Change of Heart (22 page)

CHAPTER

T
HE NEXT DAY,
Trevor escaped into the wood shop, hoping to finish a table and stop agonizing over his conversation with Evelyn the day before.

He didn’t even care that she’d told the meddling matchmakers about him and Maggie, but the realization that she’d seen him kissing Maggie had robbed him of hours of sleep.

The knock on the door came just before he turned on the table saw. He sighed. Only one person would knock before entering a barn.

He opened the door, avoided Evelyn’s eyes, and walked back to the saw, horribly aware she was following him.

Not the warmest welcome, but at least he’d let her in.

“Look, I’m really sorry, Whit,” she said, setting her sketch pad down on the counter. “They thought you and Maggie were on the outs. Their other idea was to convince her to buy a wooden heart for you. Somehow
that
was supposed to win you over.”

She paused, waiting for him to respond.

When he didn’t, she pressed on. “I told them that was ridiculous. Someone like you hates things like this stupid tradition, but they don’t always listen to me . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she’d run out of things to say. No more words to fill the awkward space between them.

He kept his head down as he sanded a plank of wood. “You never told me you saw me with Maggie.”

She stilled. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

He glanced at her but said nothing. It
was
a big deal. His kissing anyone was a big deal. Did she know how long it had been since he’d allowed himself to even consider a relationship with someone? He’d been such a fool.

“Look, I know you’re upset with me, but I really am sorry,” she said. “Whit, please.”

He straightened, hands on his hips, and wrestled for words that never came easily. “I just . . .”

“Can you forgive me?”

“You knew I didn’t want them involved in my love life.” He decided it was better to pretend that was the issue, not that he was embarrassed Evelyn saw him kissing someone else.

And worse, that she seemed completely unfazed by it.

That should be enough to end his feelings, shouldn’t it? But he looked at her, standing in his sacred place, and he knew those feelings were far from gone. They might be getting stronger, in fact, because he could almost justify them as okay since she wasn’t married anymore.

So what was it that held him back?

“Can you forgive me long enough to talk about these hearts, at least?” She waved her sketchbook in the air.

“You have ideas, I take it?”

She grinned. “I think it was the new art supplies.”

He sighed and pulled a stool over to the counter at the center of his space. “I know you’re not leaving, so you might as well sit.”

“Gee, what a gentleman,” she said with a smile. She sat at the counter and opened the sketchbook. “Wait; did you already start?”

He followed her gaze to the corner where he’d stashed the hearts he’d already cut. “No.”

“Then what are those?”

“Those old ladies are rubbing off on you,” he said. “You’ve gotten awfully nosy.”

Standing, she picked up one of the hearts and studied it. “I thought you’d do something more straightforward, like from a template.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He took her seat at the counter and watched as she set one heart down and selected another.

“They’re all different,” she said. “Whimsical.”

“Whimsical?”
Great.

“It’s a good thing,” she said. “The lamppost hearts are so cookie-cutter now. I love these. The way you made them sort of cockeyed and crooked.”

“How do you know that wasn’t a mistake?”

“Well, if these are mistakes, they’re happy ones. I know exactly how I want to paint them.”

He cleared a space on the counter, and she put down one of the wooden hearts, then stopped and met his eyes. “You can deny it all you want, Whit, but you are an artist.”

He shook his head and returned to his workbench, picked up his sanding block, and did his best to ignore her.

She flipped open her folder, the contents of which kept her quiet for about three seconds. “I can’t believe Gigi and her charts.” She shuffled through several papers. “She has lists of every heart ever purchased, dating back at least fifteen years.”

Trevor looked at her, a knot of panic tied tight in his gut. “Why?”

Evelyn kept reading. “Who knows? Did you hear some of them are purchased anonymously?”

Trevor’s pulse quickened, and he imagined this was how guilty criminals must feel when they were being interrogated.

“Gigi has made it her personal mission to figure out who each of the anonymous hearts comes from. I haven’t read that list yet.” Evelyn turned the page. “‘Tia
 
—You have my whole heart always + forever. Pete.’ Aw.”

Trevor swallowed, his throat dry. “Gigi tracks down people who want to remain anonymous?”

Evelyn pushed back her long, wavy hair. Why did she do that? It made him crazy. “You know Gigi. Listen to this one.” She smiled, then read: “‘Dude. You rock my world. Sal.’”

“Guess it wouldn’t be hard to track people down in Loves Park,” Trevor said, turning away. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Why had purchasing a heart to let out his feelings each year seemed like a good idea? Ten times.

“I can put faces with most of the ones that give names,” Evelyn said. “But some of them do come from tourists. I think that’s why the city board’s letting us change the overall appearance of them. To appeal to more people.” She turned her folder over. “Look,” she said, removing a sheet of paper that had been paper-clipped to the back. “Anonymous. These are the ones I was talking about.”

“Why?” Trevor glanced at the evidence of foolish hearts like his.

“Much more interesting.” She held up the paper and squinted. “So these are the buyers Gigi hasn’t caught.”

Thank goodness.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Trevor said, backing away from the counter. No way he wanted to be in the same room if she was going to start diving into the mystery surrounding those anonymous hearts.

Evelyn watched Trevor leave the barn. The love and romance side of their project probably made him uncomfortable.

“Song lyrics?” Evelyn said to herself. She pulled a pencil from a small pouch and opened her sketch pad. From what she could tell, someone had stenciled a different line from this song on a heart for each of the last ten years. “Wow.”

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do.

No melody came to mind, though the words were familiar. The song meant something to someone, and that touched her. As she sketched, she imagined the hands of an elderly couple intertwined. A couple whose love was worthy of documenting and putting on display.

She continued sketching, inspired by the meaning of the lyrics and Whit’s whimsical take on the wooden hearts. The ideas came fast and messy at first, but she finally had a clear idea of where these new hearts were headed.

Next she moved from the paper straight to the wooden heart on the counter, and sketched right on it. Her hands moved fast and she didn’t stop to question whether or not the idea was good. She just drew, paying special attention to the creative lettering, something she hadn’t practiced in years.

When she’d finished that one, another idea came, so she picked up the next heart and did the same thing, using the next line of lyrics from this song that stood for everything love should be
 
—something she now realized she’d never had.

After the frenzy of creating, she sat back, pleased with the results, and feeling for the first time in too long like she’d created something worth showing someone.

But as she looked around the empty wood shop, loneliness
 
—unwanted and unkind
 
—curled up at her feet and begged her attention.

Thanks to Christopher, her whole world was unrecognizable. The trial hadn’t begun yet, so at the moment he was still free. And someone told her he’d proposed to that Darby person, so he’d likely end up with a new wife and a baby. An actual family.

The family she was supposed to have.

If the trial went the way he wanted it to
 
—though the odds of that were slim
 
—he would move on as if nothing ever happened.

Either way, she would be left to pick up the pieces. Alone.

She set a hand on the wooden heart and read the words she’d carefully sketched.

You’ll never know how slow the moments go till I’m near to you . . .

Christopher had never felt that way about her, had he? He’d probably counted the moments until he could leave her
 
—his quiet, uninteresting wife, who would rather stay home in her pajamas than wine and dine in places where people would take note.

Anger welled up inside her as the humiliation resettled on her shoulders. She’d been so stupid. So blind.

Evelyn held on to the heart, reading and rereading the words she still couldn’t match with a melody. Whoever had dedicated them likely did so as a grand gesture of his great love. That kind of love probably never died. It probably wasn’t full of lies. And cheating. And other women.

So many other women.

Evelyn gripped the heart with both hands. Without thinking, she heaved the wood against the wall and it landed with a crash. She covered her face with her hands, heat shooting up her spine.

Why had this happened to her? The good girl. The one who did everything right.

“
Haven’t
I done everything right?” She said the words aloud. “Didn’t I turn myself into the wife he wanted?”

The anger clawed at her, the memory of her revelation in the garden racing back. She knew the problem, didn’t she? She’d turned herself into the person Christopher wanted her to become.

And for what? She’d given up her youth
 
—her best years, prime years to start a family
 
—for a selfish man who had never loved her enough to be honest with her.

She’d saved herself for him, never even looked at another man. And he’d taken that gift and spit on it. He’d been reckless and unfeeling.

Evelyn stood.

Maybe it was time she stopped doing what was expected. Maybe it was time she became the person the newspaper said she was. Her loyalty meant nothing to Christopher anyway.

And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care one little bit what anyone thought of that.

CHAPTER

T
REVOR GOT THE CALL AROUND ELEVEN.
He’d dozed off on the couch, wishing away the events of the last few days. But after the surprise of a late-night phone call, he was groggily trying to remember what day it even was.

“Whit, it’s Dylan Landry.”

“Landry, do you know what time it is?”

“Saw in the paper you and Evelyn have a thing going.” Voices in the background dulled Landry’s words. Probably still at the Royal Pub, his fine drinking establishment. Trevor hadn’t been there in years.

“We don’t have a
thing
, Landry. Don’t believe everything you read.”

Dylan let out a groan. “All right, then I guess I should just leave it alone.”

Trevor ran a hand over his face, forcing himself awake. “Leave what alone?”

“She’s here, Whit.”

“At the Royal?”

“Yeah. I know she’s an adult and everything, but she looks like she could use a friend.”

“Keep an eye on her, Landry. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Trevor grabbed his ball cap, jogged to his truck, and drove into town, his mind trying to fill in the blanks of what Landry hadn’t said. He prayed a silent prayer the whole way there.

Inside the Royal, music blared. The room was dark and there weren’t many people left. He caught Landry’s eye, then followed his nod to the back, where Trevor could see a guy in a cowboy hat standing much too close to Evelyn.

What was she doing here anyway?

She wore tight jeans and a tank top and . . . were those cowboy boots? She hadn’t spotted him yet. Before he could decide what to do, she threw her head back and laughed, then took the cowboy hat off the guy and put it on. She took a drink of whatever he was holding, set it on a table, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Heat spread within Trevor’s chest as he watched this faceless man put his hands on Evelyn.

He took a few steps toward the two of them and found himself standing there, waiting for her to notice him. She didn’t.

“Evelyn.”

A sleepy glance in his direction was all she gave.

The cowboy straightened. “Back off, buddy. She’s having the time of her life tonight.” He laid a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “You should go.”

Trevor looked at the beefy hand. “Don’t touch me.”

The guy laughed. “Or what?”

“Do yourself a favor and get out of here,” Trevor said. “I don’t want any trouble. I just came here to get my friend.”

Evelyn leaned over to take another drink, but Trevor pushed it away.

“You’re no fun, Whit,” she said.

“I don’t care, Evie. You’re coming home now.”

“You can come to my place, darlin’,” the cowboy said.

Trevor spun around and grabbed the guy by the shirt. “I gave you a chance, man. Now I’m not gonna tell you again. Get lost.”

The guy, wimpier than he looked, held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. She probably isn’t worth it anyway.”

Trevor wrapped an arm around Evelyn to help steady her, but instead of standing upright, she wound both of her arms around his torso and pulled him close. “Why don’t you like me anymore, Whit?”

Her face wasn’t even an inch from his, her scent intoxicating. “You need some coffee and a good night’s sleep, Evie. Let’s go.”

But she didn’t move. Her hands crept up his back, awakening the very feelings inside him he’d worked so hard to bury.

“I’m tired of always being the good girl,” she said.

“No, Evie, you’re not. You’re just hurt.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes the boldest, most vibrant shade he’d seen. It set him off-kilter, and something inside told him to push her away.

But he couldn’t.

“I want to know how it feels to be like Christopher.” Her lips brushed against his cheek, sparking his desire. That familiar ache he’d held for all those years rushed through him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling her.

He wanted her. He’d wanted her since the day they met, and now here she was
 
—offering herself to him.

Her lips were too close, too full, not to be kissed.

She stood, hands linked behind his neck,
that
look on her face. And oh, how he wanted to respond. He was weak. His flesh was weak.

She was the only thing he’d dreamed of for the past fifteen years.

“Evie?”

She nestled her face into his neck.

“We can’t do this.”

“Sure we can. People do it all the time. Ask Christopher. Why should he get to have all the fun?”

“It’s not fun, Evie.” He took her by the arms, helping her balance as she moved. “Not like this.”

She pulled away, her expression angry. “I’m practically throwing myself at you, Whit. And what? You’re too good for me?”

“Let’s go home, Evie. Please.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She pushed him away, but as she did, she tripped, unsteady, and caught herself on a chair. “Just go.”

She swatted Trevor’s hand as he reached down to help her up, but he grabbed her hand anyway. Once she was on her feet, he tucked an arm around her and moved toward the door under the watchful eyes of the few patrons left in the bar. “Thanks, Landry,” he called as he walked by.

Evelyn glared at the husky bartender. “Traitor.”

Trevor practically lifted her into the truck, strapped her seat belt on, and headed toward the farm. Within minutes, she’d fallen asleep.

This was worse than he thought. Evelyn put up a good front, but how could all of Chris’s offenses not take a toll on her? How would she ever recover?

And worse, now that he knew what it felt like to have her lips on his skin, how would he?