“Yes!”
“I think I met her a time or two when she was with Marti,” he says, then gets back to work.
Once the mutual connections have been made, I’m no longer thought of as a stranger and the conversation is easy. Even though Ryan has finished changing the tire, he lingers. We’re both leaning against the car now, turned toward each other.
“I should buy you a drink!” I say. “The least I can do for saving me.”
He leans in a few inches closer. “I’ll let you buy me a drink if I can buy you dinner.”
Ryan is smooth.
“I feel like I already know you, but we haven’t been officially introduced.” I hold my hand out, not far since we’re already so close. “I’m Evie Porter.”
His hand slides into mine. “Ryan Sumner.”
“Well, Ryan,” I say. “Drinks and dinner sound like a great idea.”
“Follow me?” he asks.
“Right behind you,” I answer.
We pull into a small bistro, and he’s at the driver’s-side door before I can open it. Ryan holds his hand out, helping me from the car.
We step inside the restaurant, where he asks for us to be seated on the patio. It’s still chilly outside this time of year even though we’re in Louisiana. My short skirt offers no protection, but I’m relieved when I see several heaters scattered around the area. Twinkle lights stretch between the trees that border the patio. It’s a dreamy spot for a first date.
We order wine and appetizers, and we talk and talk and talk. He leans toward me and I mirror him.
“Tell me more about you,” he says, just as our main course is served.
Thoughts about Mama and that small trailer we called home—that Mama made a home—wash over me, and for the first time, I don’t want to tell the first lie. I want to tell him how she taught me to sew and howwe made dresses for every stuffed animal I had. How we had tea parties and acted like we were royalty. I wanted to tell him about the map of the world that hung on the wall. We would throw a dart and then learn everything we could about the place it landed on.
But I stick with the script and tell him my parents died in a car wreck and I’m just trying to find my way. I weave more truth than I should into the story. Give him more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone else.
His hand slides across the table and I steel myself for how good I know it will feel. And it feels good.
Too good.
So I pull away slightly. Not enough to make him feel rejected. Just enough to give myself some distance. I mentally wall up my emotions, brick by brick. Ryan Sumner is a job. One that won’t last. He’s charmed with Evie Porter, a figment of my imagination.
It’s time to remember exactly who she is and why she’s here.
It’s time to get to work.
Evie Porter—Present Day
Ryan is in the front yard pushing a lawn mower back and forth along his perfectly green grass. The sun is setting and the dying light is throwing a golden glow over the two-story white house, making it shimmer.
He spots me as he makes his second pass and kills the engine immediately. He’s wearing old, faded khaki shorts and a light blue tee that is frayed around the edges.
I’m on the sidewalk watching him watch me. Neither of us moves for several minutes.
It’s been three months since that morning in the hotel in Atlanta.
He meets me halfway. Grass trimmings coat his legs and shoes, and his hands are streaked with grease.
My eyes scan his face for any little change since I saw him last. “I’m hoping you still want to talk,” I say.
Ryan pulls a rag from his back pocket then uses it to clean his hands. After a long moment, he finally looks up at me and nods toward the house. Without waiting to see if I’ll follow, he starts making his way around the side of the house to the backyard.
