Chapter One
Twenty Years Ago
“To Declan Mahoney,” Evie said as she raised a paper cup of pilfered Jameson’s, “my friend who is like a banana.”
Declan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Ah, boy. Here it comes.”
“’Cause he’s so…” She leaned closer to whisper, “A-peeling.”
He groaned, but a smile lifted his lips as he raised his glass. “To Evie Hewitt, the punniest person I know.”
They put the cups to their lips, but Evie didn’t take a sip. Instead, she gazed right into dark eyes so familiar and comforting, she couldn’t bear to look away.
“Drink it up, buttercup.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to do a better birthday toast. No jokes this time.” She lifted the paper cup again. “Here’s to my best friend since, wow, life began?”
“Since you got bumped up to third grade from second because you’re so smart.”
“On our birthday!”
Declan shook his head but couldn’t help smiling. “You waltzed into Mrs. Burley’s classroom and announced it was your birthday. On my birthday.”
She threw her head back with a hearty laugh. “And my mom used glitter frosting to add your name to my pink Care Bears cake because that’s all she had.”
“Totally wrecked my playground cred for the rest of the year.” His eyes sparked with humor.
She leaned back to look at him, wanting to drag out the toast as long as possible. For the whole night, actually. Because there was no better way to spend their shared birthday than alone in the mountains at midnight, a teeny bit tipsy, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Here we go,” she said. “The real toast. To my best friend.”
“You sure about that now?”
“Well, except for the time he unfairly beat me—some might say he actually cheated me—out of a win in the seventh-grade Bitter Bark spelling bee—”
“Come on, E,” he said on a laugh. “You missed duffel, fair and square.”
“I did not miss it.” She reached over and brushed a lock of his dark hair off his forehead, something she didn’t normally do with her friends, but tonight…everything was different. Even the view over the lake where they always camped was different, but that was because Declan had driven to the opposite side to a far more secluded and private section than the one they’d always gone to.
And she knew why. Tonight, they were so ready to step outside the comfort of their friendship and find…a different kind of comfort. The kind that required seclusion.
“Where was I?” she asked, a little lost.
“Griping about the spelling bee when you flubbed duffel.”
“Because the second spelling in the dictionary is D-U-F-F-L-E,” she informed him. “And the only reason they gave it to you was because half the people in the auditorium were named Mahoney or Kilcannon.” She added a jab to his shoulder, loving how hard firefighter training had made his muscles. “How could I fight the Irish Mafia of Bitter Bark?”
“Says the last remaining direct descendant of Thaddeus Ambrose Bushrod. The girl who literally waves from the lead convertible in the Founder’s Day parade every stinking year.”
She looked skyward. “Oh God, please let me have a midterm on October 22 this year so I can avoid the parade.”
“What? Big Bad Thad would roll over in his grave if you don’t represent the first family of Bitter Bark.” He inched a fraction closer, giving her the faintest whiff of his indescribably masculine scent, as intoxicating as the Blue Ridge Mountains air and the golden liquid in their paper cups. “Plus, I get a secret thrill when that car goes by.”
And she got a secret thrill when his voice got low and sexy like that.
“Did you know…” He brushed some hair back from her face now, hooking it over her ear, holding her gaze one heartbeat past what a friend would do. “I always get there early so I can get a Prime Evie Viewing Spot on the top stair of town hall.”
“Then you’re crazier than I thought.”
“Yup.” He shrugged. “Are you finished toasting? Or are you going to dredge up the time I backed into your dad’s brand-new Mercedes while trying to navigate the Gloriana House driveway in reverse?”
“Just smashed right into it. Oof. He was mad.” She chuckled at the memory, then inhaled that scent again, still lost. “So, where was I?”
“Setting the record for the longest birthday toast in history.”
She slipped her lower lip under her teeth and sat up a little straighter. “Okay, fine.”
“Bring it home now, E.”
On one more sigh, she lifted the cup again. “To the boy who shares my birthday, the kid who can spell but can’t drive in reverse, and the man…” I am dying to kiss. “Who can now legally purchase this stuff so we won’t have to steal your Gramma Finnie’s stash.” She tapped her Dixie cup to his. “Happy twenty-first, Dec.”
He pinned those chocolate eyes on her and never looked away while they knocked back their shots, which made her choke on the whiskey burn.
“There’s my little lightweight.”
She managed to get the liquor down her throat. “Shut up. You were raised on this juice.”
He poured two more shots, but hers barely covered the bottom of the cup. Of course he didn’t want her to get hammered up here on their annual birthday camp-out. Declan was always looking after her. “My turn, birthday girl?”
She shuddered as the whiskey hit her belly. “Your turn.” She lifted her cup. “Hit me with your best toast, baby.”
He cleared his throat and looked into her eyes again and, once more, she was gooey right down to her toes. How did this happen? When did every thought about Declan go from whether they’d play a game of pickup basketball to whether they’d…make out?
“Okay…” He made a face. “I’m trying to think of a worthy pun.”
“I know it’s a challenge for you.” She winked at him. “But you try, and I love that.”
“Here’s to Evie…as intoxicating as this whiskey.”
“Not bad.” She dipped closer. “A for effort and the nicely buried compliment.”
“Right?” He lifted the drink. “Okay, let’s go with, here’s to the girl who proved to Bitter Bark High that you can be hot and make an endless stream of bad jokes.”
“You think I’m hot?” Nothing buried about that compliment.
He just snorted as if the question was too dumb to answer. “I raise my glass to the future Doctor—”
“If you say Dolittle, I’m gonna pour this over your head.”
“Doctor Evangeline Hewitt, destined to become a world-class veterinary neurologist.”
“Oh.” The seriousness of the toast surprised her, but not the pride in his voice. He always sounded like that when he talked about her dream career. “As soon as I finish ten more years of vet school, specialty training, rotations and residencies, and certification.”
“Which you have mapped out like the ambitious creature you are. Anyway, it’ll be worth it, Evie. I’ll just be a small-town firefighter—”