Page 3

Evie

My home is about a half-hour drive from Wild's and a good hour away from Kristyn and Charlie's place.

By Mrs. Langford's standards, I've never put a foot wrong. Only once. Okay, one and a half. One, when I became a nanny (I'm an Early Childhood Education professional. Hey, nannying sometimes pays better.) instead of following in the footsteps of generations of Langfords and getting my MBA or a law degree.

And the half was when I moved out of museum-like Langford mansion. Moving out has so many advantages--I have my own space, and I won't have to breathe the same air as my half-sister, Sarah.

I inherited the house from my late grandmother on my twenty-fifth birthday to Mrs. Langford's mild disapproval and Sarah's open disgust. The house is just a heap of junk to them, but it is my salvation. I mean, get down on my knees daily and thank God for every rusted pipe salvation.

Wild drives at a snail's pace when I know he itches to push the sports car to the limit.

We talk about my work at the preschool.

I ask about basketball. Wild told me he would stop playing if he ever fell out of love with the sport.

He still loves it, even after the banner.

I can't keep my eyes open during a drive. Sleep comes easy for me when someone else is driving. It's the night I have trouble with.

Sometime later, the silence jerks me awake—a silence thrumming with anger and disapproval. I stretch and get out of the car, mindful of my leg. I wave at Mr. and Mrs. Izaacs, who live across the street. The first day I moved in, the kind woman brought me a thick pot of stew and fragrant homemade rolls.

They both wave back. I take a moment to enjoy seeing an older couple who love each other. The Izaacs still go on dates even if they ’ re in their seventies, and Mrs. Izaacs calls her husband, ‘ my Tommy.’

I want the joy of growing old with someone someday, having children and grandchildren, and enjoying large family gatherings.

After Parker--my ex-fiancé turned brother-in-law, I decided to give my dreams of happily ever after a rest and concentrate on my work as a preschool teacher. Three years later, I guess I'm still concentrating.

"Who's your hunk?" Mrs. Izaacs asks in a voice that booms through the quiet street.

I cup my hands around my mouth and shout back. "His name is Wilder!"

Wild unfolds himself from the car without losing his frown. He waves at the Izaacs and turns to take a stroll around the house. He's usually more friendly than that. But Wild isn't the type to hold back, so I expect to hear a detailed accounting of my offenses soon.

I look up at the house gifted to me by my grandmother, and I'm drenched with overwhelming gratitude. I have a home.

Wild returns from the back of the house, shaking his head. He wasn't here when I moved in since he had a game. In Philly.

I have a lawn thick with fresh grass. Let me tell you, grass is very valuable. Having a lawn to mow means you have a home.

My neighborhood is old, with vintage houses and a healthy mix of young families and retired people. Every evening, the older people will sit on their porches, calling out greetings while the children run about. It's peaceful and welcoming.

Wild kicks out at my rotting porch. "I will come build this tomorrow. And I will talk to Charlie. He shouldn't have let you move into this crumbling pile."

He's coming second to his sister, Sisi, who called it a 'picture of abandonment.'

"Bring enough nails or whatever. The bed is bad, too."

His jaw clenches. "How have you been sleeping? Evie, you've been living here for months!"

True, the kitchen, the bath, and the back need work. A fresh coat of paint and new shutters wouldn't hurt, too, but I don't care. I have a home—my space.

And Wild, of all people, should understand what it means to me.

"Ice that foot again." He peers at me. "I'm going to call to make sure you ice it."

His tone becomes gruff. "Congratulations on the house. It's, ah, solid."

The words come out like gravel ground together. With a grimace and a promise to return with a bag of tools tomorrow, Wild bids goodbye to me and the very interested Izaacs.

The second Wild's car clears my driveway, Mrs. Izaacs comes running, white curls bouncing. "That's one good-looking young man," she says with a thirsty sigh. "My Tommy says he looks familiar?"

"He plays basketball." An understatement since Wild is one of the league's most recognizable faces.

"Oh, my." Mrs. Izaacs presses one hand to her chest. "You two look so good together."

"We're not like that."

"You're not together?" She sounds surprised and confused.

"No."

"And you don't have designs on him? Young lady, I will divorce Tommy if that man looks my way."

"I'm going to tell on you," I say, laughing.

"You're sure there's no chance?"

"Not a chance."

Wild is allergic to commitment, and I'm never putting myself in the position to be rejected again. I spent most of my life living in a home where I was constantly reminded that I didn't belong. There was nothing I wouldn't have given for half a spoon of acceptance. If Mrs. Langford wanted my kidney, I would have cut one out and given it away in a heartbeat.

I'm slightly in awe of her. If my ‘trusted’ personal assistant had a year-long affair with my husband, I wouldn’t be forgiving enough to raise her child.It takes a truly special woman to do that. Hence, my awe.

But I never got a smile or a warming of her ice-cold exterior. Then came my ex-fiancé, Parker, whom Mrs. Langford and Father both liked because he came from an old, respectable family. Ugh. Was that why I dated Parker, because he was someone Mrs. Langford would approve of?

I shake off the thought when Mrs. Izaacs squeezes my hand.

I love Wild, but I like our current relationship. "He's the sweetest, gentlest, and kindest man I've ever met," I admit.

Mrs. Izaacs lets out a heartfelt sigh. "A dreamboat."

"He's selfless, loves his family, and will never settle down."

I can't not have Wild in my life. It's not an option. But we're both adults, and I know the score.

"Don't worry, dear. Did I tell you about my grandson? I've been telling him about you. I think you two will make a good match…"