Change of Heart (21 page)

Art had been the one thing she’d chosen for herself, and he took it away.

She moved on to the next row and pulled a particularly large and stubborn weed, this one deep and rooted in the soil. As she tugged at it, it ripped open her skin through her flimsy gardening glove. She fell backward, and blood seeped through the thin cover of fabric. She removed the glove to inspect her wound, which stung in its rawness.

She sat, staring at the blood dripping from her palm as tears continued to fall.

“Figure it out.”

She’d lost herself. The weeds had grown up around her heart and she’d forgotten everything she’d dreamed of becoming.

“Evie?”

Whit’s voice pulled her from the past. She looked at him with clouded eyes, expecting judgment on his face, but found acceptance waiting for her instead. Why would he continue to be nice to her? So many people in town thought they were having an affair
 
—were they treating him like he was some kind of cheater too?

“You okay?”

She wiped her cheeks with her dirt-covered arm. “It’s just a cut. I’ll be fine.” She stood.

He stepped inside the fenced-in vegetable patch and took her hand, inspecting the wound. “Let’s run over to the house and clean this up.”

“I’m fine, Whit,” she said, yanking her hand away. She didn’t need him to help her.

“Evie, unless you went shopping for Band-Aids and a first aid kit, there’s nothing in the guesthouse that’s going to make this fine. Besides, it’s almost lunch. Lilian said you’re coming?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have to.”

He just stared at her.

Her hand stung. And he was right. She at least needed a Band-Aid. “Fine.”

She followed him to the house, careful to hold her hand away from her clothes, though she wasn’t sure why. They were so filthy she doubted she’d ever get the dirt out.

In the kitchen, Whit grabbed a chair and told her to sit in it. “Stay there, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“You’re bossy,” she said as he walked out of the room.

“You’re stubborn.” He returned with a first aid kit. “Let me see it.”

She held out her hand, palm up. The blood had pooled around the thin skin where her thumb attached to the palm, and it tingled.

He led her to the sink, turned on the water, and held her hand under it. Then he wrapped a clean towel around the injury and squeezed.

“Ow!”

He shrugged. “Gotta stop the bleeding.”

“You have absolutely no bedside manner,” she said, trying to ignore the throbbing under the towel.

He looked at her like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.

After a few awkward moments, he removed the towel and gently turned her hand over to inspect her injury. “Can’t believe it got you through the glove.”

“Pretty useless glove,” she said. “Besides, I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

“It’s okay; you’ve got other talents.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m just oozing potential.”

He met her eyes. “If you weren’t being sarcastic, I would agree with you.”

It occurred to her she could probably take care of this cut on her own, but at this point she didn’t want to. She missed having someone take care of her, though she never expected it would be Whit.

He rummaged around in the first aid kit. “I’ve got a few different bandages in here.”

She sat quietly, watching him fish Neosporin from the bottom of the kit. He squirted it on her hand. “Rub that in.”

She did as she was told.

“What were you doing in the garden anyway?” He found the right-size Band-Aid and tore open the wrapper.

“Trying to
figure some things out
.”

Regret twisted his face. “I’m sorry I said that to you, Ev.”

“I needed to hear it.”

“Not from me.”

She lifted her chin. “Why not? We were friends once, weren’t we?”

He swallowed but didn’t answer.

Silence hung between them, the memory of that day in the barn weaving its way back to her mind. While the newspaper had twisted the truth, it was true they were in the middle of an important conversation at the time. One that had gone unfinished.

“What happened, Whit? Why don’t you like me anymore?” The words made her sound like a pathetic, lonely schoolgirl whose best friend played with someone else at recess.

He affixed the Band-Aid to her hand. “You still going to be able to paint with that on?”

The subject change was abrupt and obvious. She didn’t respond right away for the threat of tears, her loneliness spilling over like a too-full bathtub. “I’ll be okay.”

He stood from his chair. “Good. I got you something.”

She watched as he moved toward the entryway and returned with a plastic bag, which he promptly handed to her.

She took it, unmoving. Trevor Whitney bought her a present?

“Open it.” His words were quiet like the boy she’d met that night during high school. She missed that boy
 
—her friend.

What was so wrong with them being friends? Why did he insist on keeping an arm’s length between them?

She looked inside the plastic bag and found a large sketch pad with an assortment of drawing utensils
 
—charcoal, graphite, markers.

He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I wasn’t sure what you’d need, but I saw some of your sketches for the painted hearts in an old notebook. Thought this would remind you what it feels like to be a real artist.”

Unwelcome tears returned, bringing with them that familiar thick, tight knot at the back of her throat.

“Is it not the right stuff?”

She glanced up and found an expectant look on his face. “It’s perfect.”

The slightest smile danced behind his eyes, but he simply nodded. “Good.”

“Thank you, Whit.” She stood, the memory of a lost dream swirling overhead. Gently, she took a step toward him, wrapping her arms around him in a quiet hug. “For everything.”

He stood still, his body stiff at her touch, that boy she used to know miles away. Finally his hand pressed against her back and he held her for the briefest moment. “Anytime.”

The back door flung open and Lilian appeared in the doorway.

Evelyn pulled away from him, and they both turned and faced his aunt, who wore a disapproving scowl.

“So maybe that article was true,” she said. “You two are playing with fire.”

Evelyn held up a hand to stop her. “You’ve got this all wrong, Lilian.”

But Trevor’s aunt only glared at her nephew, and Trevor remained eerily silent.

CHAPTER

A
NOTHER WEEK PASSED
before Evelyn had a plan to present to Whit and Lilian. The Whitney Farms Dinner Night was on the community calendar, but only thanks to some string pulling from Gigi. It angered Evelyn that even after her years of doing good deeds for this community, the people had all but turned their backs on her in her time of need.

They’d even tried to refuse her ice cream!

Thankfully, they still supported Trevor Whitney as his family had been a Loves Park staple for as long as any of them could remember. Gigi didn’t say so, but Evelyn knew that was her angle when she told people about the dinner.

Just before it was time to call the Volunteers meeting to order, Trevor sauntered into The Paper Heart with Lilian, that irritated expression on his face. Evelyn’s summons had obviously interrupted his daily chores, and she’d likely hear about that later.

She didn’t care. She had a plan. And it was good.

He looked casual but out of place as he often did in town, which made her wonder if the farm was the only spot that truly suited him.

Doris rushed over to him and grabbed him by the arm, leading him and Lilian to the back of the store, where Abigail had reserved the Volunteers’ usual table.

“Oh, Mr. Whitney, you are looking awfully handsome today,” Doris said.

Evelyn thought she saw Trevor roll his eyes when Doris wasn’t paying attention. She stood at the counter, waiting on the last of their drinks from Abigail, who would join them as soon as her manager, Mallory, returned from her break.

Abigail set a coffee on the tray. “Too bad those rumors about you and Whit weren’t true.”

“What?” Evelyn asked, confused.

She shrugged. “He seems like such a sweet guy, and he’s been so kind to you. I can’t help but wonder if there’s any truth to what that article said.”

Evelyn fully faced her friend, who had obviously lost her marbles. “Abigail, Whit and I are
friends
.”

Abigail glanced past Evelyn toward the table with a nod. “Uh-huh.”

“He is one of Christopher’s oldest friends.”

“So?”

“And I’m . . .”

“Officially single.”

Evelyn sighed. “Right. Sometimes I forget.”

Abigail set another drink on the tray. “All I know is, good men are hard to find, and even you have to agree that Trevor Whitney is a good man.”

“He is, but he’s so cranky all the time.”

Abigail didn’t respond.

“Besides, he and Maggie . . .”

She smiled. “Oh yes. Operation Whitney/Lawson.”

“We’re friends,” Evelyn said again. She took the tray and walked toward the table. She placed the drinks on the table and sat down.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ursula asked, picking up her latte.

“Nothing,” Evelyn said, aware that all eyes were turned on her.

“Your cheeks are bright red,” Ursula said.

Evelyn gave an innocent shrug and changed the subject. “Can we get started?”

Abigail joined them, sitting between Evelyn and Trevor, which unnerved her, though she had no idea why.

Gigi cut in before Evelyn could continue. “Before we start, Evelyn, can we just welcome Mr. Whitney and his aunt Lilian to the meeting?” The older woman stood at the end of the table, turning everyone’s attention to the uncomfortable-looking pair who had joined them. “Welcome.”

“Thanks for having us,” Trevor said. “We appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Gigi said. “It’s our pleasure, though we do have one small stipulation.”

Trevor frowned.

Why did Evelyn have a feeling they weren’t going to like this?

“It’s about the hearts,” Gigi said, glancing at Evelyn. “We’re going to need those plans by the end of the week. Anything you can mock up. We want to reveal the concept to the community at the Sweetheart Festival, but so far, I have a terrible suspicion you haven’t begun working on them yet.”

Evelyn looked at Trevor. “I started sketching a little, Gigi. It’s just been so busy.” Not exactly true in her case, but . . .

“I know, and now you can be busy with the hearts.” Gigi’s smile carried with it a certain finality that told Evelyn the subject was closed.

As such, Evelyn took the floor. She stood and cleared her throat. “As you all know, we’re here to plan the Whitney Farms Dinner Night.”

“Hear, hear,” Ursula said, raising her latte in the air.

They talked through the details Evelyn had outlined for the dinner night, from the invitation design she had mocked up to the menu Lilian would be in charge of. They discussed decorations and budget, parking and prices. Evelyn had spent many evenings figuring out every detail of this event.

After the meeting ended, she expected Trevor to bolt out the door, but he hung around and helped her clear the table.

“You’ve done a ton of work,” he said, picking up two half-empty coffee mugs and setting them on a tray.

Evelyn shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

He stopped and looked at her. “You know you don’t owe me anything, right?”

She turned away. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

He leaned toward her, forcing her gaze. “Ev, I’m not playing that game. We’re friends, and friends help each other out. No strings.”

“But we weren’t friends for so long. I’d become someone neither one of us would ever recognize. I still don’t understand why you’ve been so kind to me, but thank you. And if I want to plan a dinner to try to help the farm grow, let me.”

He laughed. “Now who’s the bossy one?”

She smiled and directed her attention back to the table.

Someone walked up behind her. Gigi. “Mr. Whitney, we’re thrilled to hear there’s been some progress between you and Miss Lawson.”

Trevor looked startled.

“I know you’re awfully private, but we did hear about that kiss outside the barn.”

“Gigi,” Evelyn said slowly. Had she really needed to specify she was telling them that in confidence?

“What? It’s wonderful. He deserves to be happy. He is an eligible single man with a business of his own, and if he wants to kiss Maggie Lawson on his farm, so be it.”

Trevor stared at Evelyn.

“I didn’t mean to spy,” she said, sounding guilty, like a teenager doling out excuses for her bad behavior.

“Did you mean to tell half the town?” Anger
 
—or embarrassment?
 
—flashed behind his eyes.

Gigi patted his arm. “Oh, don’t be silly. We aren’t half the town.”

But Trevor didn’t respond. Instead, he gave Evelyn one last look and made his way to the door.

She knew he hated all of this matchmaking, and she’d fed his personal information
 
—shadily obtained
 
—straight to them. Some friend she turned out to be.

“Oh, dear, I am sorry. I thought he’d be happy,” Gigi said, walking away and leaving Evelyn with a pit in her stomach only guilt and regret could’ve caused.