Merry Ever After (Under the Mistletoe collection)

Chapter Four Luke

Chapter Four

Luke

K eeping an eye on the building that houses the thrift shop below—and my reluctant woman above—I circle around back of my pickup truck, lifting the blue tarp and staring at the bicycle I just drove fifty miles to purchase. Sure, I could have gotten one locally, but none of the secondhand ones in town seemed special enough for Evie. However, now that the time has come to give her the damn thing, my nerves are picking up speed.

It’s Christmas Eve, and there is finally a bite of cold in the air. And though it will probably be absorbed by the Texas sunshine tomorrow, the coolness of the evening lends authenticity to the holiday, along with the blue strings of lights fading from dark to bright on the eaves of the thrift shop and the scent of apple cinnamon drifting from the church function down the block.

My gaze strays to the second-story window, and I catch sight of Evie at the stove, stirring something up in a pot, spoon in one hand, Sonny in the other. A hefty pressure settles in the dead center of my chest—same one I get every time I’m in the same room as her.

Did I ever really believe I’d find jeans that fit at the thrift shop?

No.

It was always about getting a look at the beautiful woman behind the counter.

The one who is perpetually optimistic yet guarded.

I’ve got a strong gut feeling about a woman who starts over in a small town because of an ant statue and a good memory. This woman, who’d hoof it all the way to my farm to deliver jeans and a rebuke. This woman, whose body and mouth and skin have kept me in a constant state of painful hunger since she allowed me to kiss her.

I aim to keep Evie. Making that happen is going to be one hell of a delicate operation. She doesn’t want a man coming along and messing shit up—again, apparently, though I’ve yet to get the details. I need to be patient. Need to show her that if she allows me into her and Sonny’s lives, it’ll be for the better.

And then I get to spend every day delivering.

Damn, I’m looking forward to it.

Firming my jaw, I lift the bike out of the truck bed and settle it on the sidewalk, in view of the apartment window. After adjusting the big red bow tied to the handlebars, I use the chain and lock to secure it to the bike rack; then I pace for a spell, working up the nerve to climb the stairs to her door. There’s a good possibility she’s not going to appreciate me showing up unannounced. If I’m going to convince Evie to give me a chance, though, I’m going to have to take a couple myself.

Finally, I find myself outside her apartment door, knocking. The TV is muted inside, hesitant steps approaching.

“Hello?”

Every muscle in my body goes as tight as a bowstring at the sound of her voice. “Evie.”

Is that her swallowing? “Luke.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, followed by the click of a dead bolt disengaging. Relief has me closing my eyes, but they open just as eagerly to catch my first sight of her in twenty-four hours—and Lord, she was worth the wait. Sonny is perched on her right hip, fiddling with her hair. I’m not even sure what to call the dress she’s wearing, only I think it’s technically called a slip . A dress women wear under their dresses, which makes almost no sense, but I’m currently grateful for their existence because this one is nearly see-through. Short too.

I can see damn near all of Evie’s thighs.

The shape of her.

God have mercy on my sanity.

“It’s ... it’s Christmas Eve. What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a present.”

She sweeps me with a look of growing unease. “Where is it?”

“Downstairs.” I nod at the interior of her apartment. “You can see it through the window. I’ll wait here, if you want.”

Absently, she tosses her hair back to avoid Sonny’s grabby hands. She’s thinking. Weighing pros and cons. Maybe I shouldn’t have put her on the spot. “No, come in,” she murmurs, stepping aside, her lips twitching with humor when I have to duck to clear the doorframe. “Still rocking the jeans, I see.”

“I haven’t taken them off, except to sleep. And shower,” I’m quick to add, lest she think I don’t have good hygiene. “Been getting lots of compliments on them, too.”

“Really? From whom?”

“Mostly the chickens.”

She sets loose the most incredible laugh I’ve ever heard in my life. I feel it everywhere, but especially in my heart. The sound grabs Sonny’s attention, and he watches his mother curiously as they cross to the window, looking out, then down.

“Oh,” she breathes. “That’s a bike.”

“It’s a bike.”

“With a ... with a baby seat on the back.”

I wish I was wearing a hat so I had something to fuss with right now. My hands have no idea what to do with themselves. “I’m hoping you’ll use it to come see me at the farm, Evie.”

She doesn’t respond.

I’d give all one hundred acres of my land to know what she’s thinking right now.

“Thank you,” she says finally, a slight tremble in her voice. “Thank you.” She turns, cradling the baby’s head against her chest. “That was really thoughtful, Luke.”

I grunt. What else can I do?

I’ve made my intentions clear. The next step is hers to take.

“I’ve caught you in the middle of making dinner,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck on the way to the door, pausing with my other hand on the knob. “I know tomorrow is Christmas Day, but would it be all right if I called on you anyway—”

“Stay now,” she blurts out, turning a pretty shade of pink. “I mean, why don’t you stay for dinner? Since you’re already here.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You could. You will.” The way she takes charge once she’s made a decision is very Evie, and I like knowing this. I like having knowledge— any knowledge—of her, no matter how big or small. Right now, she’s crossing the room toward me, taking hold of my elbow and ushering me toward the blue upholstered couch, which faces the muted television. Home Alone is playing. She has great taste. “Here. Sit and relax. I’ll just ...” She trails off, glancing toward the kitchen. “I was just making grilled cheese and tomato soup. Is that okay?”

“Better than okay.”

“Good. Okay.” She turns in a circle. Have I flustered her?

“Evie.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mind leaving.”

“I don’t want you to leave, Luke. I’m just overwhelmed by the bike. It never occurred to me to get one. And the baby seat.” She rolls her lips inward, wetting them. “I’m not sure I should accept. Like I told you, I’m not—”

“Looking for anything serious. I know. It’s repayment for the jeans.” I raise an eyebrow. “If you’d just taken my money, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

She battles a grudging smile. “Lesson learned.”

We stare at each other for nearly a full ten seconds, and I’d happily stay like this forever, being the center of this woman’s attention. “If you want me to watch Sonny while you’re cooking, I can do that. I’m the oldest of five. There’s a thirteen-year gap between me and the youngest, so I’m battle tested.”

Evie hums, rocks her son side to side. “I don’t think anyone has ever held him besides me and the nurses at the hospital.”

I nod.

And wait.

“He’ll fuss if you hold him while you’re sitting down. He likes to make you work.”

“My sister was the same way.”

“Where is she now?”

“Living in Canada. Calgary. She met a man at school, and they’re getting married in the fall.” I give her a look. “I might need a custom suit, if you know a good tailor.”

Another one of those pretty lip twitches. “I might.”

She takes one step forward. Another. Shifts the baby in a way that indicates she’s ready to hand him over. Trying not to let my relief show, I stand up and take Sonny in my arms, maneuvering the tiny infant until he’s against my shoulder, beginning a slow, bouncing walk under Evie’s watchful eye.

She has no idea I feel as though I’ve just won the lottery.

That exchange of trust wasn’t easy for her, but she did it. She trusts me.

I want more.

“What about your other siblings?” she asks, walking barefoot back to the stove, stirring the soup and putting together a second grilled cheese. “Where are they?”

“Spread out. Besides the one in Calgary, one still lives with my parents not far from here. One is still in school, and the other travels with a theater group. She’s the dramatic one.”

I pace closer to the kitchen, smiling inwardly when the baby blows a raspberry, his hand twisting in the collar of my shirt. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, but I always wished for a sister.”

“You can borrow one of mine—the dramatic one, preferably.”

I’m only able to see the side view of her smile. “Was it just natural for you to take over the farm because you’re the oldest?”

“Sort of, yes. But I don’t think the rest were born for it. Either way, I think ...” I find my throat getting crowded. “I think I might have come on too strong, trying to make them love the farm as much as I did. Maybe I even drove them in other directions—before I realized what I was doing, you know?” She meets my eyes. There’s no judgment or sympathy in hers, only quiet understanding. “I love farming. It’s in my blood. Something else is in theirs, and that’s okay.”

I’m watching her soften little by little, the tension leaving her shoulders, her movements at the stove growing more confident. “I keep waiting for you to ask me what happened with Sonny’s father, but you never do. It’s usually the first question people ask.”

“I reckon you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

She places both sandwiches on the hot pan, the buttered bread beginning to sizzle. When I make myself grilled cheese sandwiches, I usually eat four of those suckers, but I’m not going to tell her that. One will have to suffice tonight—but thank God there’s soup, too.

There’s a chance I might live.

“We were together two years when I got pregnant. He wasn’t interested in having a family and left. Honestly, I didn’t want a child, either, at first, but ...” She shrugs. “I was an accident, too. My mom always called me her little silver lining. I guess maybe I felt bonded to Sonny right away and I just ... I wanted to try. I was ready.” She looks back at me over her shoulder, vulnerable. “To be the good in someone’s life.”

My throat tugs ... and keeps right on tugging. She’s going to be this kid’s hero.

“I’d say you’re going to be a lot more than that.” I pretend the baby is whispering in my ear. “Sonny confirms the bottles have been the perfect temperature. Mom of the Year.”

She laughs again. I could really get used to that sound. Thank God I stopped being too tongue-tied around her to make jokes. “How many grilled cheeses should I make you?” Evie asks me then, totally nonchalant. “Three or four?”

That seals it. I’m marrying her, come hell or high water.