“Okay.” Nodding, I take a step closer. “But you’re running away, too.”

Now she looks at me, her light eyes stormy. “Don’t do that.”

I stare down at her, watching a parade of emotions I don’t fully recognize flash across her face. “Do what?”

She closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I never should have done that. I was?—”

“Fucked-up. We both were.” I tug her hand down, bending so that we’re eye to eye. “That’s why I didn’t let it go any further.”

Biting her lip, Evie pulls her hand away. “Well, thanks. And thanks for the box.” Spinning on her heel, she stalks toward the back of the house. “I’ll be by later to get Poppy and Juniper and the rest of my stuff.”

“Evie, come on,” I press, following her into the kitchen. There are boxes everywhere, and I nearly trip over one. “Why are you trying so hard to get away from me when last night you were all over me?”

Freezing, she aims a murderous glare over her shoulder as her faceblooms into a bouquet of angry red splotches. “Fuck off, Tristan,” she says in a wobbly voice. “Just go home.”

---