Chapter Five

Jamie

“Hey man, you going tonight?”

I take a break from hitting the punching bag and glance at Luke sprawled out on our couch, eating a jumbo bag of skittles, and tapping on his phone. No doubt sexting with Nina. Against all odds he actually seems to be slowly wearing her down since she broke up with what’s-his-face.

“To what?” I ask, catching my breath. Fuck, the Old Man is right. I gotta cut back on the smokes.

“Eva’s pasta dinner, remember? She invited us all over last week.”

“Hard pass.” I pull my hands up to go back to the bag but apparently Luke still wants to talk. He strides over, sporting a dumbass dad expression. “Seriously? It’s a free meal and we are all going.” 

“Got nothing to do with me.” I start hitting the bag again. That girl is like nails on a chalkboard and I’m not spending a single damn second that I don’t absolutely have to around her fine but annoying ass.

Right hook. 

Left hook. 

Jab-jab.

Jab—

Luke suddenly gives the bag an abrupt push causing me to miss my next hit. 

“What the fuck, asshole?” I pant.

He smiles like it’s all in good fun, but the curve is sharp around the edges. He shrugs with a sarcastic oops as he heads back to his room with his phone and industrial size bag of candy. 

“You’re a douche!” He calls over his shoulder.

Ditto motherfucker.

Luke’s been pushing me a lot lately to be friendlier with Eva and it’s weird as hell.  He never pushes me. He doesn’t care that I hate his brother for Chrissakes, why is it such a big deal for me to be nice to the little neurotic neighbor downstairs?

Must be Nina giving him shit and it’s trickling down to me. She’s so over the moon to finally have a female friend that she’s been shoving the girl down everyone’s throat. She even got Ryan to give Eva a job, which makes one less place I’m free of her.

I go a few more rounds with the bag but call it quits when my knuckles start going raw through the tape. I should invest in a good pair of gloves but a roll of tape is always cheaper in the moment. After a quick shower and a couple swipes on tinder I have my night set. I’m just about to try for a power nap when Luke calls out from the kitchen.

“Yo asshole! We’re out of milk and cereal. Since you’re free, go get some.”

Is this fucker really punishing me for not going to this stupid dinner? He’s not normally so passive aggressive when he wants to make a point.

“You want it, you get it!”

“Common man, pleeeeeeez?” He whines, sounding more like himself now. “Ry just texted telling me he has something important to discuss and I’m hungry!”

So, it’s a legitimate favor and not a penance errand.

“Fine.” I need smokes anyway. Rubbing a tired hand down my face, I make peace with the fact I won’t be sleeping and grab my shit. 

The walk to the grocery store is quick; barely enough time to finish my last cigarette. Once inside I pick up a gallon of milk and charge towards the cereal aisle, resisting the urge to buy him some cardboard tasting bran cereal instead of the sugary shit he loves so fucking much. If it doesn’t hurt your teeth, Luke’s not interested.

I’m waiting in the checkout when the unmistakable chipper voice pipes up behind me.

“Oh! Hel-Hi...”

Even the god damn grocery store isn’t safe.

I turn and there in all her pint sized, spastic glory, stands Evangeline St Clair. She’s looking up at me with those huge green eyes, standing behind a cart piled to the brim with produce, meat, cheese, and pasta.  Her wavy chestnut hair is pulled into a couple of buns at the crown of her head and a few wispy tendrils have escaped framing her baby doll face. She’s smiling again like the other night when she bandaged my hand. Just like then it’s gratingly over eager. Jesus, she looks like a poorly trained puppy that’s begging you to love it.

Now Luke’s odd timing for sending me on this dumbass errand makes perfect sense. 

Conniving asshole.

She wipes a jerky nervous hand across her forehead and shuffles from one foot to another. “I was just getting all of the stuff for tonight.” She explains like I should give a shit why she’s here.

I face forward not responding, hoping to cut off any more chatter.

No dice.

“I really want it to be nice for everyone. I’ve been researching pasta recipes all week. Did you know there are like, a thousand different ways to make sauce?”

I stay silent, as seconds stretch into minutes and she mindlessly talks at me about tomato sauce. Christ, I need another smoke.

“I mean just red sauce too. I think I’m going to go with this deeper longer cooked type with butter? I think some people even call it gravy? I have a marrow bone and Ryan snagged me a bottle of wine. I need like a whole head of garlic for it. Well not a whole head, I don’t think? Just like six cloves. Do you think that’s too much? Hopefully it comes out okay.”

For fuck’s sake, shut up.

“I feel like it’s probably the best way to go since I’m also making meatballs. Like, it will complement the flavors more…”

That’s it, I’m tapping out. 

“Stop. Talking.” I grit between my teeth without turning around. I’m not taking the chance of her mistaking the action as an invitation to keep going. I’m just thinking about how I’d give my left nut to never hear her voice again when the next noise she makes seems to prove me a liar.

She laughs. 

Like a real laugh. Not that stressed out banshee shit from the first night and more than the soft chuckle from the other night. This thing is natural and relaxed... and it’s fucking lovely.  It has an almost musical lilt; kind of reminds me of wind chimes by the shore. Before I can stop myself, I turn around, subconsciously seeking more of the sound.

“Sorry about the babbling,” She leans against her cart dropping her chin onto her small hand. “It’s another one of my many delightful habits. But hey, still a step up from stuttering right?” She laughs again, for once not taking herself too seriously. 

Maybe it’s the ring to her laugh still fucking with me, but she looks pretty right now. That over eager edge to her expression has faded, finally freeing her of all of the self-conscious energy. Her eyes are so green. Usually people have like a greenish hazel but Eva’s look like emeralds.

Damn, that’s a nice face. 

And then she ruins it.

Her nostrils flare on a deep inhale like she’s about to start talking again and I instantly remember that pretty or not, she’s the worst.

“Don’t forget the fucking questions.” I turn around thanking god it’s my turn to pay. I hand the cashier my money and book it out of the store not even bothering to pick up cigarettes. It’s not worth the risk of subjecting myself to another bout of mindless chatter.

The walk home feels like it takes twice as long as before. I’m salty as fuck. How can one single person be so god awful at simple human interaction that just her goddamn name makes me want to light up an entire pack of Marlboros at once? That new overly friendly vibe she’s been throwing off is even worse than the deer in the headlights shit she used to give me when she first moved in.

Ignoring the burn in my chest, begging for a solid hit of nicotine and rat poison fumes, I bound up the front steps of Townsend House and stop at the mailbox in the vestibule. I shuffle through the envelopes, noting the bills, ignoring the junk mail and wait for a particular piece.

Sure enough, a beaten-up envelope eventually makes its way to the front of the stack. It’s light blue with a shit load of stamps lined up neatly in the top right corner and an Ireland return address boldly scrolled in the left.

Nope.

Without a second glance, I toss the pretty parchment right in the trash and head upstairs. 

Luke still isn’t back yet. Whatever Ryan wanted to talk to him about must be big for it to be taking so long. I drop his cavity inducing cereal on the black stone counter and pop the milk into the fridge. Then head to my room for the power nap I was hoping to snag earlier.

I fall into bed, ignoring the squeal of the old springs of the mattress bemoaning the weight as I sink into the ancient thing. Tucking my arms behind my head I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me.

In a perfect world I’d drift off and get the rest I deserve.

But no.

Something unnamed is scratching at the back of my mind. I flip onto my stomach, trying to get more comfortable, hoping the new position will allow my brain to turn off.

It doesn’t work.

I’m about to chalk the struggle up to my chatterbox of a neighbor, but then I remember her wind chime laugh and I sit up straight; my breath quickens as something rare ignites behind my ribs.

I need to play.

I’m off my bed and at the old leather case before I completely process the urge to pluck away at the guitar strings. My ass drops to the floor and as I pull out the dark lacquered wood covered in an intricate floral design of iridescent inlaid shells running down the neck and frame of the instrument, the all too familiar sensation of peace mixing with dread mingles together in a bittersweet cocktail in my chest.

I hate how much I love this thing. 

It’s the only object I own with any value; sentimental or otherwise. But I don’t think of it as mine. Every time I run my fingertips along these strings, I feel joy. Shit. it’s the only time I ever really experience the emotion. But I’m unworthy of this guitar. I’m unworthy of its visual and acoustic beauty...of the person who played it before me.

I fiddle around a bit, hoping to create something new but each attempt morphs into some kind of finger drill or another song. 

Unworthy.

I sigh before giving up on making anything that’s my own and run through a bunch of covers. I play a go-to cover. Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen. It’s always been one of my favorites. I can relate even though I’ve never come close to experiencing the story. I’m not that fucking dumb. But if fate were ever cruel enough to make me fall, I’d definitely feel like the protagonist of the song.

I play a few more classics followed by some Dermot Kennedy songs. I’ve got no idea why I like playing his shit so much. It’s not like his music is even to my taste. I only know of him because Nina is always blasting it when she’s got control of the music out back. I try to tell myself it’s just some easy shit to play but deep down I suspect it probably has something to do with the guy being Irish.

This is a waste of time.

I’m about to stop when I’m once again haunted by that wind chime laugh, bringing with it a surge of some phantom emotion and my fingers start moving on their own. It isn’t until I get to the chorus that I realize what classic French song I’m playing and I reflexively fist my strumming hand around the strings, snapping three in the process.

“Sonofabitch!” I stare at the mangled consequences of my reaction in my hand. I very quickly and very carefully place the guitar back in the case before I throw it across the god damn room. 

Not only is she a disaster in person but just thinking about her has me fucking up the only object I give a shit about.

Eva St. Clair is a plague. 

*********

Eva

I’m dropping the pasta into the water when their doors begin slamming down the hall. Everything is just about ready. I wanted an excuse to put my Italian cook books to use, and I feel like I owe them for accepting my wired little self into their fold.

Not to mention my first job!

Ryan can act like I’m doing him a favor by replacing his lost server all he wants, but there’s no denying that he’s taking a big risk hiring me with no experience. Even though training has been going pretty well and he keeps telling me I’m a natural, I’m still half sure I’ll be a disaster and let him down. 

Nina was a genius to plan a nice Sunday get together around my dream to cook all of the Italian food forever. That is if I can pull it off. I figure you can’t go wrong with spaghetti and meatballs. So, I’ve been chopping, mixing, rolling, sautéing, simmering, baking, boiling, and stirring for about two hours now. My kitchen looks like a war zone but the food actually smells really good. 

I haven’t cooked much before. I know the bare basics but there was never an opportunity to explore it growing up. My parents always had chefs and I was strongly discouraged from fraternizing with the help after my nanny, Miss Ally was fired.

She loved Italian food.

“Evangeline is your job not your daughter. Learn the difference.” My mother’s scathing farewell to the warm, kind, and impossibly beautiful Madam Allard. (Or Miss Ally as she had me call her in secret), echoes unbidden through my mind as I move around my kitchen. 

I may not have been her daughter but she was more of a mom to me than Vivian St. Clair ever was.

I rub my chest, trying to ease the burn of that loss. Fifteen years later and the memory still makes me ache. Sometimes I wonder if my mother fired her specifically to hurt me. My heart split the day my parents sent her away. I gave up trying to be happy after she was gone. It was easier to just exist.

Not anymore though.

Walking to The List hanging on my fridge, I find what I’m searching for and proudly run my pen through the letters.

COOK LARGE HOMEMADE MEAL

I smile at the growing scribbles of crossed out items. Most of them are small, silly things but the sense of accomplishment lights me up all the same. Every time I knock something off another piece of myself falls into place. 

I’m really getting there.

There’s a brisk knock on the door as Ryan and Nina let themselves in. “Hey, heeey,” Ryan calls holding up two bottles. “I brought wine.”

“It’s almost ready so just make yourself comfortable.” I give the pasta another stir and ladle out a little of the starchy water to help marry the pasta to the sauce. I read somewhere in my research on all things spaghetti, it’s supposed to help everything stick together and I desperately need this meal to be perfect. 

The big THANK YOU message will fall flat as hell if the food sucks.

“Hey Doll, need help?” Nina strolls around the counter grabbing the corkscrew out of the drawers. “Ohmigod, it smells amazing in—what are you doing?” She asks when she sees me setting up a to-go container.

I shrug. “I’m betting Jamie won’t come, but at least this way he can still eat.” I pop the red lid on the tubberware and set it aside. Our run in at the supermarket earlier left me less than optimistic about seeing him tonight and I have all of the feelings about it.

“Girl, we don’t deserve you.” She smiles with a shake of her head. We snag the serving dishes and arrange them on the makeshift buffet set up on my counter with salad and bread all ready to go.

There’s another knock at the door and Luke enters, wine in hand, and a strained smile on his face, the expression pairing really well with the tightness around his grey eyes. 

“Sorry I’m late.” He closed the door behind him confirming my suspicion he’d be arriving sans roommate. 

He’s not coming.

Profound relief and a disturbing disappointment tangle together in the pit of my stomach at the fact that he really didn’t come. 

“So, Jamie can’t make it he says sorry—"

“Shocker.” Nina drawls, rolling her navy blues like she’s attempting to swallow her eyeballs. “Remind me to beat his ass next time I see him.”

“No, it’s totally fine!” I laugh too hard, trying to shake off the weirdness I’m experiencing at being ditched by someone I didn’t want to spend time with in the first place. “But there’s no way he actually said ‘He’s sorry’.” I stress laugh some more, like that will make this less awkward. “I have a doggy bag for him ready to go in the kitchen; just don’t forget to take it on your way out.” 

I need to move this along before it gets weird...er. 

I hurry to finish setting the last of the food out so that there is something to focus on besides my over the top reaction to the tattooed hole in the party and turn to my guests who actually showed up. 

“Now, everyone take a plate and eat!”

The group gets some food while I open a bottle of red and bring in a pitcher of water. We settle down around my living room while I watch each of them with my big ole crazy eyes, waiting as they take their first bite.

Moment of truth...

“This is so good!” Nina cries.

“Mmowee me.” Ryan mumbles around a mouthful of pasta.

Luke just silently grabs my arm while he chews with his eyes closed.

Oh thank god.

“I’m so glad you guys like it,” I squeal, clapping my hands. I knew spaghetti and meatballs was the way to go.

It’s quiet while everyone eats. It’s probably the first time I’ve ever been happy to have a group of people stop talking because of me. The only sounds are my friends eating and Oscar playing an old record of Frank Sinatra for ambiance. I keep my plate horrifically small incase I didn’t make enough and I’m already thinking of doubling my batch next time so I can eat a proper sized portion. 

Once everyone seems satisfied, I raise my glass to make a toast. “To new cities, new opportunities, and new friendships!” I shout, not giving a single shit about what I sound like. 

         “To friendship!” They echo in unison as we clink our glasses with a laugh and a cheer.

For the first time in forever. I feel more than happy. 

I feel like I belong.

Once the dishes are finished, we head down to the patio for some fresh air and more drinks. I’m curled up on the lounger contently watching two of my friends fall in love.

Or one of my friend’s fall in love. Luke seems distracted. 

“Hey, is he okay?” I ask Ryan, discreetly pointing to Luke who as always has Nina in his lap. Their heads are bent together intently as they talk quietly amongst themselves.  Something has been off about Luke tonight. I’d assumed his subdued behavior was due to making excuses for Jamie’s absence but now… I’m not so sure. 

Ryan heaves a big sigh.

“Shit, I hope so, I kind of hit him with something out of left field earlier.” At my prying expression Ryan shakes his head and continues. “So, you know his brother Declan is part owner of the Underground right?”

I nod. 

“Well, Dec is looking to move back to the area in a few months and he’s trying to get all of his ducks in a row beforehand. He’s selling his piece of the bar back to me and I offered his share to Luke.”

“Oh my god, Ry that’s awesome!” Luke is going to be great. He’s the biggest business nerd I’ve ever met and he’s at the bar like his second home already.

Ryan chuckles. “Don’t get too excited for him just yet. He doesn’t think he can afford it. Honestly, I’d happily give him the share outright or loan him the money or whatever but he won’t take a dime off me.”

“Oh...” I can’t say I’m surprised. But it’s still sad to hear.  He’s had every job there and he always makes himself available to help out when needed. The fact that he might miss this opportunity because he can’t afford it breaks my heart. 

I glance back at him talking with Nina. His face a little somber. How messed up is it that someone as hardworking as Luke can’t afford what he wants, and I can...

Oh...shit.

“Hey Ry,” I whisper with a sly grin. “Don’t go offering the share to anyone else just yet.”

“You cooking up a scheme on us Eves?” Ryan asks with a quiet laugh as he glances down to check his phone. “Hey I’ll be right back, the bar is calling me,” He strolls inside with the phone already to his ear. 

I wave him off and busy myself conniving a plan to trap a certain Captain America looking someone into taking my money. It’s either this, or dump the excess somewhere else. 

I’d like for it to go to Luke.

I’m deep in a day dream of making dreams come true when I do the dumbest thing ever and glance up. 

As soon as my eyes hit the fourth floor window all thoughts of Luke and the bar vanish as my stomach turns sour and my cheeks heat. Jamie’s head is buried into the crook of a tall blonde’s neck. She moans loud enough for me to hear four stories down and over the music we have playing. 

My face pinches into a scowl and I’m not completely sure why. It’s not like, I want to be up there with him—I don’t think I like being around Jamie at all—but watching him with her still makes me feel like I swallowed acid. 

If only the cocktail of unpleasant feelings stewing in my gut could do something useful, like help me tear my eyes away.

I watch hypnotized, as Jamie’s hands run up her back and he whispers something in her ear that makes her gasp. 

My skin breaks out in goosebumps. 

What could he have said to make her react like that? The sour feeling in my stomach warms as the flush from my cheeks creeps down my neck.

Why is it suddenly so hot out here?

My phone blessedly goes off with a text, and I dive for it before I get caught perving on my douche doodle of a neighbor.

Cafe Chris: Hey Beautiful. It was great seeing you the other day.

I smile. Thank you Chris for the well-timed ego boost. So what if it’s been several more days than he made it seem at the cafe the last time we spoke; at the moment I don’t really care. Chris really is cute and makes no secret of his interest in me. Besides, it would be great to cross out some guy related items on The List. My eyes float back up to Jamie and the girl dry humping on his balcony.

My breath catches as I watch the tall pair go at it. Maybe Chris can even take care of some of those racier items.

Jamie’s inked hands are now sliding down her back side and he jerks her roughly against him a second before he dips his head and bites her shoulder.  My pulse quickens with his movements; my body automatically responding even though it’s not me he’s holding.

Damn he really knows what he’s doing…

I think back to my first night here and how outlandish the idea of being physical with him had seemed at the time. Now that I’m watching Jamie in action...shit, I can’t deny the appeal. I look back at my phone and sigh. 

As enticing as Jamie Delahunt apparently is, Chris is probably more my speed.

Ryan returns from his call and hands me a fresh glass of wine with his normal sweet smile but his face falls a little when he notices my cloudy expression.

“Everything okay Eves?” He follows my guilty gaze up and sighs. “I’m sorry he ditched tonight.”

My lips purse in a bitter pucker as I keep my eyes fixed on the couple above. “Seems like he’s having more fun than he would have down here.”

Ryan stays quiet for a moment, giving his whiskey glass a thoughtful twirl that sends the smoky, spicy aromas into the air around us. I try to concentrate on the scent of the bourbon instead of the unexpected burn of rejection and longing clouding my thoughts. 

“He’ll come around,” he promises. “Eventually.”

“Not so sure about that.” I mutter, finally pulling my eyes away. 

“You just gotta be patient with him.” he says carefully. “Even on his best days.”

I turn to face Ryan, eager for any scrap of information on Jamie that might help me figure him out.

“He will always take the path of most resistance. He makes you work for every inch he gives.” He takes a drink, mulling over whatever he wants to say next. “I’ve known Jamie since I bought this place, and there’s few people I trust as much as him. But I don’t know him well.” His eyes hit the fourth floor window. “No one does.”

“How can you trust him if you don’t know him?”

Ryan turns to me with those solemn chocolate eyes, framed by the thickest black lashes. Something in his expression makes my chest split.

“Because whether he likes it or not, he needs a family.” His eyes unfocus for just a second, like he’s fallen back in time. No longer thinking about Jamie  

“We all do.”