Did I mention that Evie is painting a rainbow pattern on Sam’s nails? That probably doesn’t seem like a big thing, but for my little girl that has resisted everything happy and cheerful over the past six months, it’s huge.
I was quiet during dinner, partly because I have no idea how to interact with Evie, but also because I was enjoying hearing my daughter talk. I didn’t realize how starved I was for the sound of her voice. It didn’t sound heavy like it has been lately. She didn’t give short, clipped answers. She told Evie things that I had no idea about (Jenna Miller already got her first kiss?! Where have I been? And isn’t eleven years old a little young for that??)
Evie should have felt bored by a young girl’s monologue on preteen romance, but she wasn’t. She was enthralled, sitting on the edge of her seat, one leg propped under her (I’m realizing Evie will never sit normal in a chair) and those emerald eyes wide with interest. I was floored when she asked Sam if there were any boys she was interested in. Even more floored when Sam said yes.
Note to self: hunt down Tate Bradley and explain to him in perfect detail what will happen to him if his lips get anywhere near my little girl.
After dinner, Evie helped me clear the dishes. When she came to stand next to me at the sink, every muscle in my body tightened with awareness of her. She feels like a magnet. I’m being pulled to this woman, and I’m helpless to stop it.
I want to stop it. I need to stop it. She’s too young for me. Too pretty. I bet she has drooling men trailing after her everywhere she goes. I don’t want to compete for a woman’s attention again. I don’t want to constantly worry if she’s cheating on me with a guy from the gym, or if she’s going to up and leave in a month when she has a doctor offer her a ticket to Hawaii.
But at the same time, I see what a good impact she’s having on Sam. She has connected with my daughter in a way that even my sisters haven’t been able to since Natalie left. I can’t overlook that. Does this mean that I’m coming around to the idea of dating again?
“Daddy, can Evie tuck me in tonight? I want to show her my room.”
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. What’s the protocol for this? Do I let Sam get attached? Do I protect her already-broken heart? I don’t know what the right answer is here.
“It’s fine with me if Evie wants to. But I don’t want to hold her up if she doesn't have time for it.” I give Evie a questioning look. I’m putting the ball in her court because I don’t know what else to do.
She smiles down at Sam. “Plenty of time. Show me that room, darlin’.”
I hug and kiss Sam goodnight and watch as the two disappear up the stairs, Charlie and Daisy following close behind.
All while I’m washing the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher, I’m aware that I should feel nervous by the amount of time they are spending together upstairs. I don’t. It feels right. Like this friendship between them was always meant to be.
As I’m loading the last bowl in the dishwasher, Evie’s white tennis shoes enter my sights. I know for a fact I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in tennis shoes before now.
“You’ve got a great kid up there,” she says, and that answers the question that’s been flying around my brain for the last half-hour.
I don’t want to push Evie away anymore. If she’s up for a friendship, so am I. But ONLY a friendship. I need to dip my toes in and see if the water’s warm before I’m ready to take a dive.
“I wish I could say I had something to do with it. But it’s all Sam. She came out that great all on her own.”
Evie smiles, and I want to let my eyes trace the outline of her mouth, but I don’t because yeah…friends. “Somehow I doubt that’s completely true. I’ve seen how you are with her.” We stare at each other for a moment, and then Evie shuffles her eyes around the room. “Well. Thanks again for dinner. Have you seen my phone? I need to call an Uber.”
She starts looking around the kitchen, and I wait until her back is turned to me to say, “It’s a nice evening. Do you want to go sit on the porch until your ride gets here?”
Evie’s body stops. Apparently, I’ve shocked her. “Do you mean you want me to wait for my Uber outside and not in your house?”
“What?” Oh, great. She thinks I’m being a jerk again. “No. I meant…do you want to sit on the porch with me? You know, talk together. With words.”
I’m ten years old, and she’s the cutest girl in class. I’m begging her to accept my Valentine heart, and she’s staring at it like it’s poison.
A grin finally cracks on her mouth, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Words? I wasn’t sure you knew how to use those. At least, not outside of insinuating I look like a man or accusing me of extortion.”
I smile and shrug. “Occasionally, I can find a few nice ones.”
“And are you going to use those nice ones if I sit on the porch with you?” I hate that she’s skeptical. I hate that she has a right to be. But I love the southern lilt to her voice.
I cross my heart. “The nicest.”
Evie brushes past me with narrowed eyes and a wary smile as if I’m some feral predator lying casually in the tall grass. She’s a doe, prancing by but cautious that I might pounce at any moment.
She doesn’t know just how much I want to, but not in the way she thinks.
When we make it out onto the porch, I gesture for her to sit down on the swing first. I think I spot the apples of her cheeks turn pink, but I can’t be entirely sure. She sits down, and now I’m certain I see a secret smile on her mouth. I briefly glance at my pants, wondering if my fly is down or something.
Still zipped.
I take care to sit as far away from her on the swing as possible, but my body still hums with awareness of her. We start swinging, and the dogs settle down on the porch by the front door. It’s a deep swing, but I’m tall enough that my feet are fully planted on the ground. Evie’s toes are barely touching, and for some reason, that makes me smile.
Seconds pass, or minutes, or hours, I don’t know. All I know is that we are both quiet and sitting stiff as boards, and I’ve never felt more awkward. I steal a glance at her and find her stealing one too. I’m not alone in this awkwardness.
“Okay. What are we doing here, Jacob?” she finally asks.
“Call me Jake. Everyone else does.”
She laughs a little laugh that sounds borderline annoyed and pulls her legs up under her to face me. She’s wearing a long burgundy skirt today that’s kind of flowy and has a slit up to her tan knee. It’s paired with a fitted white tee, but about an hour ago, she got cold and pulled a gray crewneck sweatshirt from her bag and put it on. Her hair is down and wavy like she’s been swimming in the ocean today and then let it dry in the sun. She looks effortlessly beautiful, and YES, I realize I shouldn’t be noticing any of this, but I freaking am because I have no self-control.
“Alrighty then, Jake.” She says my name almost like she’s giving me a friendly shove to the chest. “Now I really want to know what we're doing out here. What’s happening right now?”
I like that she’s direct. I don’t think that’s a normal quality in women. I wouldn’t actually know because it’s been a minute since I’ve played the field (evidence being the fact that I just used the phrase, playing the field.)