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Another point in his favor? Adam Wright was punctual. She was just pulling a pair of black flats out of her shoe closet the next evening when her buzzer went off. Glancing at the clock on her mantle, she nodded in approval.
Eight o’clock on the dot. Right on time.
J
amming one foot into her flat, then the next, Evangeline hobbled over to her intercom button and pressed it. “Yes?”
There was a crackle, and then: “Eva? Is that you?”
Her finger slipped off the button. Eva. She wished he hadn’t used that name. If it was a choice between being called Evangeline or any shortened version of it, she’d always choose the full length of her name over being called Eva. Sure, her name was a mouthful, but Eva always made her think of some high-class chick with five-hundred-dollar shoes and a glass of white in her hand. She’d tried to go by Angie when she was younger—she definitely identified more as an Angie—but it had never stuck.
She let her mother get away with calling her Eva because, well, that was her mom. Adam using it just felt weird. Then again, her stomach went queasy when she imagined his rich voice murmuring “Angie” through the intercom.
He wasn’t supposed to do that, but hell if she could remember why.
No. Evangeline shook her head, letting her long, dark hair settle over her shoulder. Tonight wasn’t going to be about the things she lost, the memories that had slipped away from her. It was about reconnecting, about new beginnings.
She jabbed the button with her thumb. “Yes. It’s me. Adam?”
“That’s right. Hey, look, I was gonna come on up and surprise you but your wards are crazy strong. I can’t get past the second floor of the building. Do you think you can remove them for me?”
She rarely had visitors to her new apartment. She’d forgotten all about the wards. It was one of the two conditions her parents gave her before they felt comfortable letting her move out on her own again. Not only did they insist that she live in a predominantly human part of town, but her apartment had to be warded up the wazoo. If you weren’t a Lewis, you weren’t getting in unless Evangeline either let you in or had you coded to the wards.
Since she wasn’t sure that Adam would be coming back, she didn’t need to have him coded in. Dropping the wards for a few minutes would be enough.
“Sorry about that. Give me a second, okay?”
“Sure. No problem.”
Now where did she put that stupid thing?
The last time she had lowered the wards was last week when she let the pizza delivery guy up—
Ah ha!
Evangeline hustled into the kitchen and pulled open her menu drawer. The small timer was tucked toward the front.
Gotcha.
The witch who set up the wards tried explaining the magic inherent to the spell to Evangeline. She said it was easy if you only knew how to tap into it; magic was a raw force with so much potential that you could make it do whatever you wanted to. All Evangeline had wanted was a strong set of wards to put her mother’s mind at ease. But since she also didn’t plan on giving away any of the precious shreds of freedom she’d managed to claw back, the witch gave her the timer. A flick of the wrist and the wards were down for as long as it took the sand to fall.
Evangeline turned the timer over and placed it on the mantle before heading back over to her intercom. “Okay,” she said. “You have about ten minutes before the wards go up again.”
Despite her apartment being on the sixth floor, Adam was knocking at her door in less than five. She fluffed her hair, checked to make sure that her sweater covered up the majority of her cleavage, and took a deep, calming breath. Then, with a smile as shaky as she suddenly felt, she opened the door.
And there he was.
“Come on in.”
Adam took two steps into her apartment and froze. He stared at her long enough to make Evangeline feel even more uncomfortable—did she suddenly sprout a massive pimple in the middle of her forehead or something?—before he gave his head a clearing shake and grinned.
“Wow,” he said, visibly stunned. “You look beautiful, Eva. Just like always.”
Really? Because this whole thing had seemed wrong the more she thought about it, Evangeline had barely tried. A touch of mascara and some pink lip gloss, that was all. And her sweater looked like something she might have worn back in high school. At least she filled it out better now—a fact that Adam seemed to appreciate as his warm brown eyes lingered on her chest.
She was glad she went looking for her flats, though. At only an inch shy of six feet, there weren’t many men she met tall enough that could wear her heels around them without dwarfing them. Adam wasn’t a small man by any means, but this was a flats-type of night out.
He looked good. Really good. Better than she expected, and more than she had hoped for. Evangeline figured his work as a police officer helped him with his muscular physique, and he wore his wavy blonde hair cut shorter than he used to when they were kids. When he smiled at her, she saw the dimple in his right cheek. That sure had been a panty-dropper for him growing up. She almost felt insulted that he dared use it on her the minute she let him into her apartment.
