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"In words, maybe not," she says. "But I've seen the way Sam looks at you. I've seen the way you are with her boy. You've got something special, but I won't see her hurt if you're not thinking about doing it right."
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my mom’s words settle heavily on my chest. She’s right. I’ve been careless, thinking only of my own feelings and wants, without considering the impact my actions could have on Sam and Alex. I need to be better than that. I need to step up and be the man they deserve. If that means staying in town, putting down roots, and doing things differently than I’ve done before...then so be it.
“I’ll try,” I tell my mom, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do better.”
“That’s all I can ask, Evan,” she says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Just remember that this isn’t just about you. It’s about her and Alex, too.”
“I know,” I say, and I do. I know that if I’m going to be with Sam, I need to do it right.
She deserves to be happy.
And I'm going to find a way to be the man to do that.
Chapter eighteen
Sam
Aweekpasseswithoutany word from Evan.
I don't know how to feel about it. I asked him not to contact me--I asked him for space--but I don't really know if I wanted it. I think it was one of those moments where I wanted a grand gesture, some sign that I could trust him...but there's nothing.
I think he might have already left town early.
Alex is bummed that he left, and he bugs me about making him pancakes every morning for a week. He finally gives it up a week later, and I drop him off at school before heading into work at Safe Harbor.
And who do I run into in the lobby but Evan Hart?
He's sitting in one of the chairs and filling out a volunteer form, and he glances up at me as I walk in. I get the impression I'm not supposed to be here, like I've intruded onhim--but I feel less tough when he flashes me a lazy grin.
"Hey, stranger," he says.
I want to...I don't know. I want to scream at him? Tell him to leave?
Beg him to stay?
"Hi," I say. "Uh...what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to volunteer," he says, holding up his clipboard.
"You're..." I stop.
"Yes?"
"Okay," I say. "I'll take that."
I snatch the clipboard away from him and scan the form. He's got a list of impressive credentials, his name, his birthday...
...and his residence is listed as Fern Hollow, Oregon.
"You're overqualified," I mutter.
"No one's too qualified to clean a kennel," he says, standing up. "You got work for me?"
I swallow hard and nod.
"Yeah," I say. "I've got plenty of work."
As I lead Evan through the shelter, I can feel the tension between us. It's like the past week never happened, like he's just a volunteer and I'm his boss.
