Which was why I nearly dropped my camera when Evan appeared at my locker after English class, clutching his notebook like a lifeline.
He scribbled something quick and shoved the paper at me before I could even say hello, then stood there looking like he wanted to bolt.
Come over after school today.
I read it twice, my brain struggling to process the words. In the year we'd been friends—if you could call our strange danceof silence and patience friendship—Evan had never invited me anywhere that wasn't public. The café, the library, the forest edge where he'd disappear into shadows while I stood at the treeline like a dog waiting for his master to come home.
“Your house?” I asked, because apparently my mouth had decided to work without consulting my brain. “Like, this afternoon?”
He nodded, then added hastily to the paper:
If you want.
If I wanted. Like there was any universe where I'd turn down the chance to see where Evan lived, to glimpse the private spaces that made up his world.
“Yeah,” I said, grinning probably too wide for someone who was just being invited over for homework or whatever normal thing this was supposed to be. “Yeah, I'd like that.”
Evan's shoulders relaxed slightly, and I caught the ghost of that almost-smile that had become my personal holy grail over the past twelve months.
“Should I bring anything?” I asked. “Snacks? My sparkling personality? A written oath that I won't steal the family silver?”
That earned me an actual eye roll, which felt like winning the lottery.
Just yourself,he wrote, then hesitated before adding:
Dad will be home from work by then.
“Cool,” I lied, because there was nothing cool about meeting your maybe-more-than-friend's intimidating father when you weren't even sure what you were to each other.
But Evan was watching me with that careful attention he gave to everything, like he was cataloging my reaction for future reference, and I'd be damned if I let him see how nervous the prospect made me.
“Lead the way, Callahan. I'll meet you at the main entrance after last period.”
The walkfrom Hollow Pines High to Evan's house felt different than our usual forest expeditions. People noticed us together now.
Mrs. Torres waved from the inn's front porch, her smile warm but speculative. Charlie from the general store nodded as we passed.
I'd gotten used to being a minor celebrity in a town where nothing interesting ever happened. What I hadn't gotten used to was the way Evan seemed to shrink into himself whenever people stared too long, like their attention was a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders.
“Martha told me yesterday that I'm officially her 'adopted grandson.' Apparently, I've been promoted from 'that nice city boy' to family status.” I said, filling the comfortable silence that had settled between us,
Evan's mouth twitched, almost-smiling.
“She also asked if I was eating enough vegetables and threatened to start packing me lunches if she thought I was surviving on gas station snacks.” I adjusted my camera strap, letting it swing against my hip as we walked. “I didn't have the heart to tell her that my mom's been meal-prepping like we're preparing for the apocalypse.”
The path out of town wound through residential streets that gradually gave way to scattered houses and then to the pristine wilderness that made Hollow Pines feel like it existed outside of time. Ancient pines pressed close to the road, their branches creating a green-tinted tunnel that smelled like rain and growing things.
Evan walked beside me with the easy grace of someone who belonged in these woods, who'd grown up running these paths and knew every root and stone by heart. Sometimes I caught him glancing at me sideways, like he was checking to make sure I was still there, still following him into whatever private space he was finally ready to share.
The Callahan house rose from the slope ahead of us like something out of a fairy tale, all cedarwood and stone with smoke curling from the chimney in lazy spirals. Lantern posts lined the gravel drive, their glass globes catching the afternoon light and casting everything in warm, golden tones.
It was beautiful. It was also massive in a way that made my family's cramped inn room feel like a closet.
“Damn,” I breathed, stopping dead in my tracks to stare. “This is where you live?”
Evan shifted uncomfortably beside me, like he was suddenly seeing his home through my eyes and finding it wanting.
I could feel him watching me, waiting for the inevitable awkwardness that came when people realized exactly how much money the Callahan name represented. But instead of intimidation, I felt something warm and settling in my chest.
