Page 11 of When Alec Met Evie
Felix, who is a landlord himself, moves to Evie’s other side and starts asking questions about her lease.
Meanwhile, all I can think about is the enormous house I’m living in all by myself.
If Megan were here, she wouldn’t want Evie paying for a hotel. But…Evie has ababy.Do I really want a baby staying in my house? Would Evie even feel comfortable staying with me?After Sunday’s final preseason game, we’ll be on the road for close to a week. She’d basically have the whole place to herself.
“I just went through this last year,” Felix is saying, “and I’ve got a great disaster repair company we can call. Even if your landlord doesn’t get back to you right away, if you go with a company that’s licensed and insured, considering the circumstances, I doubt he’ll protest you moving forward with the repairs.”
“He’s been really easy to work with so far,” Evie says. “But I’m not sure I could afford to start if he’s not footing the bill.”
I watch Felix’s expression soften. He’s got the resources and the connections, and I know he’d take care of this for Evie without batting an eye. But something deep in my gut doesn’t want Felix to be the one who solves this problem for her.
“That shouldn’t?—”
I take a step forward and turn to face Evie. “Let’s just get through today and see if we hear from your landlord,” I say, cutting off Felix’s words. “We can figure out next steps once we get everything unloaded.”
“Yes. Good plan,” Evie says, but Felix shoots me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised like he understands exactly what’s going through my mind.
If he does, then he’s a few steps ahead of me, because I can’t make sense of it at all. I just know that despite the grumbling I did about Megan volunteering me to help, Felix shouldn’t be the one who solves Evie’s problem.
It should be me. Iwantit to be me.
Besides, Megan would never let me forget it if I didn’t step up, and I’m sure Evie is going to tell her what happened, if she hasn’t already. My hands are basically tied here.
It isn’t going to take long to stash everything in the garage because Evie doesn’t have that much stuff. A couch, a couple ofchairs, a bed, a single dresser. There’s more furniture for the baby than there is for her.
After ten minutes of the five of us working in relative silence, I carry an open crate full of what looks like music books into the garage and set it down on top of a dresser that Nathan and Felix just brought in. Evie is standing beside it, adjusting the shade on a floor lamp that looks like it was bent in the move.
“You play violin, right?” I say, shifting the box forward.
She glances at the music books and smiles. “I’m surprised you have to ask. I practiced at your house almost as much as mine.”
A memory pops into my head of Evie playing the same simple song over and over again while I was home on break from college, trying to watch a movie with friends. She must have been in middle school at the time and had seemed upset when she crossed through the living room to Megan’s room, instrument case in hand.
She’d sounded terrible—cracked and squeaky—nowhere near like actual music. But I’d refused to ask her to stop even when my friends complained. There had to be a reason she wasn’t practicing at home, and if the tears I noticed when she passed through were any indication, it probably had something to do with her brother, who’d been sick as long as I could remember.
I must be frowning because Evie starts to laugh. “I know. I sounded terrible back then.”
“No, no, that’s not what I was?—”
She lifts an eyebrow, cutting off my protests, because Iwasthinking about how bad she sounded. But that wasn’t why I frowned.
“I was just thinking about your brother,” I explain. “He was why you practiced at our place, wasn’t he? Brady, right? How’s he doing?”
Her expression brightens. “He’s great. Totally cancer free. He’s a senior this year.”
“Really? Wasn’t he just a few years younger than you? He’s still in high school?”
“Five years younger,” she says easily. “It’s freaking my parents out that they’re so close to having an empty nest.”
The fact that Brady is only five years younger than Evie and he’s still in high school makes my thirty-plus years suddenly feel ancient. For me, high school feels like a different life.
“Thanks for asking,” Evie adds, almost like she’s surprised I remembered.
I nod and tilt my head toward the music books. “I assume you eventually got…good?”
She laughs. “I did. Good enough, anyway. I graduated with a degree in music and everything.”
“That’s why you’re down here. Something to do with your violin?”
