Fearless by Abby Brooks (best books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

her my fleece, slipping it around her shoulders as Mr. and Mrs. Tarrington stared, whispering behind their hands.

“I’m afraid I’ve made you the talk of the town.” I lifted a chin toward the grinning couple. Isaac tipped his hat in our direction while Gwen raised a hand, then leaned into her husband and patted his arm. “Between Greta telling everyone you’re a lesbian, then catching you out with me…”

“Add that to the fact that I’m living in a haunted house…” Evie grinned and I swallowed down a touch of guilt. Maybe it would be better if I came clean on that topic…

Later. I’d do it later. “You really know how to make an entrance,” I said instead. “But I wouldn’t worry about it.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The gossip will die down in, oh, four to six years, or so.”

“Is that all?”

Opening the door to Overton’s, I stood back to let Evie enter first. The hostess—a bookish young woman with bright eyes—escorted us to my table, a quiet space big enough for my laptop on the nights I chose to bring it along. “I’ll return with your whiskey in just a sec, Mr. Prescott.” Bridget gave me a familiar smile as Evie and I took our seats. “And what can I get for you, Miss…”

“Please, call me Evie.” She snapped open the drink menu, then cast me a devilish look. “And do us a favor and scratch that whiskey. He’ll have a” —her eyes scanned the page— “Drunken Sailor, instead.”

I frowned. “I always have whiskey.” The finality in my voice should have ended the discussion, but Evie simply grinned and patted my arm.

“Sounds like a rut if I’ve ever heard one.” The quirk of her head. The glimmer in her eyes. If she wasn’t in the middle of bossing me around, she would have been adorable.

“Whiskey isn’t the problem.”

She arched a brow. “As the woman in charge of this situation, that’s my call. And I’m definitely sensing a rut…which is why you’ll have a Drunken Sailor tonight.”

Poor Bridget didn’t know what to do. She stared, feet rooted in place, until I had mercy on the poor girl. “Two Drunken Sailors, it is,” I said to her before turning to Evie. “If I’m taking this journey, you’re coming with me.”

“Can I just say you two are so cute,” Bridget said. “It’s nice to see you smiling, Mr. Prescott. Mrs. Macmillan’s right. You guys are gonna be Wildrose Landing’s power couple in no time. I can feel it.”

“Whatever we do,” Evie said as Bridget headed to the bar, “we will not play a drinking game involving people talking about Greta’s Facebook page.”

I laughed. She grinned. And I realized I hadn’t felt so comfortable with a woman in a long time.

I leaned in close. “I have to know…”

Evie mirrored the movement, folding her arms on the table and arching a brow. “Know what?”

“What you thought of my butt. I’ve always assumed it was pretty spectacular, but since I don’t exactly have a clear view, I thought I’d ask someone who did.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “You did know I was watching.”

“Of course I knew.” I laughed as she shook her head. “Morgan only sings when he’s close to me, and he wouldn’t leave your side to come upstairs. Not with you being so generous with the ear scratching and all.”

“Is that what all the howling was? Singing?” Her smile sparkled with sarcasm.

“I happen to have a very good shower voice, thank you very much.”

“I was talking about the dog, but way to make things about you.”

“Speaking of me, don’t keep a man waiting. What’s the verdict on my butt?”

Evie sat back in her chair, grinning ear to ear. “I already have a history of sexually harassing my boss. If I told you what I thought when I saw you strutting down that hallway, you’d file a complaint in an instant.”

I couldn’t nail down her personality at all. That statement, while it was a massive stroke to my ego, seemed more in line with the confident version of Evie McAllister that escorted me to my car all those years ago. And yet, she often seemed so unsure of herself, I couldn’t imagine she’d ever have the guts to say something that direct to my face. I didn’t know which version of her was the real her. Was she bold and brave? Or timid and shy?

Our drinks arrived, a tasty combination of gin, rum, ginger ale, and lime. As we placed our orders, a couple at another table caught my attention. The man was tucked into a suit, his tie so tight he had to be suffocating. His phone was out, and he tap, tap, tapped ferociously across the screen. His wife leaned her chin on her hands, staring into the belly of the restaurant, so sad, so alone, even though she sat across from someone who’d pledged his life to her. When her gaze met mine, she conjured a smile that reminded me of my mom.

I didn’t want that.

I couldn’t be that.

Not again.

My father nearly broke my mother. I nearly broke Candace. And I’d made a promise never to be that man again.

Evie sipped her drink and her face fell. “Oh, no…”

“What?” I sat back and crossed my ankle over my knee. “Did randomly choosing a drink off the menu backfire? Go figure.”

“Oh, it backfired, all right, but not the way you’re thinking. I like it. I like it too much.”

Just like I was starting to like her. Too much.

Eager to remind us both we weren’t actually dating, I fished in my bag for my outline, a piece of paper I kept with my laptop so I could make notes while I wrote.

It wasn’t there.

As Evie stared, I dug through the mess I’d yet to organize only to come up empty handed. A memory of several papers see-sawing to the ground as I dashed out of her kitchen danced through my head.

Fuck me.

If that outline wasn’t in my