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“And she is! You’re helping me so much.” Evie smiled as he dug through the hosiery. His mother doesn’t deserve such a sweet, considerate son.
After Kiki’s maelstrom, Nick apologized to Evie in private—twice. First, for keeping her out of the skipping-auditions loop, citing the stress it might cause her, and second, for his mother’s snobbish dig about bagging groceries at Tesco. Nick stated, “It’s a tough job that’s not so different from yours.” Both involved public interaction, standing on your feet all day, and occasionally, a lack of respect from customers. While it was thoughtful of Nick to speak up, his apology, along with Kiki’s dismissive squints, gave Evie no doubt as to how she was perceived: unambitious, unimportant, a no-hoper—and that didn’t even take into account her lowly Orcadian roots.
She pulled her gaze away from Nick and removed the protective plastic layer from the box of pillows, her snap-happy fingers decimating bubble after bubble with gleeful satisfaction.
“Won’t you reuse that?” asked Nick.
“Yeah, for stress relief. Works wonders.” Evie giggled as his phone buzzed once, twice. Leaning away from bundles of socks, he lazily glanced at its screen.
“Is it Rupert?” Evie paused her bubble torture. The middle Balfour brother was competing again at the County Show, this time with an adorable ewe lamb, but Nick’s sneer told her all she needed to know. “What’s your mum want this time?”
“Her pound of flesh. She’s banging on about the audition again.”
“Why? It was days ago.”
“They’re holding another casting call.” Nick left his phone on a neighboring box of glassware. “They haven’t found their male lead yet.”
Really? Evie burst another bubble. All week she’d been watching him closely, wondering if he was having second thoughts. One lunchtime, she passed his table in the café and he was gnawing on the end of his pen, immersed in an article about the film on his laptop.
Nick’s eyes flew over her shoulder. “Ooh, chocolate seagull eggs! Can I?”
Evie swiveled and spotted the sweets behind her. “Nick, maybe you should go…”
“Awww, really?! But if I stop eating, then can I stay?”
“No, I didn’t mean”—she plucked the packet of the sugar-coated ‘eggs’ from the shelf—“I mean the audition.” She tossed the sachet his way.
Nick caught the candy with one hand. “Evie, it’s a lame project. Werewolves are not my vibe.”
“Neither was playing a baby daddy and you smashed that.”
“That was different.” Mouth drawing tight, he bowed his head and twisted the top corner of the package one way then the other, but the plastic wouldn’t tear.
A sharp ache ripped through Evie’s side. No! Not in front of Nick. Body tensing, she bit back a yelp as her fingers bunched a cluster of bubbles, snapping them loudly. Thankfully, the pain didn’t linger and Nick didn’t notice, his hunger and the ongoing fight with the stubborn bag of sweets commanding his attention.
Evie let out a staggered, silent exhale and pressed for answers. “Different how? Why won’t you even consider it?”
Ditching the seagull eggs on the inventory sheet in his lap, his gaze turned flinty. “’Cause Mum will think she’s won. You saw what she’s like.” His nostrils flared. “She’ll be fucking unbearable.”
“Is she always like that? Baiting you? Not listening?”
“Yep. And if I don’t do what she wants, she makes my life a living hell—Polly’s, too.” Nick’s scowl softened. “I need to send Pol a groveling apology with a massive bouquet of flowers. She’s always been supportive and encouraging. Regardless of what’s going on”—he pointed at his head—“in here. I shouldn’t have ignored her.”
“I bet she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”
“We’ll see. I know she’d be ecstatic if I went to this audition.”
“It might get your mum off your back, too,” added Evie.
“For now. Then next week it would be something else.” Nick chewed his top lip. “That’s the thing. If I do this one, Mum will have me making the rounds, talking to anyone and everyone with a pulse.”
“So, you are thinking of going?”
“No. Fuck, I don’t know.” His left knee began to bounce. The candy packet, pencil, and inventory sheet shimmied in his lap. “The desire’s strong to stick to my guns and not go to spite her. But I can hear my therapist saying, ‘That’s not a healthy way to deal with this, Nikolai.’”
“Well, if you did go…”
Nick looked away. “They won’t want me—”
