Oh, but it didn’t stop there. Oh no! That wasn’t enough for poor, stupid Evie, who then propositioned yet a third man and got gently rebuffed.
Not that the gently part eased her mortification.
And now she was talking about herself in the first person.
“Fuck my life!”
Evie groaned and buried her face in her hands. The humiliation was almost too much to bear. How could she have been so stupid? Throwing herself at Gabriel like that... She could still feel the phantom press of his lips, the solid warmth of his chest under her palms, before he very purposefully pushed her away.
Her cheeks burned at the memory. Sweet, crumbling croissants, she'd made such a fool of herself. And now he was out there, manning her stall at the festival, probably pitying poor, drunk, desperate Evie.
She took another sip of tea, wincing as her stomach roiled. The chamomile helped, but she still felt like death warmed over, and her head throbbed despite the painkillers.
What was she going to do now? She couldn't hide in her parents' house forever, tempting as that sounded. Sooner or later, she'd have to face everyone. Face Gabriel.
The thought made her want to crawl under the table, build a blanket fort, and never come out. How could she look him in the eye after last night? He'd been so kind, walking her home, making sure she got in safely. And she'd repaid him by inappropriately mauling him like a drunken idiot.
Evie groaned again and slumped forward, resting her forehead on the cool wood of the table. Maybe if she just stayed here long enough, everyone would forget about her. The town would move on, life would go on without her, and she could become a recluse living in her parents' attic. It was a tempting thought.
But even as she entertained the idea, she knew it wasn't really an option. She had responsibilities. A son who needed her. A bakery to run. Friends who cared about her. Well, Posy anyway. She’d royally fucked up with Shepherd, Asher and Gabe… if she could ever really have called them friends.
With a heavy sigh, Evie forced herself to sit up. Her head swam at the movement, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. She couldn't hide forever. Sooner or later, she'd have to face the music… but not right now.
Stumbling to her feet, she made her way to the shower. The hot water helped clear some of the cobwebs from her mind, even if it did nothing for the churning in her stomach. As she dried off and got dressed, Evie tried to psych herself up. She could do this. She was a grown woman, a mother, a business owner.
She… couldn’t do it.
Calling Jane at the bakery, Evie decided she needed to get her head together. “Hey, Jane. How do you feel about working a few more hours over the Christmas break?”
“I’d love to!” Jane was enthusiastic. Like most high school seniors, she wanted to be able to go out, have fun, and buy gifts, and needed to be able to fund it.
“Well, how about you come in everyday up until December twenty-third? And I’ll pay you a bonus if you can open up for me for the next few days, since I’ll be cooking at home.”
“Is everything okay?” Jane immediately sounded concerned.
“Everything’s fine,” Evie reassured. “But the thermostat on the bakery oven is on the blink, and I don’t want to risk messing up any Christmas orders because I don’t have time for rebakes.”
That was true as far as it went. The thermostat was a little temperamental, but it had been for the past six months, and Evie had mostly calculated how to work around it. It generally just meant cooking things at a slightly lower temperature, where it appeared more stable, for a little longer. But she didn’t have time for that with the Christmas rush, did she? And since her parents weren’t home…
Well, that was her excuse, and she was sticking to it.
Evie managed perfectly well like that until Wednesday.
She ignored her phone and the knocks at her door. She didn’t leave the house, except under the cover of darkness when all the other businesses were closed for the night. Then Evie would take the baked goods for Jane to sell the following day, pick up any orders, and cart home whatever ingredients she needed to do it all again.
On Wednesday afternoon, a loud banging on the front door jolted Evie from her baking-induced trance. She froze, hands covered in cookie dough, heart racing. The knocking came again, more insistent this time.
"Evie Montgomery! We know you're in there!" Posy's voice rang out. "Open up or we're breaking down this door!"
Evie's stomach dropped. She'd known she couldn't hide indefinitely, but she'd hoped for at least a few more days of peace. Wiping her hands on her apron, she shuffled reluctantly to the entryway.
When she cracked open the door, she found not just Posy, but Iris and Marigold as well. The three women stood on her porch like avenging angels, arms crossed and expressions stern.
"Um, hi?" Evie offered weakly.
"Don't you 'hi' us, young lady," Iris scolded, pushing past her into the house. The others followed suit, leaving Evie no choice but to close the door behind them.
"We've been worried sick about you," Marigold added, her tone softer.
