Page 81 of These Jagged Edges

I walk in and fuck me. The curvy vixen has on a red sundress that hugs every curve she possesses, and her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. I damn near swallow my tongue just looking at her.

“You are the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

Evie gives me a shy smile. “So you’ve said once or twice. Those for me?”

I hand her the flowers and give her chaste kiss grossing both boys out.

“Where are you taking me Big Guy?”

I grasp the wheel tighter to mask my shaking hands. “Just enjoy the ride Pretty Girl. We’ll be there soon.”

Evie gives me a smile that rivals the God damn sun, before humming along to the radio.

My girl knows me too well. All through dinner she keeps asking me if I’m okay. I just grumble an answer at her and stare at her tits until she squirms in her seat. Total fucking tool move I know, but if she keeps asking, I’ll tell her everything and that’s not how the fuck I want this night to go. After dinner we hop back into the car with her still wondering what I have planned next and why I’m acting so weird.

Realizing we’re almost there I open the glove box, take the blind fold out, and toss it in her lap. “Put that on for me, will you?”

“Maddox—"

“The rest is a surprise, so please put the damn blindfold on.”

Shit, I’m sweating.

“Yeah, yeah,” Evie sasses before she slips the blindfold on.

I pull into a parking spot and wipe my hands on my jeans. “Don’t move, I’m going to help you out.”

I cut the engine and take a deep breath before heading over to her side. My heart feels like it's about to beat right out of my chest, and a rush of doubts swarms my mind. But I manage to push all that noise aside as I reach her. I help her out of the car, murmuring a soft reminder to watch her step. With a steadying breath, I pull the key from my pocket and unlock the door, guiding us inside. Relief washes over me seeing that Mercy remembered to leave the sign on. I quickly glance around, making sure everything is just right. Satisfied, I finally remove her blindfold.

Here goes everything.

Chapter Thirty

EVIE

Maddox pulls off my blindfold,and for a moment, I’m completely speechless. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, to truly take in what’s in front of me. The first thing I notice is a massive blue neon sign that readsThe Wild Whiskin elegant cursive, glowing softly against a white shiplap wall. Just below it, there are at least two dozen wildflower bouquets, each one a mirror image of the one he gave me earlier tonight.

I keep glancing between the vibrant sign and the man standing in front of me, who looks like he’s one breath away from coming undone.

“M-Maddox, what...what is all this?” I finally manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Maddox runs a hand through his hair, looking at me with that endearing, almost boyish, sheepishness. I can’t help but blink in confusion. This—this was what had him all tied in knots? A restaurant called The Wild Whisk?

I glance around again, trying to understand, but all I see areflowers, that glowing sign, and the nervous wreck of a man standing in front of me, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Evie,” Maddox begins, his voice soft but steady, “I once asked you about your dreams, and you told me you wanted to give your boys a safe, loving home...and a place like Joe’s.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Well, I can’t give you a loving home, because you’ve already built that yourself. Your house is overflowing with so much damn love it practically bursts at the seams. Hell, you even made room for me in there.”

His fingers reach up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “But that other dream?” He nods toward the glowing sign, his eyes never leaving mine. “That, I can give you.”

He steps back, arms open like he’s presenting me with a world he built just for me. “This is all yours, baby.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice shaky with disbelief, the words barely making it out past the lump in my throat.

Maddox shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t like the name, you can change it,” he mutters, almost petulantly. “It was Mercy’s idea.”

I can’t find the words. My mind is spinning, refusing to accept what he’s saying. Without a word, I start walking around, taking in every detail of the space. The warm wooden tables, the soft glow of the neon sign, the scent of fresh flowers and new beginnings.

But no matter how many times I look around, I can’t shake the disbelief. There’s no way in hell this man bought me a café. Men only do things like this in movies, in romance novels—not in real life.

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