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“Bunch of assholes,” she grumbles. I can picture her planting her palm on her hip and delivering the full weight of her narrow-eyed stare. That look bends a lot of people for my cousin. It's a bit of a signature move by this point.
“Ready for the silver lining?” I inject some enthusiasm into my voice. It's not too much of a hardship. Iamexcited about my new idea.
“You and your silver linings,” she says with a huff. “One of these days, I want to hear you just wallow. Talk shit about something. Sit on the couch and binge-watchThe Vampire Diariesand sulk about that shitty ending.”
“Hey, I think they did the best they could after Elena left. I mean, should they have ended the show then? Probably. But then we wouldn't have really gotten the Caroline and Stephan experience.”
“Ugh, it should've been Klaus and Caroline, and that's a hill I'll die on, Eve.”
I laugh as I open my trunk and settle the box inside. This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, and I doubt it'll be the last. “You know I agree. Who doesn't want to be wooed by a man who will burn the world down to save you? It's the ultimate woo.”
Her laughter is infectious as I close my trunk. The resounding thunk echoes a bit in the parking garage.
“You and your woo. You're the only person I know who uses that word like that. Like it's a necessary stop in a relationship.”
My amusement slides off like raindrops on a duck's back. “Yeah, I guess I'm the only one left.” It was one of the many things Nana Jo taught me.
“You know what we need?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“Uncle Harry's,” we answer at the same time.
“I'll meet you there in a few hours.”
“See you then, Eve. Drive safe. Love you,” she sing-songs the last few words.
“See you soon, Cora. Love you.”
I end the call and slide into my car, already running through the mental checklist of what else I need to pack. We got sidetracked by the Salvatores, and I didn't even get a chance to tell her my silver lining.
But it's fine. Because nothing pairs better with ice cream than good news. And I'm about to tell my cousin that I'm moving to Rosewood for the summer.
WELCOME TO ROSEWOOD
It's your favorite neighbor,and I'm back with the juiciest gossip in town. The only thing hotter than the summers here are the St. James men, and I'm not just talking about their motorcycles.
The president of the reformed bad boys was spotted downtown getting ice cream with his adorable little boy last Tuesday afternoon. Does Silas St. James need a nanny? We happen to know plenty of willing tributes.
But that's not all, my dear readers. Bane and Nova St. James have been awfully quiet this last week. Did they sneak away on vacation without Silas? Is there trouble in the St. James family?
Summer's almost here, and you know what that means? The annual Reapers car wash, where things get steamy, and I'm not just talking about the weather.
Until next time,
—Rose
2
EVANGELINE
“Welcome to Rosewood,”I murmur.
The sun is just starting to set as I pass the familiar Welcome to Rosewood sign. It's the color of red bricks left in the sun too long, with white block lettering and scrolling gold accents. A few rose blooms adorn the corners, framing the whole sign for the town's namesake.
Nana Jo helped touch up the paint on that sign every summer. The sun shines so often here that these older style wooden signs need more attention than the newer ones. It's always been a point of pride for residents.
Nostalgia squeezes my heart as I cruise into the city limits of Rosewood. I rest my left elbow on the windowsill, dancing my fingertips in the wind to the quiet beat of my favorite indie radio station. Contrary to what Cora said, Ididn'tlisten to Hamilton for three hours.
Just one, I think with a smirk.
