“Follow me?” he asks.
“Right behind you,” I answer.
We pull into a small bistro, and he’s at the driver’s-side door before I can open it. Ryan holds his hand out, helping me from the car.
We step inside the restaurant, where he asks for us to be seated on the patio. It’s still chilly outside this time of year even though we’re in Louisiana. My short skirt offers no protection, but I’m relieved when I see several heaters scattered around the area. Twinkle lights stretch between the trees that border the patio. It’s a dreamy spot for a first date.
We order wine and appetizers, and we talk and talk and talk. He leans toward me and I mirror him.
“Tell me more about you,” he says, just as our main course is served.
Thoughts about Mama and that small trailer we called home—that Mama made a home—wash over me, and for the first time, I don’t want to tell the first lie. I want to tell him how she taught me to sew and how we made dresses for every stuffed animal I had. How we had tea parties and acted like we were royalty. I wanted to tell him about the map of the world that hung on the wall. We would throw a dart and then learn everything we could about the place it landed on.
But I stick with the script and tell him my parents died in a car wreck and I’m just trying to find my way. I weave more truth than I should into the story. Give him more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone else.
His hand slides across the table and I steel myself for how good I know it will feel. And it feels good.
Too good.
So I pull away slightly. Not enough to make him feel rejected. Just enough to give myself some distance. I mentally wall up my emotions, brick by brick. Ryan Sumner is a job. One that won’t last. He’s charmed with Evie Porter, a figment of my imagination.
It’s time to remember exactly who she is and why she’s here.
It’s time to get to work.
Evie Porter—Present Day
Ryan is in the front yard pushing a lawn mower back and forth along his perfectly green grass. The sun is setting and the dying light is throwing a golden glow over the two-story white house, making it shimmer.
He spots me as he makes his second pass and kills the engine immediately. He’s wearing old, faded khaki shorts and a light blue tee that is frayed around the edges.
I’m on the sidewalk watching him watch me. Neither of us moves for several minutes.
It’s been three months since that morning in the hotel in Atlanta.
He meets me halfway. Grass trimmings coat his legs and shoes, and his hands are streaked with grease.
My eyes scan his face for any little change since I saw him last. “I’m hoping you still want to talk,” I say.
Ryan pulls a rag from his back pocket then uses it to clean his hands. After a long moment, he finally looks up at me and nods toward the house. Without waiting to see if I’ll follow, he starts making his way around the side of the house to the backyard.
My eyes snag on the three long rows of plants that are bursting with vegetables in the back corner of the yard.
Ryan arranges the two Adirondack chairs so they are facing each other rather than sitting side by side, motioning for me to take one. I choose the one that puts my back to the yard. I can’t look at that garden right now.
He grabs two beers from a nearby cooler, passing one of them to me. “I thought it would be better to talk without the prying eyes of the neighborhood watch. Although I should thank you, the little old ladies on this street have given me a wide berth after the spectacle in the driveway, and they’ve grown weary of throwing their granddaughters at me.”
“I’m available any time you need your good name tarnished,” I say, then take a sip of my beer.
“It was never as shiny as you once thought it was. We can stop pretending whenever you’re ready.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, hoping to calm my nerves. “I’m not sure I know where to start. I’ve . . . been pretending a long time.”
Ryan’s head tilts to the side as he studies me. While Devon, Amy, and I can speculate until we’re blue in the face, we don’t know Ryan’s side of this or what he knew about me or Mr. Smith. The only thing we do know is Ryan did business with Mr. Smith in some capacity, but he has been the sole owner of the operation in East Texas since his grandfather died.
I also know there’s something unfinished between us, and I had a strong desire to see him again that time has not lessened.
“I should make you go first since you’ve taken your sweet time to come talk to me.” He puts his beer on the little side table, then leans back in his chair, his head resting in the cradle of his joined hands. “You were something I wasn’t prepared for. Did I know you were trying to get information on the business in Glenview when I fixed your flat tire? No. Even before I met you, I could tell something was wrong there. Things had been moved around at work and at home. Shit missing. It got worse after I met you, but I didn’t link it to you. Not at all.” He gives me a lopsided grin and a shrug that tells me he knows he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. “An associate I’ve done business with off and on over the years told me he was hearing rumors that someone had infiltrated my operation and was selling info on my shipments to the highest bidder.”