I picture unknotting it with my teeth.
Merry Christmas to me.
I shove that thought in the trunk and really take her in.
This woman is haphazardly put together. And yet, despite every law of logic and reason, she looks absolutely beautiful.
How? I have no idea.
Which mirrors the larger mystery of why she’s standing in my foyer.
Is she a stalker?
Unlikely. I usually have a sixth sense about this kind of shit, and all the ominous red flags are conspicuously absent.
She’s neither clingy nor reckless with the L-word.
That said, she is standing in my foyer wearing my clothes.
And considering she has every reason to be furious with me, possibly entertaining revenge fantasies that involve flannel shirt-wearing voodoo dolls, I need to play this very, very cool.
Mrs. D.’s elbow slams into my ribs.
Hard.
Her usual social butterfly self is suddenly at a loss for words, staring at Pix like a baby unicorn wandered out of the woods and straight into the house.
I clear my throat.
“What are you doing here, Pix?” I ask, because my kids have never been around a woman I’ve dated.
Not that I’ve really dated anyone.
She blinks, clearly startled. “I’m looking for Evan.”
“I think you mean Evans.”
She frowns, thinking it over. “I thought that was a typo. His name is really Evans?”
I step closer. Close enough to register the scent of her, clean and familiar and cutting off all the oxygen to my brain.
Another step, and my voice lowers to a growl.
“E-v-a-n-s.”
She blinks, confused. She looks at me, then Mrs. D. Then, after a beat, she licks her lips. “Is Evans here?”
Something in my gut tightens.
“What do you want with him?”
She hesitates, fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “I’m supposed to be staying with Evans. My brother arranged it.”
Uh-oh.
“What?”
“I’m Gabe’s sister. I’m a little late, but I texted him.”
