It was Zach who invited Evan over on Sunday—but Evan spent most of his time talking to Shirley.

He perched on a stool by the older woman’s bed, where she lay propped against a mountain of pillows. Zach leant in the doorway of her bedroom, his arms folded, a teasing smile on his face.

“You got designs on my mother, Miller?”

Evan gave Shirley a wink. “Maybe. But I doubt she’d have me.”

Zach barked out a laugh. Shirley chuckled along too, clutching at her chest as though it was the funniest thing she’d heard all week.

Her amusement was real. Zach’s was hollow. There was too much worry beneath his smile, too much force behind his joviality. While Shirley laughed, Zach looked at his mother with so much hopeless love in his eyes, Evan felt his own heart twist.

He met Zach’s gaze. Hoped the message was clear. Go somewhere. Do something. Try to breathe.

Zach nodded slightly. “Tea, Mum?”

“Oh, yes, please, my darling.”

“Evan?”

“Cheers.”

Zach left, and Evan hoped he’d take a minute, or even a second, to calm down. To occupy his mind with something other than concern and heavy dread. He knew from experience, though, that it wasn’t that easy.

“So,” Shirley said, flicking the tail of her silk scarf over her shoulder. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

Her crooked smile was a feminine twin of Zach’s. Evan returned it with ease. Shirley, as he’d discovered the previous week, was a fun time.

“I’m good, Shirl. What about you? Any luck with the nurse?”

Shirley winked. “She’s playing hard to get.”

“Don’t give up.”

She leaned forward slightly, her arm outstretched. He realised with a start that she was reaching for him, for the hand resting against his thigh. So he gave it to her, and was surprised to find her thin, pale fingers clutching his firmly.

“I hope you’re doing well,” she said, with a gravity that he didn’t quite understand. “Zach was telling me about you, the other day. He said you met a couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s right,” Evan said slowly. “I moved to Ravenswood at the end of February.”

“I’ve known the people in this town for years,” she said. “Zach’s had the same friends since he was at school. And since my diagnosis, we’ve heard nothing from any of them.”

Evan swallowed. He remembered that part well. Remembered people who were a backdrop in his life disappearing one by one, just as he needed them most, proving how alone he and his mother really were. At the worst possible time.

Then Shirley patted his hand. “But here you are—a man he’s known five minutes—bringing me lasagne and letting me talk rubbish in your ear.” She eyed him closely. “You’re a good person, Evan Miller.”

“I’m nothing special,” he said. “I just… I treat people how I’d want to be treated. And Zach’s a good guy.”

“He is. I’m very proud of him.” A slight smile curved her lips, her eyes hovering towards the door. Then she turned their watery blue back to Evan. “And I’m pleased that he’s made a friend like you. Zach has been playing a certain role for far too long. He needs someone to help him get out of it.”

Evan shifted. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’ll see.” She smiled. “You’re very caring. Caring people are observant.” Then, as suddenly as she’d taken it, Shirley released his hand. “Now, then,” she said brightly. “Never mind my nurse troubles. Have you found anyone interesting in our little corner of the world?”

“Aside from you, you mean?” Evan winked.

“Oh, stop it. I’m immune to your charms, Mr. Miller. You get yourself a nice young thing to run around with.”

Evan’s mind flew to Ruth without hesitation. He wondered how she’d feel about the fact that, in his head, she was apparently a nice young thing.

She’d probably push him in front of lorry.

The thought, perversely, made him smile.

* * *

Evan hadn’t come over on Monday.

Which was fine. Microwaved Chicago Town pizzas had fed Ruth well, and they’d do the same tonight.

She was trying her best to convince herself of this utter falsehood when she heard the familiar heave of 1B’s front door. It had already opened and shut once this evening, making her jump out of her skin, but Evan had not appeared.

Now she held her breath and fiddled with her pizza box and tried to pretend that she wasn’t waiting for him to knock.

He knocked.

She, of course, dropped the pizza.

When Ruth finally made it to the door, she found Evan waiting with two huge, steaming bowls instead of his trusty Pyrex dish.

“Hi,” he said.

She ignored his greeting and got to the point, nodding towards one of the bowls. “Is that for me?”

“It is.” He smiled, and she ignored that too. Or rather, she ignored the hysterical flip it triggered in her tummy. How embarrassing.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Just Bolognese. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a very exciting cook.”

Ruth didn’t bother to explain that she could not stand exciting food. “Is that one for you?”

He looked over at the second bowl of pasta, his smile fading. “Yeah. Huh. I don’t know why I dragged it over here.”

“What rubbish. You’re trying to worm your way back into my house.”

He grinned. “Okay, I suppose I am.”

“Well, come on.” Ruth knew very well that her voice was flat and that her face, according to most people, was blank.

Internally, her nerves were a mess, like multiple pairs of earbuds shoved into the same coat pocket. She didn’t know where one feeling ended and the other began, or how to disentangle them; all she knew was that anxiety and hesitant pleasure and anticipation coiled around each other in her gut, and altogether, they made her feel slightly sick.

In a good way. Kind of. She wasn’t sure.

They sat down at her tiny kitchen table wordlessly, and she provided both cutlery and glasses of water. If he wanted anything else, he was shit out of luck. She didn’t have anything else.

Except tea. She’d forgotten to offer him tea. Was it too late to mention? She wasn’t entirely sure. Once she managed to knock herself off the socially acceptable path, Ruth could never figure out how to climb back on again.

“So,” Evan asked. “What do you do?”

Was it worrying that she’d been hoping he’d seek her out? That he’d come over, and they’d spend time together again, as soon as humanly possible?

Probably.

“Ruth?” He said again.

This time, the words penetrated, soaking into her brain like oil into muslin.

“I… I produce a web comic,” she said, twisting pasta around her fork. She usually avoided this topic, but the words came out before she could think to control them.

“A web comic?” A slow smile spread across his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

This should be a safe conversation. It was one of the topics on her list of Acceptable Things to Say: What do you do? Along with, Where are you from? and, How’s the family? If they’d met in the ordinary way, she’d have asked those things immediately instead of blathering on about nonsense.

For some reason, with Evan, she didn’t feel as much pressure to use her list. She didn’t feel a need to waste energy on trying to seem acceptable—but she didn’t do her best to seem outrageous, either. On Saturday, their conversation had meandered from the ridiculous to the impossible and back again.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

Instead of chasing his comment about her work, she said, “What do you do?”

He scooped up some Bolognese. “I’m a blacksmith. I work for Burne & Co.”

Ruth almost choked on her pasta.

Evan noticed, too. Of course he noticed. He’d already figured out that she was, in a word, clumsy, and now he watched her like a hawk. It had all started when she told him about burning her comic books. Or, as everyone else called it, setting the kitchen on fire.

Now he pushed a glass of water towards her, clearly concerned. Ruth glared as she took a sip, the cool fluid soothing her raw throat. Glares were her most common expression of thanks.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Burne & Co., hm?” She shot back. She hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter, quite so accusatory, but her tone was searing.

She took another sip of water. Oops.

Evan frowned. “Um… yeah. Why?”

She ignored the question and studied his face, searching for the clues she must have missed. The sly judgement, the hidden disdain.

She didn’t find anything incriminating, because she was rubbish at that sort of thing. Evan stared back at her, and all she gained from the uncomfortable eye contact was unwelcome arousal. He really was gorgeous. It was quite inconvenient.

“That explains why you were with Daniel Burne,” she finally said. Clearly, she’d have to rely on words here.

“Well, yeah,” he replied. “It’s not like I spend time with him voluntarily.”

Ruth took a moment to digest that. “Hmph,” she grunted, aware that she sounded like a grumpy old woman. To move the conversation on, she added, “So you’re a blacksmith. Is that what you did in the army?”

His brows flew up. Mission accomplished. “How’d you know I was in the army?” He asked.

The truth was that she’d stalked his social media through her friend Marjaana’s account—since Ruth didn’t have Facebook. But that would sound incredibly odd, so she lied. “It was your speech about Captain America on Saturday. You’re a complete fanboy.”

Evan smirked. “That doesn’t mean I was in the army.”

“There’s honestly no other reason for anyone to like Captain America.” Which was true. “Unless you think he’s hot.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s hot.”

“He kind of looks like you.”

Evan’s eyes lit up. “Do you think he’s hot?”

Ruth froze, her fork halfway on its journey to her mouth. “I…” Her mind rushed to process what, exactly, had just happened. It failed, probably because it was trying so hard. So she blurted out, “Yes. I do.”

For a moment, Evan’s eyes seemed to darken. He leaned forward, and Ruth licked her lips. She was suddenly hyper-conscious of her breathing—or rather, the rise and fall of her own chest.

Which was a bad sign.

But then, just as quickly, the crackling tension in Evan’s eyes seemed to fade. He sat back in his chair and said, “Well, you’re right. I was in the army. But that’s not why I like Captain America.”

Relief flooding her, Ruth stuffed a mouthful of pasta into her gob and mumbled, “Why then?”

Evan put down his fork, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. He seems very… noble. Is that the right word?”

“He’s an annoying do-gooder.”

“You’re a very harsh woman.” He said it almost… fondly. A smile tilted his lips.

Ruth reminded herself that harsh women were not to anyone’s taste and took another bite of pasta.