Page 15 of Home Sweet Home

“Would be great to have you on board, Peach.” West’s smile was so genuine, it made her want to go hide in the kitchen and never come out again.

“Coffee?” Kayla asked, coming up behind Evie.

“Please, Kayla.” West held out his mug. “Haven’t quite gotten over the jetlag yet. Didn’t fall asleep until four this morning.”

“Do you have oat milk?” Rich asked.

“We have two percent,” Kayla said. “Or half-and-half.”

Rich inched his mug forward with his index finger. “Just coffee.”

As she filled it, Kayla asked, “Why do you call Evie Peach?”

Evie elbowed her, but it was too late.

“What? He called you it twice. I was just curious.”

A grin spread across West’s face. Evie caught his gaze and shook her head, but she knew it was in vain.

“I don’t know if you know this about Evie Cauley,” West said. “She played softball on one of the teams I coached. Must have been about thirteen. Let’s just say she didn’t quite have the affinity for it. Biggest problem was that she was afraid of the ball. Every time someone threw one at her, she would flinch, even if you lobbed it at her real gentle. For fielding, we put her in the center-left outfield.”

“Is that even a thing?” Kayla asked, barely containing a laugh. Evie wished the floor would turn into quicksand and swallow her.

Then West winked, sending new waves of something white hot through Evie. “Special position, invented just for her. That was all fine, though. Real problem was batting. I mean, the whole idea is balls get thrown at you. So this one time, Evie goes up to bat. The pitcher throws a hard one, Evie turns to her side, and the ball smacks her on the cheek and knocks her out cold. Walked around with a bruise the size of a cantaloupe for weeks after.”

Evie remembered waking up, her back flat against a bleacher, West’s face hovering over her, asking her how many fingers he was holding up.

“Peaches bruise,” Evie said. “Ha, ha. Now are we done with this little trip down memory lane? Some of us have work to do.”

“Mom!” Ryleigh whined.

“Just think about it,” West said to Evie, and as she walked to the kitchen to put in their order, she ran her thumb over the spot on the underside of her wrist where he’d touched her.

* * *

Evie satat the one stoplight in Creek Water, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her Mazda.

Peach. When she was fifteen, she’d pretended to hate the nickname, but each time he said it in that slow, smooth drawl, she’d been pleased, like it was some sort of secret they shared. Now, coming out of his mouth when he barely knew her anymore, she saw it for what it really was—making fun of a very painful injury.

She had been so close to saying yes to his offer. How could she say no? It was a way out of her financial mess. It was the only way, if she were being entirely honest. But then he’d given her that lopsided grin, and she’d remembered how hot her skin felt where he’d touched her. It was like he was self-sabotaging, reminding her of the reasons it was the worst idea.

Evie glanced out the passenger window at the white cross stuck into the dirt off the side of the highway. If she squinted, she could just make out her mom’s name etched into the wood. She wasn’t even sure who’d made it. The days and weeks after her mom’s car crash were a blur. Morning Glory clambered up the weather-distressed wood. Morning Glory was a weed. She knew because her mom had once told her, but it never made any sense to Evie. The bright-ivory flowers were too beautiful to be unwanted. The pink tulips Evie had left a few months ago were brown and drooping, wilting into the ground.

Fresh flowers were a luxury she couldn’t afford right now, but Evie knew her mom would understand. Instead of giving her bouquets or cards on holidays, Evie baked. Her mom had always gobbled up every bite of whatever Evie had created, patted her belly, and said, “Flowers die. But cake stays with you forever.”

When the light turned green, it took Evie a second to get moving. As she put her foot on the accelerator, she waved at the car behind her in apology. The driver waved right back, an unhurried smile on their face. Down the highway, the cross disappeared in Evie’s rearview mirror. The sound of her muffler dragging against the asphalt grew louder as she picked up speed. It had been dangling for at least a year, but dangling wasn’t detached, so she’d left it alone.

As Evie pulled in to her driveway, she thought about the first time she’d seen the house. She had been eleven, sitting in the front seat, a book in her lap, Josh in the back in his car seat.

“Look how beautiful it is,” her mom said.

Beautifulseemed like a stretch. There were shingles missing from the roof. One gutter hung low, muddy water dripping from the end onto the overgrown grass. The lawns on either side of theirs were perfectly manicured, neat lines delineating their decrepit pile of bricks.

It was like her mom didn’t see any of it. She launched herself out of the car, Josh on her hip. Grabbing Evie’s hand, she tugged her through the front door. The strong smell of wet dog fur permeated the inside. It was embedded in the carpets from the previous owner’s three Newfoundlands. The plaster on the walls was chipped in so many places, the world’s biggest bucket of spackle couldn’t fix it. One of the bedrooms had a giant hole in the ceiling that exposed beams speckled with cobwebs and spiders looming above her. The kitchen floor, cracked tiles lined with black grout, needed replaced. Two of the four stove burners wouldn’t light without a match.

But there was a backyard and a bedroom for each of them. In their old rental apartment, Evie and Josh had shared one, which had been fine until Josh started climbing out of his bed and crawling into Evie’s every night. He was a fitful sleeper, and she kept waking up to one of his little feet kicking her in the face. Once, he’d drawn blood, leaving her with a split lip that she’d tried to hide with her mom’s lipstick.

That night, they’d ordered a large pizza with mushrooms and olives and sat on the kitchen floor together, eating, happier than she could ever remember them being. Evie didn’t even realize the best part until she’d gotten older, the real reason her mom looked at a run-down split level like it was a McMansion. They didn’t have much money, but at least it was going toward something they owned, something of value, something that would last.

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