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Evie’s mom opened the door. I knew it was her because I could see Evie’s features in her, the same petite face and blonde hair, the porcelain blue eyes.
“Hello?” she said, open and friendly, just like Evie was.
“I’m Tate Sagarro,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I think it’s time we met.”
She smiled and yelled over her shoulder. “Evie, your fella’s here!”
From deep within the cabin, I heard Evie say, “What? No he’s not.”
I enjoyed the look on her face when she saw me on the doorstep.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard your mother’s lasagna was to die for,” I said. Suddenly one of the brothers appeared next to the mother, dwarfing her with his size. “You mean, you could die from her lasagna. Did you know she actually killed someone once with that food?”
“Steve!” the mother admonished him. “How was I to know that girl was allergic to nuts!”
“Who puts nuts in lasagna?!” Steve went on. “I mean, no recipe calls for it?”
“Who follows recipes, anyway,” I said, and seeing the gratitude in Evie’s mothers eyes made up for possibly alienating Steve. “Following recipes is for people with no imagination.”
Before the situation could escalate, Evie was right there, giving me a hug.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” I said. It was true. The thought of being alone in my big house without anyone there was not inviting. I would rather be here, with Evie, than by myself. That was a first.
I went in, met Evie’s father and other brother and got pulled into a heated debate about the NFL and who was going to win the championship. The next morning, her father took me out to show me his boat. “So, you and Evie…” he said, looking at me.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
“You’re a…” again he didn’t finish his sentence, but looked at me seriously. He was a big man, just like his son, Steve, but his eyes were kind. Despite the gruff appearance and raspy voice, I had the feeling he was a softie.
“Yes,” I said, resolutely. “I am.”
Even though he didn’t come outright and ask me what my intentions were, I knew that was what he was doing. And I was telling him that I would do right by her, in my own way.
“She’s my little girl,” he said, and suddenly, he was tearing up, having to turn away so I didn’t see the tears in his eyes.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
“You know, I would…” I had to imagine what he meant to say, I thought he probably meant he’d knock me down if I hurt her.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
His other son Andy arrived. He had a slimmer build than his father and brother, but the same eyes as Evie and her mother. Blue and empathetic, sensitive. He came over to talk to me as we walked back from the house.
“He almost shot a boy who made her cry once,” Andy said, looking over his shoulder. “Turned out the boy didn’t even know what was going on. One of Stevie’s pranks, pretending to be the boy and sending dirty messages to Evie. Dad almost got into trouble for that.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to imagine Evie’s father with a shotgun on my doorstep.
“What I’m trying to say is, he’s an ask-questions-later sort of guy.”
“I get it,” I said. “I’ve made mistakes but I’m making less of them now.”
“Sounds good,” Andy said.
When we got to the house, Evie was watching me carefully.
