Evie Interrupted, page 1
Evie Interrupted
Copyright © 2021 Alison G. Bailey
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer by Nicole Blanchard
Editor by Staci Frenes
Proofreading by Willow Aster
Interior book design by Elaine York, Allusion Publishing
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
LITERARY AND FILM RIGHTS MANAGMENT
Alison G. Bailey is represented by Bookcase Literary Agency
Film and Foreign Rights
Flavia Viotti
flavia@bookcaseagency.com
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Memories
“Presenting, in person, that four-foot-eight bundle of dynamite, dainty...Evie!” Mom announced, slapping her hands on the kitchen countertop, imitating a drumroll.
I appeared from the hallway, strutting into the room dressed in my blue Cinderella ball gown. Looking out at the imaginary audience, I gave them a sweet smile and a slight curtsy.
“Maestro, music, please,” I said.
Mom walked over to the old record player that Gran and Papa gave her when she was a teenager. Within seconds, the house filled with the big band version of “I Could Write a Book” sung by Harry Connick, Jr.
With one hand on my hip and the other floating in midair, I posed as the intro played and Mom sashayed her way over to me. Taking my hand in hers, she twirled me around as Harry began to sing. We gracefully glided across the floor in our socked feet as the pretend audience oohed and aahed at our talent.
As the music got faster, Mom and I let go of each other’s hands and went freestyle, shaking our butts and waving our arms. I erupted in laughter at the sight of Mom kicking her legs high into the air.
“You always make rainy days the best,” I said, shimmying.
“I was just about to say the exact same thing to you, Evie.”
“Weird,” we said in unison.
“Mom, do you know what I want to be when I grow up?”
“No. What do you want to be?”
“You!”
A big smile appeared across her beautiful face. “I’m very impressed that at five years old you already know what you want to be. And I’m very flattered.”
“What’s flattered?” I yelled over the music.
Mom twisted at the waist. “It means I’m delighted, honored, tickled pink that you would want to be me when you grow up.”
“I like tickled pink. I’m already a lot like you. I’m a girl, I have the same color hair, and I’m smart.”
“It’s practically like looking in a mirror,” she said.
“Hey, Mom, what did one tomato say to the other tomato?”
“I don’t know.”
“You go ahead and I’ll ketchup. Get it? Maine told it to me.”
Smiling, Mom said, “I love you, Evie.”
I swung my arms back and forth. “I love me too.”
Mom and I danced until the record was over, then we drank lemonade and ate chocolate chip cookies right before supper.
It was the best day evah because my mom was the best mom evah.
Present
The heat from the sun warmed my face before my eyes squinted open. A new day had begun. Raising my hands over my head, I stretched as many of the aches out of my body as possible. By my calculations I had slept approximately two point three hours last night, after what could possibly have been the longest day in the history of days.
Snuggling deeper into my comforter, I allowed my eyes to drift shut. I needed more than eight hours between the night and the morning. During college I was able to put in a full day of classes, work a part-time job, and pull an all-nighter whenever necessary. In only a few years I had become an aching, sore, tired lump under the comforter.
Letting out a loud huff, I forced my body into the upright position. Before I could talk myself out of it, I tossed the comforter off, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air prickled my skin, causing a slight shiver to skip from the top of my shoulders to the bottom of my socked feet. It was the end of September and the feel of autumn was already in the air. During the day, the temperature hovered pleasantly in the high seventies, while the nighttime dropped to a crisp low in the fifties. Cold enough to make the house chilly in the morning, but not enough to turn on the heat just yet.
I slid out of the bed and into my robe then padded across the chilly floor to the hallway. Before heading to the bathroom, I opened the door to her room and peeked inside. A breath caught in my throat when Linus, our four-year-old gray and white Shih Tzu lying next to her popped his head up. I was afraid the slight movement would wake her, but her body remained still, her breathing steady. Thank God. I quietly closed the door and made my way to the bathroom.
Turning on the shower, I took a pee while the water heated up. It wasn’t until I was soaked and soapy from head to toe that I realized what day it was. It was my day. The one day of the week that I took a little time just for me. A slight surge of energy coursed through my body as I picked up the pace of my shower.
Once in my room I dried my red curls and donned my usual attire of jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of worn Vans sneakers. Looking in the mirror, my ears perked up at the sound of the front door opening. Liza was here. I sighed, taking in my bloodshot puffy eyes and rat’s nest of a high ponytail. Not sure what kind of look I was going for. Was “copper wiring clusterfuck” a thing? Wanting and needing to go, I deemed myself presentable enough to be seen in public. With my bag slung over my shoulder I made my way down the hallway to the kitchen where I found Liza putting her purse and bag of knitting down.
“Good morning, Miss Chapman,” she said.
“Liza, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Evie?”
“I guess one more time.” Her round cheeks puffed into a smile. “I was about to ask if Miss Evelyne and you had a good night, but by the looks of your tired eyes I think I know the answer.”
“Yeah. Well, what are you gonna do? It is what it is for now.”
I didn’t mean for my reply to come out as clipped as it sounded. There just wasn’t anything constructive to add. The current situation I was living in just was. Besides, I didn’t want to waste a second yammering on about the unchangeable. Lucky for me, Liza understood, so hopefully I didn’t come off as too much of a bitch. I said a quick goodbye to her as my legs dragged me out the door.
The first stop was Dough-Mates, a local café owned by my best friend, Maine. When we were kids she had dreamed of having her own little bakery someday. All her hard work and determination paid off three years ago, when, at the age of twenty-four, she became a business owner. Instead of making a bunch of different baked goods, Maine decided to focus on her favorite things in the entire world, doughnuts, and coffee. Only Dough-Mates wasn’t your average plain glazed doughnuts and black coffee joint.
Originality and sugar flowed from her fingertips, creating decadent doughnuts such as apple cider dipped in a caramel glaze, coconut cream filled, and espresso with a side of whisky sauce just to name a few. The assortment of coffees ran the gamut from the traditional French vanilla and hazelnut to the adventurous maple bacon flavor. Teetotalers in town also had a wide array of choices, from green matcha to any kind of herbal tea you could imagine. Maine had really outdone herself and I was so proud of her accomplishment.
As I entered the quaint cozy café, Maine was waiting for me with a mug of coffee aimed in my direction.
Taking the mug, I breathed in the strong aroma that brought my senses to
“I can see it in your puffy eyes,” she teased.
“How’d you know this was just what I needed instead of my usual mocha latte?”
“I saw you fall out of your car. Rough night?”
“Rough couple of nights.”
“I’m sorry, Ev. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I tipped my cup toward her before bringing it to my lips. “This is all I need. This and a soft place to land.”
“The sofa is calling your name.” Just then the bells over the door jingled. Maine’s gaze shifted toward the new customer. “Hey, I’ll be right with you.”
“Go, I’m headed to my home for the next half hour,” I said, walking toward the fluffy sofa.
I sat my coffee and purse down on the small end table and nestled into the warm cushions at the far end of the sofa. The place was quiet at the moment, which was perfect. My entire body relaxed as my eyelids began to feel heavy. Before I knew it, sleep had overtaken my body.
Out of nowhere I heard a low-pitched throated cough. I couldn’t distinguish if it was a dream or if someone had invaded my space. My eyes cracked open and I felt an initial heaviness in my chest at knowing I was not at home in my bedroom. As the sleep fog began to lift, I realized I was still at the café.
Opening one eye wider, I made out the silhouette of a large figure sitting at the other end of the sofa looking down. I shifted, grabbing the shadow’s attention, causing dark lashes to rise and revealing a pair of espresso-colored eyes directed right at me.
“Jesus Christ,” I loud whispered as the most beautiful human being I had ever seen came into view.
“Actually, it’s Butler, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”
The deep creamy smooth baritone of his voice matched his eyes and his name. Butler. But-ler. Bu-u-tter. Creamy luscious smooth Butler. I pushed myself up to sit straighter.
Clearing my throat, I mumbled, “I must have dozed off for a minute.”
“Twenty, to be exact.”
Discreetly, I ran my fingers over my lips, checking for any dried remnants or active drips of drool.
“I wasn’t asleep that long and how would you know anyway?”
“I’ve been sitting here for fifteen. I tacked on the extra five allotting for the time it would take to fall asleep,” he said, the hint of a playful smirk appearing on his chiseled face.
“You’ve been watching me for fifteen minutes? Creep much?”
“I only glanced at you a few times. You know, to make sure you were still breathing. The rest of the time I was checking emails.”
“Exactly why were you doing that?”
“I had a lot of emails to catch up on.”
“Not that. The other.”
“Oh, because my keys fell out of my pocket.”
With hunched shoulders and raised brows, I gave him the international look for more info, please.
“I was in here earlier, sitting right there…” His gaze dropped to the spot currently occupied by my ass.
“And you’re just now realizing it?”
I had to admit, I was still in a bit of a haze brought on by either my lack of sleep or how incredibly handsome this dude was.
“I stopped in here to grab a coffee before hitting the gym a couple of doors down.”
“Ah.”
My gaze roamed down to his broad shoulders and toned chest covered in a white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. There was a sweat stain over his toned pectoral region. It wasn’t icky, just the opposite; it looked sexy on him. His arms were sculpted and strong. I was afraid if I went any lower, I might get caught, so I did a cursory glance at his flat stomach and muscular legs. When I got back to his face, a bright white smile flanked by big dimples and dark brown stubble was waiting for me.
“Do you mind if I check between the cushions?” he said, pointing to the area between the end of the sofa and the cushion I was sitting on.
“Cushions?” My voice sounded wistful.
“Lost keys—”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Keys in the cushions,” I said, shifting with every intention of standing up.
As I scooted, he reached around me. He was close and smelled of citrus and man. I assumed the man part was the sweat. But again, not a gross out. As his hand slipped in and out of the search zone, my body jostled. Our faces were so close I’d make contact if I puckered.
“Got ‘em!” he said abruptly.
Inhaling a deep breath, I blinked away his effect. “Good.”
He stayed put, sitting close beside me, neither of us making a move to rectify the situation.
“Thank you…?” His dark brows scrunched together waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Evie,” I said.
A sweet satisfying smile appeared. “Evie. I like it.”
“It’s short for Evelyne,” I blurted out. He nodded. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”
“Evie, what?”
My head shook slightly as I narrowed my eyes in question.
“Your last name,” he clarified.
I chuckled. “I’m not telling you my last name. For all I know you could be a serial killer.”
“Do I look like a serial killer?” he said with a smirk.
“No, but neither did Ted Bundy.”
“You’ve got me there. Well, Evie with no last name, it was nice meeting you and I’m sorry I interrupted your nap time.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled.
He leaned toward me, causing my pulse to quicken, and whispered, “You’ve got a…um…stir stick in your hair.”
I froze with embarrassment as my body shuddered. Inwardly I cursed my mother for providing the DNA that produced the magnetic red hair that sat atop my head. Gently reaching up as if he were about to remove a thorn from a lion’s paw, Butler pulled the stick from my hair, bringing it into view.
I took it and said, “Thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome. I gotta go now, but maybe I’ll see you around here again soon.”
“I’m here every Saturday…sleeping.” I cringed at my lame attempt at being flirty.
Butler stared at me for a few seconds longer than appropriate for a first meeting, then flashed me another bright smile before he stood and left. As he was walking away, he looked back at me a couple of times before reaching the exit.
I glanced down at my hoodie, worn jeans, and a pair of dingy pink tennis shoes. Add to that sad list my rat’s nest hair, puffy eyes, and coffee breath and another wave of embarrassment washed over me. I tipped to the side and face planted into the sofa.
Memories
“I hate my hair,” I said, wiggling in the dark wood chair at Mom’s makeup table while she braided my frizzy red mess.
She caught my gaze in the mirror. “Why would you say that? You have beautiful hair, Evie.”
“All the kids at school tease me.”
“How?”
“They call me flame head and rusty.”
Pursing her pale pink lips, Mom’s eyebrows pinched together as she finished with my hair, mulling over what I’d said.
“Evie, do you like what you see in the mirror?”
With my hair somewhat under control and wearing my favorite green sweater, I did like what I saw in the mirror.
“Yes, ma’am.” My gaze shifted down, embarrassed to admit such a thing.
She placed her hands on either side of my face and tilted it up. “And what is it you like most when you see yourself?”
Looking at my reflection, I said, “My hair.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s just like yours.”
She smiled. “It’s okay that you don’t like the other kids calling you those silly names. But don’t ever hate any part of yourself, because of what someone else thinks or says. It’s their opinion and has nothing to do with you.”
“But I want them to stop.”
“Right now, I realize all you want to do is fade into the background and not be noticed. A lot of seven-year-olds do. Be firm. Tell them your name is Evelyne Rose Chapman and you won’t answer to any other name.”
“Mom, times have changed since you were a kid. It’s rough out there.”
“Evie, the day will come when you’ll embrace what makes you different from everyone else. I love the color of my hair.”
“Of course, you do. Your hair is long and luxurious.”
“I was once called carrot top mop.”
