Evie Parata kicked the door of her new-to-her car and screamed in frustration.
Could this day get any worse?
A pair of little old ladies stared at her and tittered behind their hands, but Evie ignored them. She was used to the gossip of Itirangi, the tiny New Zealand town where she’d grown up, and was now stuck in, courtesy of her crappy ride.
“Filthy, slimeball salesman,” she muttered to herself, stalking up the pavement and back again. When the guy had sold her the car this morning, taking the majority of her savings, he’d promised it was in good working order, and that had certainly seemed to be true. The battered Subaru had seen better days, but when she’d taken it for a test drive, she hadn’t had any troubles. Not that Evie really knew anything about cars, since she’d spent the past nine years using public transportation.
Still, she’d been itching to have her own wheels for months now, and the timing had seemed opportune—she’d encountered the second-hand dealership on her walk to the bus stop in Dunedin where she’d planned to catch a ride to Timaru. On impulse, she’d purchased the Subaru instead. Two birds, one stone, or so she’d thought. Now it seemed the car might not even last the rest of the three-hour drive.
Hopping behind the wheel, she turned the key in the ignition again. The engine flipped over once, then sputtered out, and she swore under her breath.
Don’t panic.
There was a mechanic less than a block away. From here, she couldn’t tell if it was open, so she locked the stupid car to protect her worldly goods, which were neatly packed into a suitcase in the back seat, then jogged toward the garage. Unfortunately, the signs had already been taken in, and the lights inside were turned off. She groaned, resting her hands on her thighs as she caught her breath. Damn.
Never one to take no for an answer, she bashed on the door. “Open up!”
No one came. She pounded harder. Still nothing. Ducking around the side of the building, she checked the other doors. All shut and locked. Everyone had cleared out for the day, and it was only four-thirty on Christmas Eve. Not even Christmas yet. She shouldn’t be surprised. Itirangi had never been a thriving hub of activity.
She trekked back around to the front door and called the contact number painted on the glass. Inside, a phone rang. She crossed her fingers, hoping the landline would redirect to a cell, but no such luck. A recorded message asked her to leave her name and details and they would get back to her on Boxing Day.
She sank to the pavement, buried her face in her hands and growled. This is what she got for impulse-buying. She couldn’t afford to be stranded in Itirangi. She needed to get to her friend Monica’s orchard, where she had an invitation to pick berries while she figured out what the hell she was doing with her life.
She straightened, brushed off the uncertainty that threatened to crush her every time she dwelled on her future, and used her phone’s internet browser to search for other mechanics in the area. The nearest open workshop was twenty miles away, and when she called to ask about a tow service, the friendly voice on the other end quoted a price that made her jaw drop.
She hung up and wiped her palms on her denim shorts. Despite the cloud overhead, it was a muggy, stifling day. Beads of sweat had broken out on her upper lip and at her temples. She drew in a calming breath. Getting her rage-face on wouldn’t help anybody. She needed to be smart here. What were her options?
It should be simple. Her best friends in the world lived here. If she called one of them, she had no doubt they’d drop whatever they were doing to rescue her, but she was sick and tired of being rescued, and she didn’t want to mess up her friends’ holiday plans. They’d all settled down with partners this year and were probably spending Christmas Eve with their families, as they ought to. She didn’t want to impose, especially not when she wasn’t feeling her usual self.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been the wild one, the girl who was always ready to party, the one who never turned down a dare. But this would be her first Christmas alone. The first since her mother passed away right here in this sleepy little town. Grief gripped her, digging its icy claws into her heart, and her throat constricted. She blinked away tears.
If she called her friends and pretended everything was fine, they’d see right through her in an instant, and if she was honest with them about everything she was keeping bottled up inside, she’d be a blubbering wreck at the slightest hint of concern or empathy. No, she needed to be alone, so she could honor her mother’s traditions and hole up with some donuts, a bottle of wine, and The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen.
Apart from calling her friends, what other options did she have? The buses had finished until Boxing Day, and she didn’t have the money for a taxi. With a heavy sigh, she resigned herself to staying in her car. She had blankets, and the back seat folded down. She’d get through the holiday just fine. It wasn’t like she’d planned anything fancy, and the 24-hour convenience store would be open all day tomorrow so she could buy enough food to get her through. She’d weathered worse. Mind made up, she returned to the car, cursing the oppressive heat once again. What she wouldn’t give for a shower.
She ducked inside the car and slipped her sunglasses on to mask her face, wishing she’d had the foresight to purchase her usual ten-dollar bottle of Moscato before she’d left Dunedin, rather than stopping by the liquor store here, which happened to be located next to Davy’s Bar. Now she had wine, but no working transportation to escape in, and Davy O’Connor was the last person she wanted to see.
Since breaking his tender teenage heart, she’d habitually avoided him to the best of her ability. It was impossible to distance herself completely given they shared mutual friends, but she tried to train her focus elsewhere whenever they were forced into proximity. She told herself she kept away from him because of how painfully their relationship had ended, but if she were honest, what hurt most was the thought of what they could have had together if she’d cared to stick around.
She shrank lower in the seat. Hopefully Davy was out of town. Her pride couldn’t stand for him to see her living in her car outside his bar. How he’d laugh to see her reduced to this after she’d brashly declared herself a woman of the world and breezed out of Itirangi, full of misplaced confidence.
Reclining the seat backward, she removed her glasses, curled onto her side and closed her eyes. If she napped the time away, it would pass faster, and she’d mastered the art of napping on cue. A few moments later, she dozed off.
She woke when a drop of water splashed onto her eyelid, and opened her eyes just in time for a second one to land.
“Ugh,” she muttered, swiping it away as the drips began in earnest.
Someone knocked on the window, and she bolted upright, thumping her knee on the bottom of the steering wheel. Breath hissed between her teeth. She glanced up, and then the impossible happened. Her day got worse.
It wasn’t enough for her to waste all her money on a broken car and get stranded with rain leaking through the roof. To top it off, Davy O’Connor had witnessed her humiliation. Just bloody fantastic.
He gestured for her to wind down the window. She deliberately took her time, delaying the inevitable while oddly fascinated by the way the downpour soaked through his clothes and trickled from the tips of his dark red hair.
“Hi, Evelyn,” he said in his lilting Irish accent. “Car trouble?”
Evie winced. He was the only person who called her by her full name, and it made her feel seventeen again. “What’s it to you?”
He shook his head, droplets of water scattering in every direction, some landing on her, then he smiled. The prick. “Can I call one of the girls to come get you?” he asked. “You’ll be sitting out here all night, otherwise. Won’t find anyone to fix your car this late.”
“Don’t call the girls,” Evie said quickly. Too quickly.
His eyes narrowed. “Have you not told them you’re around?”
She tried not to look guilty. She knew she wasn’t being the best friend by avoiding them, but she needed privacy to lick her wounds. “I’m only passing through. Didn’t seem like there was any point.”
“Bullshite. You know Aria would love to have you over for Christmas.” His gaze became sympathetic. “Especially this year.”
This year. She knew exactly what he meant, and her throat clogged with emotion. He’d remembered. She’d seen him at the funeral, and vaguely recalled being wrapped in his arms, but the hug had been over too soon, and she’d been out of her mind with grief. They may not have even spoken because he’d been just one in a long line of people wanting to offer their condolences.
“I’m sorry about your mum,” he said, as though reading her mind. “The holiday season must be hard for you.”
It was—more so than she’d expected—but she wasn’t one to show weakness, especially not to him. “I’m getting by.”
His brow crinkled, and rain dripped from his nose. “You should be with your friends.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, hating to admit it. Her skin crawled at the prospect of being forced to smile and keep her emotions hidden so she wouldn’t ruin the day for anyone else. “Aria has Eli and the baby. Sophie has Cooper. Avery has Gareth. I love those girls like crazy, but I can’t be around all that cheerfulness right now.” Not when all she wanted to do was hug her photo of her mum to her chest, and cry.
Davy softened. “Why don’t you come upstairs then? You can dry off and we’ll talk about what to do next. You can’t stay in this crappy old car, and I’ve got plenty of space.”
Evie bristled at the insult to her vehicle, even if she privately agreed, and at the implication that she needed him to fix her problems. She wasn’t about to melt into a helpless puddle of femininity just because her ex had caught her at a fragile moment. Despite everything, she had her pride. “Just watch me.”
With that, she wound up the window, shifted her body to avoid the stream of water coming through the roof, and ignored him. She could wait this weather out. It was a sun shower. How long could it last?
Stubborn fool woman.
Davy watched Evelyn through the window of his second-story apartment. She had too much pride for her own good, shivering in her car just to prove she didn’t need him, as if he didn’t already know. He moved away from the window and strung another strand of star-shaped lights, listening to the drum of rain outside and trying to ignore the tug of his conscience. He’d done the right thing. It wasn’t his fault if she drowned out there.
He turned up the volume of the Christmas carols playing through a Bluetooth speaker and started arranging red baubles on the tree in the corner of his lounge. It had been cut only yesterday, and the scent of pine sap wafted through the air. He enjoyed decorating, even if it was only intended to take his mind off the other job he desperately needed to do.
His thoughts drifted back to Evelyn. She was also a distraction, albeit an unwelcome one. The woman was a gorgeous livewire but seeing her made him feel like an awkward teenager again, bringing back all the intense emotions he hadn’t experienced since he’d been with her. She appealed to him like no one else, and for all he’d tried to rid himself of his attraction to her, he’d had no luck.
When he’d glimpsed her out the window earlier, bent over the hood of her car, he hadn’t been able to resist checking her out. He’d chuckled as she booted the car and stomped away, then when she’d returned, he’d waited for her to leave. Except she hadn’t. It seemed Evelyn was stuck. In Itirangi. Outside his bar. And determined to suffer rather than let him help her when she was sad and vulnerable.
The Almighty had a sick sense of humor.
Finishing with the baubles, he wandered across the hall to the kitchen, which was separated from his dining area by two long counters. It was the first room he’d remodeled after buying the place, knocking out a wall to make a welcoming open plan area. He checked the timer and flicked the oven light on. The sponge cakes he’d put in to bake earlier had risen nicely and were golden brown on top. He inched the door open and inserted a skewer into each, to check whether the batter was cooked through. Perfect.
Donning oven mitts, he pulled the door all the way down, retrieved the cakes, and carried them to the counter to cool. He inhaled the delicious scent. Mm. There was nothing he loved more than the smell of freshly baked cake.
The rain outside thundered even louder. Wincing, he returned to the living room window and peered out. Evelyn hadn’t left her car. He’d seen how badly the roof leaked. She’d be drenched by now.
Not my problem.
Turning away, he collected a pack of candy canes from the coffee table and hung them on the tree. He was whistling along to Snoopy’s Christmas and scrubbing cake tins when a high-pitched beep sounded above the music. The doorbell. He opened the window and leaned out. The beep sounded again.
He grinned down at the bedraggled woman on his doorstep. “Oh, Miss Evelyn. How times have changed.”
She hadn’t heard him. Her shoulders hunched, and she jabbed the doorbell repeatedly.
“Can I help you?” he called, laughing when her head snapped up and she glared at him.
“Don’t just stand there,” she yelled. “Let me in!”
“Are you sure you want to come in?” he asked. “That car looks mighty comfortable.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Please, Davy,” she said, syrupy sweet. “May I come in and dry off?”
He closed the window, amused when her mouth dropped open, but against his better judgement, he hurried downstairs to let her in just as she was storming back to her car, cursing creatively.
“Come in, silly girl.”
She spun around, and up close he could see the water dripping from the ends of her shoulder-length dark hair onto her shoulders and then under the rounded neckline of her shirt. One trail of water dipped into the valley between her breasts, which were partially exposed. He tore his attention from her chest before she noticed. Been there, done that. Had the emotional scars to prove it.
Evelyn scowled at him, every bit a bad-tempered Fae Queen seeking to bring mortal men to their knees. She fetched her suitcase from the back seat and swept past him up the stairs, coming to a stop outside his apartment door. “You going to open it for me, or what?”