Page 55 of Home Sweet Home

“Boo.” West thrust out both hands, thumbs tilted toward the floor, but he sank into his chair and turned to Evie. “You get up there, Peach. Sing a song for us.”

Evie had many talents. She could make the flakiest pie crust without looking at a recipe—the trick was to coat the butter in flour. She could carry two full trays of margaritas on Taco Tuesdays without spilling one drop of precious tequila over the sides of the glasses.

But singing?

“No way,” Evie said, shaking her head, the room spinning around her. “Not in a million years.”

Kayla smirked over the rim of her wineglass. “Evie doesn’t do embarrassing things.” Evie opened her mouth to protest, but Kayla continued, leaning forward like she was sharing a deep, dark secret. “Once we went to this bar. They had live music. No one was dancing yet. I tried to get her on the dance floor with me. You know, start the party. But it was like her perfect little ass was super-glued to the seat.”

Evie wasn’t sure what compelled her out of her chair. It could have been the three beers clouding her judgment or the overwhelming urge to wipe the smug smirks off Kayla’s and West’s faces, the ones that suggested they’d known what she was going to say before the words left her mouth. But three seconds later, she was standing on the stage, dozens of eyes staring at her, her stomach turning over.

“What song, Evie?” Wayne asked.

She said something. She didn’t know what until the song started up.

“Yeah, Evie!” Kayla whistled loudly.

And Evie took the microphone. She put her all into her rendition of “Gimme Gimme Gimme” by ABBA. She knew the lyrics all by heart. When she was finished, she made her way back to the table, adrenaline rushing through her, polite applause filling the room.

“That was…” Kayla started.

“Goddamn spectacular,” West said, arm around the back of her chair.

“Truly horrible.”

West took a sip of his beer. “I think I like ABBA now.”

“Hi,” a voice said, and Evie looked up to see Kenny hovering next to West, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Evie, wasn’t aware you were so… talented.”

Evie blushed.

“And I had to say hi, man.”

West got up from his chair and hugged one arm around Kenny. “Been a long time. How the hell are you, dude?”

“Good. Real good. Working at the shop now.”

“That right? Been meaning to get the oil changed on Tweety Bird,” West said. “Maybe I’ll swing by.”

Kenny’s eyes widened. “That’d be awesome. It’s on the house.”

Kayla snorted, wine spewing out of her nose.

“You know, I gotta say. I really disagree with the league’s decision. Me and the boys were just talking about it. Just know you have people on your side.”

There was a twitch in West’s eye, a flicker in his smile, so small she was sure no one else noticed. But it went away quickly, replaced by that same dopey, drunk smile. “Can I buy you all a round?”

Kenny looked as though someone had just told him he’d won the lottery. “Hell yeah.”

“Nice to see you, too, Kenny,” Kayla said. As Kenny and West walked away, she craned her neck to follow their movement. “Know what? Think I need a refill.”

With Kayla gone, Rich stared at West’s retreating back like it was the last life raft off the Titanic.

“French fry?” Evie asked, holding the basket out to him.

“No,” he said, stirring his gin and tonic with a tiny red straw. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s very interested in baseball.”

Evie sipped her beer. “And?”

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