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Not that night, though.
“Oh, Eva, sweetie. Can’t believe I almost forgot to mention it… guess who I saw the other day.”
Evangeline winced at the nickname. She’d never liked it when she was younger, though she gave up trying to tell her mother that ages ago. “I don’t know, Mom. Who?”
“Fiona’s son. You remember him, don’t you?”
Evangeline tightened her grip on her phone. She had to remember that, if the call suddenly died because she mangled her phone or “accidentally” smashed it, then she would only have about a ten minute head start before her mother sent the cops to come break down the door to her apartment. When they found her—and they would—after the cops dragged her kicking and screaming back to her mother, Naomi would still insist on this chat. She was certain of it.
Better to get it over with now.
“You saw Adam?”
You remember him, don’t you?
The Wrights had lived down the street in the neighborhood where Evangeline grew up. Like Evangeline, Adam Wright was an only child. They were the same age and, since their mothers liked to drink coffee together and gossip, it was inevitable that they would be friends.
At least, that’s what Naomi used to call him. Eva’s little friend. Ha. To Evangeline, Adam Wright was a terror with an angel’s smile.
When they were in elementary school, Adam got a kick out of chasing her on the playground, pulling her pigtails, even trying to get a peek at what was under her skirt, all while she squealed and ducked away before throwing rocks at him.
In middle school, Adam was the most popular boy in their class; dark blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and an innocently handsome face made him a hit with the teachers and the hormonal teen girls who all scribbled Mrs. Wright on their binders. Evangeline didn’t fall for it. Even so, he was her first kiss during an awkward game of spin the bottle, and Adam never let her forget it.
By the time they were in high school, both of their mothers had this brilliant idea that the two of them were meant to be. Evangeline—who, even at seventeen, scoffed at the idea of fate—gave in to her mother’s not-so-subtle hinting and went on a few dates with Adam. They only lasted until she got wind of a reputation that Adam tried desperately to hide from her.
He had the angelic face, the innocent expression down pat. It was Evangeline, though, who was the naive one of the pair. When she listened to the gossip in the girl’s room, she realized that Adam was only after one thing. Since she didn’t want to be just another conquest for him, she broke things off.
In the years since, Adam had tried countless times to get her to change her mind. She refused. She wouldn’t let him try to charm her again—and charm was the right word for it. Adam might have sworn he was as human as they come, but sometimes she wondered if he had a little witch blood in him. He could be too persuasive. There was a reason she hadn’t seen him in ages.
How many years now? Not since her accident, and that was three years ago. Four? Maybe five? That sounded about right.
Did she remember him, though? Evangeline stifled a snort. How could she forget?
“I did. He asked about you.”
She was sure he did. “That’s nice.”
If Naomi heard the edge in Evangeline’s voice to drop it, she pretended she didn’t. Like a bulldozer, she still kept coming, ready to knock over everything in her path.
“He’s been getting updates on your… mm… your progress from Fiona. They’re very worried about you.”
“Tell them I’m fine.”
“I did. Both Adam and his mother were glad to hear it. And then he asked if you were seeing anyone.”
And there it was.
Evangeline could’ve guessed it was coming. The carefully stated comment still made her stomach drop.
She loved her mother. She really did. But it was hard to remember why exactly when Naomi started to meddle. Was she seeing anyone? No. Her mother knew that, too. And since Evangeline hadn’t been on a date since long before her accident, it wasn’t even as if she could blame her reaction on the crash.
Because there was a reaction.
Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t surprised and she couldn’t control it. It happened every time someone asked her why she was still single, or whenever her mother started to matchmake again. She couldn’t explain it—especially not to Naomi—but just the idea of talking to a man, spending time alone with him in an intimate setting… it made her feel like she was going to hurl.
Seriously.
There was a twist in her gut, a burn in the back of her throat, and a shaky feeling that always came over her. Dating? Yeah. Not gonna happen. Even if it was only catching up, even if she’d known the guy since kindergarten, it didn’t matter. It filled her with a dread that was irrational.
