Page 63 of Over the Edge

“I’ll make sure to remind her,” I say, playing along with the promise Evelyn made yesterday.

As I leave, I give Quinn a quick attempt at a wave with a drink in my hand. I take the walk to Evelyn’s as an opportunity to roll over the new knowledge in my mind. Evelyn was engaged. From the timeline that she’s told me and from what I’ve seen on social media it was three years ago, but that’s still a significant event to just brush over. What else isn’t she telling me?

Evelyn opens the door a minute or so after I knock. She’s yawning as she takes me in. Using the heel of her hand she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. The corners of her mouth drag downward with concern. “Did you get called back to the city?”

“Why would I be leaving?”

“You showed up in person with the gift of matcha. It’s ominous.”

“Me being nice is ominous? That’s concerning to hear. But no, this isn’t apology matcha and I’m not going back early. I’m still here to help you fake it for your ex-fiancé,” I say and Iimmediately wish I went about it a different way. I thought she trusted me. It hurts that I was wrong.

She flinches. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“I ran into Quinn,” I explain. I could have tried to get it out of her more naturally, less accusatory, but I don’t want to have to play a game to make it feel like it was her choice to divulge information I already know.

“All right.”

“You could tell me about it.”

“It seems like you’re caught up. Is there anything else you need?” Her voice manages to walk the line between charming and guarded. If I wasn’t in the position that I am I’d take it as an opportunity to walk away.

“Evelyn, if you want me to help you, if we’re actually a team, it would be nice to know I’m not flying blind.”

She mulls over my request for a moment. Her eyes dart between me and the drinks I’m carrying.

“Fine, come in, but only because you brought me a drink,” she says dismissively and moves from the door to let me in. “It’s not like it’s a big, crazy story or anything.”

We move inside to the living room. Her body folds into the corner of the couch while I settle into the armchair that’s positioned between her piano and the fireplace.

“What’s the story then, if it’s not big and crazy?”

“It really isn’t a big deal,” she bites out.

“How is it that you being engaged is not a big deal? It seems like the exact type of thing you’d care about,” I press. It feels like a thumb digging into a fading bruise. Hartsfall is the rawest part of me. I just thought she was sharing those parts of herself too.

“It was only for forty-eight hours. I’m not sure it counts.” A self-deprecating chuckle cracks out of her. “I didn’t tell anyone until Quinn. Even then, I almost didn’t. It’s like if we pretended it didn’t happen, we could just move on. We treated the wholebreak up that way. We talked about it enough to make sure we were still friends and just moved on.”

“And how is that working out for you?” I ask, not fully managing to contain my hurt.

“He seems happy,” she explains, avoiding my question.

“I didn’t ask about him. I asked about you.”

“I came to this town because the last time I was able to write good music was when I was with him. So that’s how I’m doing. Not great.” She glares at me. “Is that what you want me to say? Do you want me to admit I feel like a fucking failure whenever I think about how I walked away from Oliver to pursue something I’m not good at anymore? There are so many times when I think about that ring and wonder if I screwed everything up on a whim. Can you blame me for not wanting you to see me that way? I like the way you look at me. I don’t want to give you a reason to look away.” Her face is flushed pink with shame and frustration.

“I’m looking at you now.” When am I not looking? When am I not wanting more of her?

“How long will that last? When will you get tired and turn away?” she asks like it’s a foregone conclusion. I’ve spent years wanting her. This might complicate a few things, but it doesn’t change what matters. And what matters is her. Hell. It’s always her.

“I’m here, Evelyn,” I tell her. “I see you and I’m not looking away.”

Not now. Not ever. I watch as her features shift, softening as she accepts that I mean it. She’s not losing me over this.

Her chest heaves as she takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Are you doing all right? I mean, you still love him and he’s with your best friend” I ask, not sure I want the answer. But I need to know.

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