I hear Evie open the door, and then she gasps. Her gasp has me looking toward the door just in time to hear her say, “Mama. Daddy. What are you doing here?”
Oh, super.
I shoot up from the couch, and in a split second—because Evie’s apartment is made for ants—I’m standing beside her at the door. Her mom’s eyes are wide as they look from me to Evie and then slowly down Evie’s body in the same way one might look at a prostitute they’ve just encountered on the sidewalk.
I don’t know why I suddenly have the urge to defend myself. SHE’S WEARING SHORTS! I’m a grown man. Evie’s a grown woman. But Evie’s mom has the look of a woman about to rail on her daughter. Instinctively, I move to shield Evie. “Hi,” I say, sticking my hand out toward her dad first. “I’m Jacob Broaden.”
He shakes my hand with the same gusto of a dead fish and cocks one eyebrow. “Harold Jones.”
Wait a second. I pause mid-handshake. Harold Jones? As in, the Harold Jones from the long line of Joneses that have made up the majority of our city’s wealth for generations? I knew Evie’s last name was Jones, but I guess I never thought to ask her if there was any connection because she just seems so…normal.
I slide my wide eyes to Mrs. Jones, and she rolls her eyes at Evie.
“I can see you haven’t told him who your relatives are.” The woman sounds like she’s never been more bored in her life. She looks at me again but doesn’t even offer me her hand. “Melony Jones.”
Oh yeah. I know who she is. Everyone in Charleston knows who this woman is. And she’s just as off-putting as I had imagined.
Suddenly, I feel like laughing. Here I was, thinking that Evie would be impressed with my little architectural firm and my 2,000-square-foot house, when she grew up with the leading socialites of Charleston in a 12.5 million dollar home. I know this because I read the magazine article about it last month. I feel a little stupid.
She gave all of that up to live in this shoebox? What am I missing here? I have a whole new appreciation for Evie. Not because she came from money, but because she turned out like this despite her entitled upbringing.
Mrs. Jones turns her sharp eyes to Evie, and apparently, she’s done with me. I’m just a small fly; I’ve been swatted away. “Evelyn Grace, are you going to make us stand out here all night?”
“I’m entertaining right now,” Evie says through her teeth. I’m impressed by her backbone. She’s not cowering under this woman’s haughty glare—and believe me, it’s more than a little intimidating.
“Clearly,” Mrs. Jones says with another accusatory glance at Evie’s bare legs.
I take one more look too because I’m a man and goodness she has good-looking legs.
“But you’ve been taught better than to leave your parents standing out in the heat like this.” Mrs. Jones pushes past both of us and steps into Evie’s house uninvited. It’s shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before.
Mr. Jones pulls out his phone and frowns down at it. He answers it, turns around, and walks back out without even so much as a glance to the rest of us. These people are something.
“I can’t do this right now, Mama. I don’t want to inflict our crazy on an innocent bystander.” Evie gestures toward me.
I have no idea what to do right now. Do I come to her aid? Do I turn into a bouncer and throw these people out? I’m not prepared for this, but I want to help somehow.
Mrs. Jones acts as if she doesn’t hear Evie’s comment. “We won’t be long.” She runs her finger across the small entry table and then examines it for dust. “Honestly, Evelyn, what has happened to you? This place looks like a pigsty.”
I expect Evie to take offense to this, but instead, when I look at her, I notice that she’s looking at me—and she looks amused. No, not amused. She looks like she’s about to crack up laughing. And then I realize she’s looking at my hair.
I glance in the mirror on the wall and find that my hair is sticking up in all directions from where I ran my hands through it while Evie was getting the door. But this, coupled with Evie’s little outfit, looks more than incriminating. I quickly smooth it down.
“If you’re just here to comment on my cleanliness, Mama, you can just walk right back out. I’m happy with the way I live.”
“That’s not why I’m here. Although, I do feel compelled to mention that if you would stop being foolish and accept Tyler, you would be able to move out of this cardboard box.”
Wait a minute. Who’s Tyler?
“I don’t live in the 1800s, Mama. I’m not going to accept a man’s proposal just because he has a big estate. Am I the only one who thinks this idea is ludicrous?”
Proposal?! Apparently, Evie’s not as unattached as I thought…
Mrs. Jones’s eyes suddenly shift to me, and I can see her sizing me up. “Is he the reason you’re not accepting Tyler?” She’s looking at me, but it’s clear that she’s not talking to me.
“Okay, this conversation is over,” says Evie. Hmm. Not going to lie, I kinda wish she would have answered that question. Evie walks back to her door and opens it. “Time to go, Mama.”
Mrs. Jones turns a smirk to me. “If my daughter won’t answer me, I’ll ask you. Exactly who are you to Evelyn?”
“He’s a friend,” says Evie before I have a chance to open my mouth.
Mrs. Jones makes a guttural noise and then starts to stroll toward the door at a leisurely pace. “I only came by to inform you that your cell phone bill was overdue. If I don’t see your payment in our account by the end of the week, I’ll be forced to have your phone turned off.”
Turned off? Is this woman insane? She sounds more like a villain in a movie, threatening to bash Evie’s kneecaps in if that AT&T money doesn’t show up soon.
This reminds me of something Evie said the first time we had coffee about her bank account matching her age. At the time, I thought she was kidding. But now, I’m genuinely concerned.
“Of course,” her mother continues, “if you decide to have a relationship with Tyler, all of those ugly bills will go away. And you are welcome to come live in the guest house for free until you and Tyler marry.”
“Great, not going to happen,” Evie bites out. “Message received. You can leave now. Tell Daddy I said thanks for stopping by to check on me.” Her sarcasm is thick, and although I’ve never seen her like this, I understand it. Admire it, even.
I feel a protective energy coursing through me, and I’m powerless to stop it. If this villain in the baby-blue pant suit doesn’t leave in the next minute, I’m going to end up throwing her out myself.
Mrs. Jones shakes her head at Evie. “You’re making a mistake, dear. I just want the best for you and your future.” That almost sounded nice. And maybe it would have been a kind parting had she stopped talking there. Mrs. Jones casts a disgusted glance over Evie’s appearance one last time. “And for heaven’s sake, Evelyn Grace, you shouldn’t be so easy. It’s unbecoming of the Jones name.”
Okay, that’s it. I’m following hot on Mrs. Jones’s heels, but Evie reaches out and catches my chest before I can follow the monster out. She shuts the door quickly and puts her back to it like she doesn’t trust me to not wrench it open and go after Melony Jones. Probably for the best. Not sure I trust myself right now.