CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Eva juggled grocery bags and her overnight tote as she climbed the steps of Donovan’s porch. The sky was already going to dusk, and the lights were on inside, casting a soft glow through the windows. He wasn’t home. She’d seen him talking to a group of kids who were inexplicably painted blue in One Love Park. She’d made a mental note to get the story out of him or out of Evan.
But for now, she had important business. Food was love in the Merill family, and she was going to cook the hell out of some pasta for Donovan tonight. But first, she had to get past the gatekeeper. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Hazel Cardona answered the door in jeans, a crisp button down, and vest. Even retired, everything about her said “law enforcement.”
“Eva, this is a nice surprise. I hope you don’t think you have to ring the bell just because we’re here.”
“I knew Donovan wasn’t here, and I didn’t want to interrupt…anything…”
Hazel laughed. “Michael told me he was ribbing Donovan about our sex life. But, of course, that wouldn’t embarrass you being a romance novelist and all. If it wouldn’t give Donovan a heart attack, I could tell you a few stories. Come on in.” She stepped back from the door and took two of the bags from Eva. “Cooking for an army tonight?”
“It’s an apology dinner,” Eva said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I screwed up. Pretty big. I’m hoping the spaghetti will soften him up.”
“The boy never could turn down a home-cooked meal,” Hazel winked. “Wanna talk about the screw up?” she asked over her shoulder as she carried the bags back to the kitchen.
The Eva of yesterday would have side-stepped the question and turned the attention on someone else. But a whole hell of a lot had happened in twenty-four hours, and if she was really turning over a new leaf, then she might as well turn it with Donovan’s mother. “Let me give you the background since the Facebook group is out of commission and you may not have heard the whole story yet,” Eva offered.
“Your mother has been coming after you for money for years. She followed you here looking for a handout, and when you said no, she got nasty,” Hazel summarized.
“Well, that’s the backstory I guess.” Eva dumped her bags on the counter and started stashing ingredients in the fridge.
“My son gave me the bare bones, and Phoebe filled in the rest. I like you, Eva. And I really like your books. My husband is quite the fan too, if you know what I mean,” she grinned. “Anyway, let me give you a couple of what kids today would call ‘cheat codes’ when it comes to my son.”
“Please do.”
“He is a good man through and through. He stands between his people and danger.”
“It’s his hero complex,” Eva sighed.
Hazel shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s bone deep. He’s a fixer. He sees a problem, an injustice, a hurt? Well, he’s going to do everything in his power to right the wrong. Depriving him of that? Of at least letting him in on the problem? It cuts deep. It says to him that you don’t trust him.”
“I do. I really do. I just wanted to solve it on my own.”
“I get it,” Hazel said, crossing her arms. “I really do. You’re independent. You stand on your own two feet, solve your own problems. Only maybe you haven’t been solving them real well alone? Maybe you could take advantage of your resources and find a better solution.”
“And maybe you’re in town because Donovan needs help.”
The corner of Hazel’s mouth quirked. “He hasn’t asked. Yet.”
“But you’ll be there when he does.”
“As long as he’s not as damn stubborn as his girlfriend,” Hazel grinned.
“Well, let’s hope that’s not the case.” Eva plucked ripe tomatoes out of one of the bags and began to slice.
Hazel peered into the bags. “You’re making me sorry we’re missing dinner.”
“You won’t be here?” Eva asked. “I brought enough for a small army.”
“An apology will go over better without me and Michael slurping up noodles. Besides, Michael just landed four tickets to an eighties revival concert at a winery in the Finger Lakes. Last minute, but we’re taking Phoebe and Franklin with us overnight.”
“Oh, they’ll love that,” Eva said. “I think you’ll like my dad. He’s pretty much the best human being I know. Ranks right up there with your son… if he’s smart enough to accept my apology.”
Hazel gave her that crooked grin. “He’ll make you work for it. But you’ll do okay, Eva. You and Donovan will be just fine,” she predicted.
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Donovan noted the smoke coming from his chimney as he pulled into the garage. It was dark, and there was a bite to the night air. There was a frost warning tonight, and his parents must have lit the fire to warm up the house.
Maybe there was a small benefit to having his parents crash with him. He might even be lucky enough to find dinner on the table.
He sighed and ducked under the garage door as it closed. Damn if he didn’t need something to go his way today. The mess with Eva weighed heavy. She hadn’t texted or called after he’d dropped her unceremoniously in her father’s lap. Not that he’d expected her to. He needed her to work through this on her own, and he hoped she’d find her way back to him.
In the meantime, he’d personally made sure that every station in a five-hundred-mile radius was on the lookout for one Agnes Merill. He’d find her, and when he did, she’d never go near his Eva again. Between spreading the word, he’d taken half a dozen calls and plowed through a fraction of the backlog of reports that his desk was buckling under.
He checked his phone as he trudged up the porch steps.
Still no messages from her. God, he needed her tonight. Wanted her naked in his bed or curled up against him on the couch. Any way he could get her, Donovan needed Eva. It killed him to think that she could have asked him for help. That she’d gone to Beckett with hypotheticals rather than trusting him to help her.
He got it. He did. It was important to her to stand on her own two feet. But dammit, she’d put herself in danger. He didn’t know what Agnes was capable of, but it wasn’t the upstanding citizen that bilked their own daughter out of $26,000. He could—and would—take care of the legal end of things, ensure that Agnes was out of Eva’s life forever. But he’d have to wait for Eva to do her best to clean up the situation on her end. She needed to solve it herself. And he needed to let her.
He opened the front door and wondered when the hell he was going to get a dog. He’d meant to. As much as he enjoyed the privacy and solitude of his cabin, sometimes it was downright lonely. The property was perfect for a dog, and he wouldn’t mind a four-legged pal to take to the station with him. Maybe after this cosmic shitstorm was over and everything went back to normal he’d visit the shelter and see who looked like a cop dog. He’d take the Pierces with him. After all, they had experience adopting every single homeless animal in Blue Moon.
His house smelled like garlic and basil and a dozen other scents that had his stomach growling.
“I’m home,” he called, not wanting to catch his parents in an embarrassingly intimate moment in his kitchen as he had so often growing up.
His heart rolled over in his chest when Eva appeared, barefoot in leggings and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. A cheery red apron covered most of her except for the lacy bra strap peeking out from under her shirt. He itched to touch it.
She was holding a beer.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he repeated. He clenched his hands at his sides so he wouldn’t grab her and hold her.
She wet her lips, and despite his best intentions he went rock hard, his dick straining against the zipper of his uniform pants.
“I made you an apology dinner,” she said, offering a shy smile. “Spaghetti.” She held the beer out to him.
“You’re apologizing with food?” Their fingers brushed when he took the beer from her, and the contact jolted him as it always did.
“Among other things,” she said lightly. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay tonight. I’m not supposed to stay at my place.”
If Donovan had his way she’d never go back there again. She’d stay here, write, cook, play with their future dog, let him rub her feet. Hell, whatever she wanted to do. But she had to choose him, choose them.
“Do I have time for a shower?” he asked, still careful not to touch her.
She nodded. “I need a few minutes for the garlic bread. I laid out some comfy clothes for you on the bed. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her hesitancy cut at him. All he wanted was for her to be happy and safe… and here with him.
“I love you, Eva. Don’t think that just because I’m supremely pissed at you that I don’t mean that anymore.”
She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promised.
“It better be one hell of a dinner,” he said lightly.
She smiled softly. “Cardona, you have no idea. Go shower and change,” she ordered, slapping him on the ass. And damn if that didn’t make him even harder.
One cold as fuck shower and a pair of sweatpants later, Donovan wandered back into the kitchen pulling a t-shirt on over his head. Eva bobbled the bowl of pasta that she was carrying, and he smirked.
“Like what you see, Evangelina?”
She walked smack into an open cabinet door before he caught her.
“Oh, my God. It should be illegal to smell that good,” she breathed.
He took the bowl from her. “Table?” he asked.
She nodded, nervously fingering the tie to the apron.
She’d already set the table, he noted. And the fire in the living room was crackling away. There were lit candles dotting window sills and table tops.
“Where are my parents?” he asked, realizing they weren’t in residence.
“They’re doing an overnight at Seneca Lake with my parents,” Eva called from the kitchen where she wrestled the sauce pan off the stove.
Envisioning a night in the ER with second degree burns, he took it from her and placed it on the hot pad on the table.
“I had a long talk with Phoebe and my dad today,” she said, taking the garlic bread sprinkled with—dear God, was that real mozzarella? —cheese out of the oven. “And then I had another one with your mother when I showed up here.”
Donovan’s eyebrows winged up. “How did those talks go?”
She took a deep breath as she quickly transferred bread to basket blowing on her finger tips.
“Baby, please use tongs,” Donovan said, slapping a pair down next to her.
“You can take the salad in,” she said, jutting her chin in the direction of the fresh greens on the counter.
He did as he was told and waited patiently for her to fill him in.
They sat and dished out the food, Eva handing him shaved Parmesan before he could even scan the table for it. “My father, being the perfect human being he is, was incredibly supportive and forgiving. Phoebe, on the other hand, nailed my ass to the wall for being ‘selfishly and unnecessarily independent.’”
Donovan, convinced his mouth was about to meet heaven, twirled his fork into the obscene pile of spaghetti on his plate. “She did, did she?”
“You’re not going to give her a black eye, are you?” Eva asked, sipping her wine.
“I hit Beckett for a different reason,” Donovan argued. He put the fork in his mouth and let his eyes roll back in his head. “My god, woman.”
“Told you,” she said smugly. “Now, back to you punching Beckett. You hit him because he yelled at your woman?” Eva guessed.
“He kicked you when you were down. Granted, he was scared, and you did endanger his family, but—” he caught her wince, “you thought you were keeping everyone safe by putting yourself between Agnes and them.” Donovan snuck another bite of literally the best spaghetti he’d ever had in his life.
“I really did. It seems stupid now, but I thought she’d ruin everyone else’s lives like she’d ruined mine.”
He covered her hand with his. “She didn’t ruin anything. You’re here now. Aren’t you?”
“If you’ll accept my apology and let me stay tonight.”
Tonight wasn’t enough in Donovan’s book. He wanted forever. “Well, let’s try it out. See how good your apology is. And just so you know, you’re important to me, Eva. And I’m not going to let anyone, even one of my lifelong best friends, kick you when you’re down.”
“I’m sorry you and Beckett fought because of me. And I’m beyond sorry that I didn’t come clean with you. I never told anyone about Agnes. She taints everything she touches. I’ve dreaded the sound of my text alerts since I was nineteen years old and she found me the first time.”
She played with her pasta on her plate rather than eating it.
“She showed up on campus with some down-on-her-luck story about trying to get enough money to get away from the drugs and the bad people in her life, get into a program. I gave her everything I had. Forty-two dollars. And as she was leaving, she told me I’d done the right thing since it was my fault she left anyway.”
Donovan’s hand tightened on his fork. “It wasn’t the first time she’d said that to you,” he said recalling the retelling at Beckett’s.
Shamefully, Eva shook her head. “She used to tell me when I was a little kid that I’d ruined her life. Every time she’d cry or yell, it was because of me. My fault. I couldn’t behave or I couldn’t be what she needed.”
Donovan swore and pushed his chair back from the table. “Come here,” he ordered.
Eva abandoned her chair and slid a slim leg over his lap to straddle him on his chair. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “Baby, tell me you know that’s not true.”
She melted into his touch, needing to accept it as much as he needed to give it.
“I know it’s not true in the way she meant it. But the facts are the facts. She was a different woman after I was born.”
He started to argue, but she placed her hand over his mouth. “Wait,” she said softly. “Dad told me today that she’d experimented with drugs before. He’d caught her once or twice and put his foot down. It was him or the drugs, and she got clean. But she had that history. It didn’t all start with me.”
“It wasn’t you, Eva. It was never you.”
“I know, but try telling that to the five-year-old inside me. This helped. Knowing that I wasn’t the beginning of it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I royally screwed up with you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed.
“Not going to make it easy for me, are you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Eva?”
“I didn’t want you judging me based on what I came from. Your parents are wonderful and giving and kind. And so is my father, but doesn’t it give you pause at all to know that I come from Agnes? That I have that in me?”
“Sweetheart, what decision in your life have you ever made that lined up with Agnes?”
“Maybe I’ve been pushing you away because part of me believed what she said. And maybe I’m done thinking like that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I can’t imagine how it felt to find out this way and to know that I didn’t come to you with this.”
“It killed me, Eva. I need you to trust me, believe in me. I don’t need to fix things for you—though I might be inclined to be consulted—I just need you to trust me enough to let me in. You can’t spend your whole life keeping secrets from people, from me.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Are you ready for one more?”
“A secret? Good god, woman, how many do you have in that vault of yours?”
“I love you, Donovan Cardona.”