Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
My mom was the one who added baskets to the front of the store. My dad hated carrying them in and out for each opening and closing but did so because they made my mom happy. In the spring and summer, she’d fill them with flowers, and fruits and vegetables from local gardens. In the fall, it was pumpkins. And in the winter, kindling for fires and other winter necessities. She loved the store and worked every day until she passed away.
I turn off my car and get out, pulling my coat tighter near my neck to keep the snow from falling inside, and head toward the old fire station where I found Evangeline earlier. I’m not trying to interrupt her night or even spy on her. I just . . .
I don’t even know.
She’s here in this space daily. This is where she built her practice, along Main Street in a converted firehouse, near where the people she would serve could find her easily. She’s following through with her plan, one we shared a long time ago, and being true to herself.
I used to think I was being true to who I wanted to be, but now I’m not so sure. What if I was meant to only be in New York for six months, as planned?
Why did Mr. Bamford intervene so much?
I suppose I should’ve known something was amiss when transferring my class was as easy as a phone call.
But why me?
I’m nothing special. I’m an ordinary Joe who did well in law school.
Leaning against the light pole across from the firehouse, I look at the building. A spotlight shines on the name of the station house, while Evangeline’s name is on the door in white vinyl. Ev’s grandfather used to volunteer for this department and when we were kids, we’d play in the hydrant during the summer. Someone would always open the valve if the temps were in the nineties and none of the older kids were around to watch us at the lake.
Those were the days.
Something tells me to look up to the massive windows on the second floor. In one window, there’s a lit Christmas tree and standing next to it, glowing from the backlight, is Evangeline. In case she’s watching me, I wave. I’m sure from there, I’m nothing more than a blob. Or if she can even see someone standing outside. If she can, she’s probably going to call the cops. No one wants to see some shady person looking inside their home in the middle of the night.
Still, I don’t take my eyes off her until she disappears from the window. After a few seconds longer than it should take me, I resign myself to walking back to my truck. But the door opens and Eve stands there.
“What are you doing out in the snowstorm?” She yells across the street.
“Is this what you call a storm these days?”
“It’s more snow than you’ve seen in the past five years, I’m sure.”
I laugh loudly. She’s mostly right. We did have a nor’easter come through not too long ago, but the snow didn’t last. Not like it does here.
“I know I’m going to regret this, but do you want to come in? Get dried off?”
“That would be great.” I cross the street, trudging through the unplowed snow and am greeted by one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The other is back at the Inn, sound asleep and not caring that I’m out in the middle of a snowstorm.
NINE
EVANGELINE
Inviting Zane into my home in the middle of the night is going to go down in history as one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Yet, here I am, in my flannel pajamas, with my hair in a bun, holding the door open for him because I’m a sucker for heartache. He doesn’t love me and hasn’t for a long time. Much longer than I stopped loving him or told myself I didn’t.
When he steps into the hallway of my private entrance, his cologne surrounds me. I use the excuse of having to close the door to center myself. He doesn’t need to see the anguish on my face and thankfully, he can’t hear how loudly my heart thumps. The last time we were this close, we stood on the Amtrak platform and said goodbye to each other. If I knew that was the last time I was going to see him . . . well, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
Begged him to stay.
“My place is up the stairs,” I tell him after he’s taken his coat off and hung it on the peg. He slips his boots off, as well. Earlier, when I saw him, he had them tied, which Vermonters laugh about. No one ties their boots unless they’re going hiking, or there’s snow all over them. Now, they’re loose, like he used to wear them.