Evvie Drake Starts Over - Linda Holmes Page 0,111

to see you, so why don’t you go on back?”

Andy was getting ready in a small room in the back of the church, and when she knocked on the heavy wooden door, the person who opened it was Dean. He leaned over and kissed her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. “I thought I’d say hi.”

“Absolutely,” Dean said. “I have to step out anyway and talk to my parents, so you guys should talk. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

“Thank you. You still look hot,” she said as he squeezed past her. He turned and winked. Evvie stepped into the room and saw Andy straightening his tie. He spotted her in the mirror and turned around.

“Evvie,” he said. “I’m nervous.”

“Well, of course you are,” she said, walking over. “All these people are out there and they’re going to stare at you. Who wouldn’t be nervous?” She ran her palm down the front of his shirt. “You look great, though. And she’s great. And you’re going to be great.”

He turned around. “I love you.”

She took both his hands. “I’m not going to hug you, because I don’t want to squish your handsomeness, but I love you, too. And I’m very happy for you.” She squeezed to make sure he knew. “I am very, very happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you, too,” he said, flitting his eyes toward the door.

She shrugged. “Who knows? Fingers crossed.”

He smiled. “Fingers crossed.”

“Are the girls all ready?”

“The girls are dressed, they had their hair done, they’ve had about a pound of candy each from what we bought to make the favors, and they’re in with Monica giving her the whole ‘old, new, borrowed, blue’ thing. Everything seems to be taken care of.”

Evvie remembered when she’d gotten Rose ready for Halloween, helping her wriggle into a fairy princess costume and pinning on her wings. “Yeah, it sounds like…you guys have everything covered.”

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. “My mom’s going to sit with the girls during the ceremony, but can you be nearby? Just…I’d feel better if you weren’t far.”

“I won’t be far.”

“Evvie! Don’t cry.”

She squeezed his hands. “It’s a wedding. Crying is allowed. Go get married.”

“Okay, I don’t care if we get squished, come over here.” Evvie went over and put her arms around him, avoiding the flower in his lapel, keeping her makeup off his tux. She had held on to him like this on the day his wife moved out, on the night her husband died, on the day he told her he was engaged, and on the morning she showed him her new house. They had, for years, marked their new chapters with her chin on his shoulder and his arms around her waist.

Dean came back in and said it was time. Evvie kissed Andy’s cheek and paused to swipe her pale lip-print off with her fingers. She made her way back out to the church, where she slid into a pew right behind Kell, next to Dean’s mom and dad on one side and her father on the other. “Well, you look pretty,” he told her.

“Thank you.” Evvie briefly laid her head on his shoulder. “Love you, Pop.”

“Love you, too, Eveleth.”

So Andy got married, and Dean stood next to him, and Evvie cried. After the ceremony, she waited by her car for Dean with her jacket wrapped around her. There would come a time, she knew—she supposed, she even hoped—when it would have lasted long enough with him that it would be relaxed and familiar. It would feel so beautifully ordinary that seeing him emerge from anywhere and move toward her wouldn’t turn her cheeks pink. But that time would not be today, as he walked out of the back of the church in a tux with his bow tie undone and his top button open. He came over and put his hands on either side of her, leaning on the roof of the car. He said nothing. He just smiled that third of a smile.

She busted out laughing.

To Nona, who always saw me

I AM BLESSED WITH MORE PEOPLE to thank than I can possibly mention, but I am determined to do my best.

My literary agent, Sarah Burnes, has understood me and this book perfectly from the minute we got on the phone. Her advocacy meant everything to getting the book into your hands, and her support meant just as much to my ability to both survive the process and enjoy it. My editor at Ballantine, Sara Weiss, was a

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