But there’s nothing save a red-bowed wreath on the front door of the house matching the address Everly texted me before I checked out of the diner this morning.Yes.A woman’s number in hand is half the battle.
Hah. Becca’s number turned out to be a prelude to my own personal Waterloo.
I thump a tight fist onto the steering wheel. Maybe I need a lobotomy, or at least a head doctor, to fix my jacked up brain. That woman is nothing to me anymore.
Unless she becomes my sister-in-law…
The next thump rattles the wheel. Man, am I now sentenced to a life of Thanksgivings and Christmases staring across the table at her?
I park at the end of the sidewalk and get out.
My finger on the doorbell summons…Oakley. Doorknob in hand, she tilts her head at me. “Yep. It’s you.”
Thrown, I feel my greeting smile losing charge. “Excuse me?”
“You seemed familiar the other night at Uncle Charlie’s, but I didn’t figure out until yesterday where I’ve seen you.”
“And the verdict is?”
“The bank. I work parttime as a teller at First National.”
I snap finger guns at her. “You found me out.” It’s a small, regional bank, but LHS’s accounting department wanted something local for the sake of convenience during the current job. Plus, it was a brownie point with the city’s people in hammering out the initial contract. I’m sure someone in city planning was a friend of a friend. That tends to be the way those things work.
“You usually deal with Martha, I think.”
“That’s right,” I say as I swish my shoes on the welcome mat once she finally clears my entrance and moves to the side. “She’s always very helpful.”
“And knowledgeable. She typically deals with our bigger accoun—"
“Hi, Knox.”
Everly.The woman finds fresh ways to explode onto the scene every time.
Her fuzzy, fitted sweater whispers Christmas, encasing her like a well-wrapped gift. She’s ditched her work ponytail, and dark chocolate tresses frame her porcelain face and glide along her shoulders. This is the first time I’ve seen her hair down, and it is more beautiful than even my imagination gave it credit for. My fingers are already yammering to slide through the soft-looking waves.
A throat clears from Oakley’s side of the room. “Ahem.”
In order to squeak out a greeting, my throat needs for-real clearing. “You look awesome, Everly.”
A flavoring of the sweet shyness that’s only shown itself a couple times before sprinkles her smile. Pure instinct has me reaching out.
Smiling, she places her exceptionally soft hand in mine. “You do, too, Knox.”
Awesome? Doubt it—but my dark-washed jeans, sweater, and dress sneakers are an upgrade from the work garb she’s accustomed to seeing me in.
A middle-aged woman enters from the kitchen, laying aside a hand towel on an elevated bar partitioning the rooms. Like the younger daughter, she’s average height. Everly is taller, one of my favorite things about her. She’s the perfect size next to my clunky self.
The woman brushes her palms down her hips as if the towel was inadequate and instructs Everly to make introductions. As I shake her offered hand, curiosity mingles with calculation—friendly calculation, but I’m definitely under the microscope.
“I hear you’re a visitor to the area, Knox. How long have you been in town?”
“A little over a month now.”
“I hope Chandor is treating you well?”
“Yes, ma’am, Chandor is great. The weather, on the other hand, is giving us fits.” I smile lest the second half come off as criticism. People can be sensitive regarding the strangest things, and how Mrs. Wilkes views me feels significant.
She bats the air with her hand. “Goodness, it feels like we’re about to float away. So much rain and cold!” She shivers.
