#Merriell Shelton x Original Character

[lewis-winters]

my love if you are still taking requests could i pls have some hcs on K Company (Sledge, Snafu, Burgin, Leyden, De L'Eau, Ack Ack and Hillbilly) and how they would survive a slasher movie (particularly Scream franchise if you have seen it?) absolutely no pressure if u dont feel inspired or interested in writing this ! x thank uu

I've only seen the first one, tbh, so I'm not as well versed with the whole franchise, but I've seen my fair share of slasher movies, so I think I'll give this a go! But I'll be operating on the idea that they're in a slasher film together, so unfortunately, not all of them are going to survive. Sorry! It might not be exactly what you asked for!

1) Andrew Haldane and Eddie Jones - Oh no they don't make it. In fact, they're the dead girls who haunt the narrative. Particularly Andy. But Eddie, too, because Andy would not be dead if Eddie had not died first. They were each other's greatest happiness, and inevitable doom. Their romance is the tragedy, and sets the stage for all the shit that's about to go down next.

2) Bill Leyden - practical, smart, pragmatic, you'd think he'd survive, but he's too skeptical, you know? But he's too logical. Almost to a fault. At first, he wields it as his own weapon against the fear, but slowly it morphs from weapon to shield. Then slowly, from shield to outright denial, and as the tension rises and rises, he struggles to keep from breaking until, finally, he crumbles beneath it. Not completely, but just enough to give their killer an in. He's not surviving the night, unfortunately.

3) Jay De L'eau - he is though! Jay's surviving! out of pure dumb luck! He's so quiet, so small and so unassuming, that the killer will forget about him until it is too late. He's the last minute save you wouldn't expect, the car that comes crashing against your slasher, sending him several feet away and far enough to buy everybody else some time, or the shadow that brings something heavy down upon the slasher's head, enough to knock him out and pull everybody else to their feet, crying 'Run!'. He's the guy they find at the end, maybe in the post-credits scene, hiding beneath the rubble or tucked away amongst the shadows, safe and traumatized. But generally untouched.

4) RV Burgin - I don't think he's surviving. He wants to get out, no question. But he's not desperate enough to throw people under the bus, and maybe that was his mistake. He stops running because someone tripped. Turns to look back because someone calls out his name, reaches out to him. Or makes it out, but then realizes his is a hollow victory if he can't manage to take his friends out with him, too. Man, he should've just run, but that's not who Burgie is. He might come back in the sequel though, maybe in a post-credits scene added by the producers after the test screening audiences demand that he be alright bc they love the character too much.

5) Merriell Shelton - ok if there's a likely candidate for the 'someone from the original group who was the Slasher all along' character, it's Snaf; turns out he was Ghostface this whole time! but that feels like too much of an out and a little unfair, so I'll just say that he'll make it almost all the way to the end, but he's going to slip up. And it's going to be because he's so tired. He's so afraid under all that anger, but he's just so tired, too, and it only takes one little slip. One little swing too late. But make no mistake, he fights back. He will be remembered very fondly because he fights back, and the tragedy of it lies in how close he was to getting out. He was so close. But not close enough.

6) Eugene Sledge - FINAL GIRL FINAL GIRL FINAL GIRL ENERGY ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? OF COURSE HE'S FINAL GIRL he's standing over the bloody corpse of their tormentor and he's the only one in his right mind to shoot it more than once to make sure it's dead. He's the one whose rage far surpasses that of the slasher. He's the who comes out of this ordeal alive and fully changed, covered in blood, blurring the lines between victim and perpetrator, and smoking his pipe at the steps of the house or the entrance of the summer camp; red and blue emergency lights flashing over his face as someone puts a blanket over his shoulders.

[laminy]

Thank you for the tag @merriell-allesandro-shelton!!

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

How many works do you have on ao3?

Apparently 74! I'm not sure how that's possible but okay! Not what I was expecting. That's like twice as many as I thought.

What's your total ao3 word count?

2,178,053

What fandoms do you write for?

The works that I have posted on AO3 are for Bohemian Rhapsody Actor RPF, BoRhap/Queen, Ted Lasso, 13 Reasons Why, Teen Wolf, 6 Underground, Midsomer Murders, and Shazam. Pre-AO3, I wrote in a lot of other ones. Hypothetically, I write for Gran Turismo, but I've never finished any of those fics lol.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. I'm breathing in the chemicals (Teen Wolf) 2. and you know you don't have to go (Ted Lasso) 3. Fear and Self-Loathing in Beacon Hill (Teen Wolf) 4. you're the sunflower (Ted Lasso) 5. into the blue and sunny morn' (BoRhap Actor RPF)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, absolutely! I appreciate when people comment and I like the interaction.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I try not to have angsty endings! All my angst is sprinkled throughout the story (maybe more than sprinkled lol) and then they get a happy ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Since most of my fics have happy endings, I don't know what the happiest of the happy endings would be. Probably a fic in the ITBASM-universe, because I tried to make them all very happy (they deserved it).

Do you get hate on fics?

I did get a couple hateful anons on here in my day but they didn't stick around. Thankfully I've avoided much of that (knock on wood).

Do you write smut?

I do, I do. All M/M, though for my original NaNo story I'm apparently going to be attempting M/F and idk how that's gonna go lol.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written two 6 Underground x Midsomer Murders crossovers because Ben and Gwil.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of! I hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm also not sure I'm aware of any.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not! I'll be honest that I really don't know how it works and I'm kind of a solitary creature in that regard. so, I don't know that it would be my vibe.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Everrrrrr? Oh my gosh I don't know if I could pick. According to my AO3 bookmarks, apparently it's Joe/Nicky from The Old Guard but I don't think so (and for the most part I avoid that fandom these days). I don't know, ever???? I still can't decide. I'm too finicky. I will say that a ship that I will always love and I go forever without reading and then I'll be in that mood again is Eggsy/Harry from Kingsman. Like, they're the old stalwart.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Probably those Gran Turismo fics I mentioned above.

What are your writing strengths?

I would say dialogue but I don't know if anyone would agree. I find it the most fun, so I enjoy it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I don't know how to describe what people look like, because 99.9 of stuff I write is fanfic and readers already know what those characters look like, so that whenever I attempt anything original, I don't know how to naturally include some idea of "this person has brown eyes and is very tall." I see it done so badly sometimes and I just try to avoid that.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done it before sparingly. Different languages, I know fics I've done have included French, Spanish, Dutch, German, and Arabic. For most of them, I use Google Translate. for the Arabic, I watched YouTube and tried non-Google Translate sources. for the French, some of it I knew myself and wrote it as I know it (I am not fluent in French). I would never write an entire fic in another language but I think including other languages is fun and rounds out the characters.

First fandom you wrote for?

Probably shockingly, it was Friends. A friend and I wrote it together in the fifth grade. Handwrote it, actually. We had a notebook that we passed back and forth.

Favorite fic you've written?

Overall, every ITBASM fic because it's like, my universe, my world, my characters, and it covered so much time (and space, ha). I don't know that I could pick an individual fic.

[alottanothing]

The Beginning of Us

Summary: Mer and Evie's relationship blossoms amidst the charm of the New Orleans backdrop.

Previous Part: The Favor

Word Count: 5890

Warnings: none really, just a bit of language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @freebooter4ever, @itswormtrain  (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

Make a request for this series!

This is a request going out to my darling @diasimar! #76 on my list--“I notice when you stare at my lips, you know. You can just kiss me and get this awkward part out of the way.”

A/N: Okay, let me start by apologizing for how long it took me to get this part pumped out and posted. My life got crazy for a hot minute and as a result, my muse went kaput. I'm hoping it will stick around for a while as I've barely scratched the surface of this series. I've got lots outlined and planned, so be patient with me and you'll get it, I just don't know how often, unfortunately. That said, I hope this was worth the wait. I'm so grateful for those of you who continue to read, like, reblog and comment on my work. It truly means so much to me. Thank you. :)

It was a month before Merriell cashed in his I-Owe-You tokens and officially took Evelyn on a date. Despite her assurance she didn’t mind him sporting a few bumps and bruises on their evening out, Mer had his mind set that he needed to be in ‘tip-top shape’ before he took her anywhere. Evie argued—eager to spend a night on the town with Merriell—right up until he insisted on making sure none of the pain stole away a moment of their time together. That was difficult to argue, and while Evelyn understood his reasoning, those four weeks felt like an eternity.

Thankfully, during all that time, Evie had her hands full trying to juggle work, an art commission, and playing nurse to her injured host. And while Merriell didn’t play into his injuries like most of the men she knew, keeping him still was like trying to pull teeth.

As the doctor instructed the night she’d brought him home, the best road to recovery for bruised ribs and busted knuckles was rest, and keeping movements to a minimum—something Merriell was not keen on. Like a toddler, Mer grew antsy quickly. Nothing kept his attention like tinkering in his shed or working his magic in the kitchen; spending all day, all but chained to the sofa was akin to a prison sentence for Mer.  Evie felt bad for him, but she also couldn’t shake the idea of being responsible for his injuries, thus she did everything in her power to ensure he healed well and was as entertained as he could be.  Evie even went so far as to enlist the help of Mrs. Gates next door to stay with him while she was at work both to give Merriell some company while he was recovering and to make sure he didn’t sneak off to his shed and aggravate his condition.  

Admittedly, those first two weeks were the worst; however, Evelyn admired her own tenacity. Merriell was shameless: layering on the charm and tossing her those smiles as often as possible,  doing everything he could in a not so sly gambit to persuade her away from all of her caretaking and the rules she’d set for him. Every time he cast her a grin, coupled with a slow blink, Evie’s heart pounded and her stomach filled with butterflies but each time she held fast to her composure and refused to let him have his way.

By the end of the third week, Evelyn (and Merriell, for that matter) could breathe a little easier. His hand was healed, and the bruising on his ribs was starting to fade. Only then did Evie loosen the reins some, allowing him to venture back to his workshed but only when he was fiddling with something less complicated than his usual projects. He obliged to that request with no hesitation, happy, it seemed, to be seated back amidst the grease and grime of his workspace once more.

Some days he even followed her to work, spending the day chatting to patrons as though he’d known them his entire life, and perhaps maybe he had. Evie liked hearing the soft tones of his voice or his deep intoxicating chuckle resonating through the general store as she worked, it kept a smile on her face; one she would miss when he was well enough to return to his own work.

After a day at Birdie’s, Mer would tag along and watch her paint the mural, adoration beaming from his expression the entire time she worked.

The most surprising thing about those four weeks leading up to the date he was owed, was the fact that Merriell’s flirting never escalated past the usual wit and charm Evie was used to. After agreeing to the date he wanted, Evelyn expected all of his smirks and glances and comments to cross the line of friendly into something a tad lewder. However, Mer remained kind and respectable, something Evie felt to be new territory for him and somehow only made her want him all the more.

***

The day of their big date arrived with ample sunshine and a wave of customers who proved to be nearly too many for Evie and Birdie to handle.

It wasn’t uncommon for the little general store in the quiet township of Bridge City to welcome a steady influx of shoppers; that day, however, the people seemed endless. To make matters worse, Merriell had left her that morning with a bouquet of wildflowers, a quick kiss on her cheek, and a smile that had all but knocked her to her knees. Nothing—not even a surge of needy customers—was strong enough to combat the blinding fog of anticipatory fervor Mer’s charm had evoked that morning.

He'd rendered her utterly useless with only a smile.

Focusing on even the most menial tasks was impossible; her workday was plagued with daydreams, wrong change, and uncounted inventory. When she left early, feeling both a fool and a hindrance, Evie apologized to poor Birdie for being so scatterbrained. The old woman only laughed and smiled, waving her hand dismissively, claiming there was no reason to be apologizing.

“You two just have fun t’night, dearie.”

Evie had one foot out the door when she turned, blinking with her brows furrowed in Birdie’s direction.

“How’d you—”

“Merry told me.” She grinned—giddy to a degree. “You best be gittin’. That boy’ll be off in a few hours.”

Evelyn glanced at the clock, “Right—see ya, Birdie.”

Mer, being in his words “fit as a fiddle”, was back to work, and that morning he’d caught a ride with a colleague so Evie would have his truck to get home.  It was a beat-up old vehicle, but Mer’s constant upkeep had it running so smooth Evie always enjoyed being behind the wheel. On her way out of town, she made sure to stop by the grocery to let Jay Jr. know she wouldn’t be working on the mural that evening and he grinned, offering her a cheerful “You an’ Merriell enjoy yourselves!”.

She stopped, one foot out the door, again, with a peculiar smile on her face, still not used to the quirks of living in a small town: everyone knew everything. And while most would find such well-wishes an invasion of privacy, Evelyn felt heartened by the collective joy everyone seemed to throw their way. Strangely, she liked knowing that a handful of people were rooting for the two of them. The thought put the flitting butterflies in her stomach at ease as she drove through the southern countryside with the windows down and the wind whipping through the loose tendrils of her braided hair. Her heart was full, and her soul felt warm; her skin tingled and the smile on her face was well-rooted. The anxiety she felt was not some foreboding force but an intuition that she reveled in.

Nothing was going to keep her from venturing down the road Merriell had invited her to tread with him, and Evelyn hoped that path would lead her to a much-needed happiness they were both in need of finding.

The Shelton House, nestled prettily among the landscape was quiet when Evie parked the truck in its usual spot under the large oak, beams of sun filtering down to dance across the faded dash of the vehicle. A sigh parted her upturned lips as she took a moment to relish in the emotion, and the surrounding splendor before hopping out of the truck to make her way to the artsy corner of Mer’s workshed.

Merriell wouldn’t be home for a few hours, which meant she had time to kill in her makeshift studio. With inspiration buzzing in the tips of her fingers, Evie sat at her drawing table and began to sketch. Lately, the focus of her muse was the beautiful stranger who’d stolen her heart the day he’d fixed Jonny’s old car. Whether it was a simple, quick rendering of a smile Mer tossed her way, or a detailed, wannabe masterpiece of him lounging across the porch swing while the breeze tousled his curls, Evelyn could not keep from putting his spirit on some form of canvas.

However, as she sat alone, charcoal in hand, Evie found herself sketching remnants of him.

A still-life of sorts was beginning to take shape on the page in front of her: a depiction in gritty detail of his corner of the space they shared. From the soft, yet still grungy, textures of his shop towel—stained and ratty, slung haphazardly over his stool—to the tangle of mechanical parts strewn across his workbench, she captured it all. He’d left his coffee mug next to the ashtray where several stubbed cigarettes were left forgotten, to give the scene an even richer narrative.

To anyone else, it was nothing more than a mess of greasy barbels. But to Evie, everything held Merriell’s signature, and she smiled.

When her eyes wandered from her artwork to the dusty clock on the wall, she found that nearly two hours had flown by.

“Damn!” she cursed. Abandoning her tools, she bounded from her stool and raced inside.

Without taking the time to let the water heat up, Evie washed—mindful not to get her braid wet—and scrubbed away the toils of her workday along with the charcoal on her hands. By the time she heard Mer come home, she was already barricaded in her borrowed room, fretting over what to wear for the evening.

Never in her life had she ever been on an honest-to-god date. Most fella’s her age were shipped off to war before they properly entered the dating scene, and the ones that didn’t go to fight only had eyes for gals like her best friend—a beautiful blonde bombshell. The lucky girls found a man in high school—again, like Cynthia. Evie wasn’t envious; she'd had Charlie (Cyn’s brother) to fawn over in their school days, but the feelings she’d had for him couldn’t hold a candle to how she felt about Merriell.

Evelyn would always treasure the time she had with Charlie—always miss him—but looking back, he was nothing more than a dear friend.

As she stood at the wardrobe, mind full of bittersweet memories, Evie shook her head, feeling frustration slowly steep into her good mood. Mer made a point of keeping the details of their evening vague. All she knew was he planned to take her into New Orleans, and that he’d picked out “someplace nice” for dinner.

“Casual,” Evie mumbled to herself, weighing her options. “Elegant casual?”

She had no idea.

There weren’t a lot of options for her to choose from. Most of her wardrobe consisted of her mother’s hand-me-downs, none of which were rags by any means, but they had gone out of fashion nearly a decade ago.

She ran her fingers over the familiar fabrics, her mind brimming with memories of a not so far away past, knowing how much her mother would have loved Merriell. It made Evie’s heart ache to think she would never know him.

With a sigh, Evelyn drew a curtain to the thoughts of her family and chose a baby blue cotton dress from her own collection. The fit was just snug enough in all the right places to make Mer’s mouth water, a notion that pulled a smile onto her features.

She paired the dress with a pair of white pumps, adding a simple dash of makeup before untangling her braid. Evie did her best to work the waves into a pretty volume with a few brushes of her fingers, pinning it neatly where it needed until she felt confident in her appearance.

A content expression unfurled across her face as she glanced at her reflection; she almost looked as pretty as the women in all the cigarette ads. As she stood marveling and swaying—watching the movements of her skirt in the mirror—three gentle knocks tapped on her door.

Immediately Evie’s heart began to pound, a small gasp of excitement pushing past her lips. She was quick to the door, but her hand hovered over the brass doorknob long enough for her to take in a deep, calming breath before she pulled it open.

Without hesitation, Merriell’s eyes drank in the sight of her from head to toe, delight bursting on every corner of his face until he finally licked his lips and whistled softly.

“You sho are pretty…”

There was a slight hint of awe and disbelief in his tone, as though he couldn’t believe she was standing in the door way, ready to go on a date with him.

A blush rose to color Evie’s cheeks, and she let her gaze travel up and down his frame as well. There wasn’t a single trace of grease or dirt in sight. He smelled of rich cologne—not the cheap stuff he usually wore—a scent that tickled her senses delightfully. Even more alluring were his freshly shaven jaw and his slicked-back curls. She had never seen him look so much like a gentleman. He was entirely too handsome.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” Evie said, batting her lashes and smiling.

Mer’s grin grew, her compliment lending him more confidence, making his posture grow prouder as he turned to offer his arm.

“You ready, darlin’?”

She was staring at the curl of his lips when she nodded,  fervor bursting in her heart as she linked her arm around his.

Walking arm in arm with Merriell felt effortless; it made her dizzy almost. She was eager but did her best to reign in some of the emotions, trying to match his glowing demeanor. She could tell Mer was just as excited as she was, but his joy—while not reserved, per se—was calm and enchanting. Still, Evie found it difficult to combat each charming smile he cast upon her; every innocent touch sought to melt her composed exterior.

Mer was blessedly free of his masks; the genuine upturned expression he wore never fell as he led her to his truck and helped her into the passenger seat. Even as he drove, the jovial look stayed fixated on his features the entire ride into town. Seeing him so at peace and happy in her presence only made Evie that much more thrilled to be with him. All the shadow that had clouded them both seemed so far away as they journeyed into the neighboring big city.

The sun was beginning its slow descent when the flourishing city of New Orleans sprouted around them, and immediately Evelyn felt a spasm of exhilaration shudder through her.

She’d only been to the neighboring city once: the day the train dropped  her and Jonny into the bowels of the unknown. There’d been a naive sort of hope bursting in her heart that evening—one she would have to wait 18 long months to fully find—though, admittedly, she’d paid little attention to the beauty of the new metropolis around her. But as Mer wove the city streets with expertise, Evie was nothing short of enchanted.

A certain charm lingered in the atmosphere that most cities lacked; New Orleans sparkled with the grandeur of a thriving city akin to New York but held fast to the small-town  ambiance Bridge City harbored. There was color in every building, character, and old narratives that invited the creative soul Evelyn nurtured. Perhaps the magic only stemmed from the city’s newness. Even so, New Orleans felt like a dream she would not soon be ready to wake from.

“It’s so beautiful,” she mused, an awed smile on her face as she marveled out her window.

“Bienvenu dan le grand facile, charie.” [Welcome to the Big Easy, darling]

Suddenly, the view out her window lost some of its luster as she turned her spellbound expression to Merriell.

“You can speak French?” she gasped. Just when she thought he couldn’t be any more charming…

Mer beamed a proud grin that was oozing that arrogant charm she was so drawn to.

“Oui, tres bien.” [Yes, quite well] he said, smile growing. “Le faites vous?” [Do you?]

“Not well,” Evie confessed. “I know a few phrases—Pa was stationed in France during the Great War, so he tried to teach my brother and me, but it never stuck. You speak it beautifully.”

“Ah merci, mon cher.” [Ah thank you, my dear]

“Do you plan on speaking French all night?” Evie smirked, brow raised.

Honestly, she wouldn’t have minded, she just wished she’d had the foresight to pay more attention to her father all those years ago.

Merriell chuckled and shook his head.

“I ‘spose I shouldn’t, seems as how you wouldn’ understand mucha what it is I’m sayin’.”

Evie laughed too, caught up in a whirlwind brought on by the city, the setting sun, and Mer himself. Her face almost hurt from smiling, although she couldn’t be bothered. That was a pain she would be willing to endure any moment, for as long as she lived.

“Did you learn to speak it in the service?” she asked, finally feeling like it was okay to dip her toes into the pool of Merriell’s past.

His grin, however, lost a significant amount of its splendor—fighting off a mask from taking over his expression—before he shook his head.

“Nah—” he said vaguely. “My Momma’s maiden name was la Roux. Her family’s been in these parts forever, every one of ‘em spoke French. So she made damn sure my sistah and me spoke it too.”

Evie watched the corners of his mouth slowly quirk back into a soft grin as the thought of his time in the service became veiled by happy memories of his childhood.

“We was babblin’ in French as kids before we evah spoke a lick of English,” he mused before pulling the truck along the curb to park.

He was looking at her softly when Evie’s eyes met his, bestowing another look that seemed in awe somehow, never mind how reserved it was. For Merriell, actions spoke louder than words, and she could see in his eyes everything she felt inside of herself glittering in the green of his irises.

“This place okay?” he asked, looking pointedly out her window.

Evie followed his glance to find a quaint, but upscale bistro just past her window. The front patio was nestled among a garden of flowering plants and hanging ferns, each one seeming to glow from the flickering candles laid at the center of every table. Somewhere jazz music played, which served to make the glory of the corner eatery even brighter.

“This is perfect,” Evie murmured, struck nearly speechless with enchantment.

Merriell wasted no time springing from his place behind the wheel to her side of the vehicle to open her door and take her by the arm like a true southern gentleman. The only crack in his charade was that devilishly charming smile that reeked of rascally behavior.

The host seated them at a table on the patio—upon Mer’s request—that was far from many of the other patrons. Each empty table and the lush greenery surrounding them garnered the illusion of privacy which made the evening quiet and intimate. Evie’s heart was pounding as Mer graciously pulled out her chair, making her wonder how far he was going to take the whole Prince Charming act.

After weeks of living under the Shelton roof, she knew Merriell was happiest covered in grease, cursing like a battle-hardened Marine, smoking and drinking more than his share. And while he’d always been kind and respectful, Evie doubted he had a habit of performing so reverently with other women he courted. Under all that charm and pleasantness, he was a scoundrel, which, for Evie, only made him even more alluring.

In fact, Evelyn derived a hint of confidence from his supposed caution; he wanted to take his time with her. She was someone he wanted more from than a couple of nights of pleasure before moving on.

At least, Evie hoped that was the case…

When the waiter came to take their order, Mer asked for a bottle of wine: a French vintage with a name he articulated perfectly. The sound of his deep voice forming those foreign words prickled her skin with goose bumps and she felt silly for finding something so simple so beguiling. Neither of them said much right away, caught up in the magic and the nerves that were usual for a first date. Even when their food came the two said little more than how good their dinner tasted. It was strange to share a meal unaccompanied by a story or a joke: conversation always flowed for them so effortlessly. And yet as they sat tongue-tied before their entrée, the quiet was serene instead of awkward. There was more in the way Merriell smiled or the way he glanced at her from across the table than any words either of them could piece together. Neither one of them wanted to mess up.

By the time each of them had two glasses of wine, both seemed to once again find the conversation they were used to having.

“So,” Evie began emboldened by her drink. “Where is this elusive sister of yours whose bed I’ve been sleeping in?”

Her buzz fostered the confidence she needed, and ebbed the caution she usually held when it came to asking Mer personal questions. It helped that he’d taken the initiative to ask her on a date; she meant more to him than a simple friend, thus, Evie felt entitled to have a peek behind the curtain. She yearned to know more about him than his interest in mechanics and his ability to speak French.

“Mills?” The corners of his mouth quirked into a strong smile.

They’re close—she deduced: a thought that filled Evie with enveloping warmth.

“Millie got a scholarship ta one of those fancy schools up north on the coast—don’t ‘member which one.”

“A scholarship?” Evie’s brow hooked high, she was both impressed and intrigued.

Merriell nodded, “yup. Beat out a bucha fella’s for it too. She’s a brat, an’ a brainiac, but there ain’t a soul on earth more proud of her than I am.”

Seeing such genuine softness in the expression on his face made Evelyn’s heart swell.

“Soon as her schoolin’s done for the summah, she’ll be comin’ back till fall.”

“That’ll be nice,” Evie mused, her smile fading somewhat, jealous to a degree that he had family to still welcome home.

Both were quiet for a beat, his eyes watchful, and she wondered if he could read the grief that dwelled in her mind from the waning smile on her face.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mer spoke gently a moment later, his devil-may-care bravado taking on a serious tone.

“Of course.”

“Why the Hell did you come runnin’ so far south with a fella like Jonny?”

There was hesitance in his voice, but compassion as well. Curiosity drove his question, not anger or his want to lecture her on her foolish choices. Evie was thankful for that—more than tired of Cynthia’s endless scolding. Even so, she sighed, unsure where, or how to begin her answer.

“Well, that’s it—I ran away. Jonny was just my free ticket somewhere else that happened to come with some unfortunate fine print.”

“But why’d you run?” Mer asked, concern brimming in his expression. “I don’ mean to pry, an’ you don’ have ta tell me, but that’s an awful long way ta run.”

“It is…or was…” Evie agreed, eyes falling to where her fingers traced the bottom of her wine glass, taking a moment to work through her memories.

“I was close to my family—really close…and I lost them.” It felt good to talk about it, and flush out the wound. “My pa died fighting in Europe, and my brother went missing behind enemy lines not long after that. Ma got sick in the midst of it all—couldn’t shake it. But, I think it was losing my pa and my brother that got her in the end…almost got me too.”

Evie swiped at a tear before it could ruin her makeup.

“I ran because I couldn’t stand being in a place they weren’t in anymore.”

Mer reverently hung his head.

“I know what that’s like—I’m sorry you lost people you care about.”

“I’m sorry too,” Evie murmured, reaching to take his hand in hers across the table.

She squeezed his fingers, and Mer glanced up to meet her gaze before she spoke again.

“Birdie told me when you came home from fighting, everyone you grew up with—”

“Everyone’s got ghosts now—you ran from yours. I bottled mine up.”

He released her hand to take a long drink from his wine glass, downing almost half of it.

It was clear the war and his past were still a tender subject for him; they required a certain level of vulnerability he was still not keen on showing just yet.

“Do you think you’ll ever unbottle them?”

He shrugged, “I like ‘em bottled—helps me sleep at night.”

She nodded her understanding, deciding not to press him any further; the air was swiftly becoming a cumbersome impediment that sought to ruin an otherwise wonderful evening.

Evie’s eyes drifted back to the smooth bottom edge of her glass where her finger absently brushed back and forth while Mer fidgeted across from her: gnawing his bottom lip. Her periphery caught him as he ran his hand through his hair, disrupting the product enough for some of the volume to return to his curls. There was a furrow on his brow, but no anger on his face, just traces of emptiness and that sadness he only showed when he thought she couldn’t see him. Despite the wrinkle in his expression, Evelyn laid her focus on his freshly tousled hair. Somehow the softness of his boyish curls was powerful enough to combat the gloom—for her at least.

Evie let another moment pass, watching the line of Mer’s face fade incrementally before finishing her drink and clearing her throat.

“My brother used to send letters home,” she said, her tone soft.

If he was uncomfortable speaking openly about his experiences, then perhaps she could coax some out of him by talking about her own.

“He would touch on the horror he was seeing, but mostly he talked about the guys he was with. It was easy to tell in the way he wrote about them that they were like his own brothers.”

That line returned on Mer’s brow, the sparkle in his eyes glazing over as he fell back into memories of a time not so long ago. He shifted in his chair and swallowed thickly.

In her attempt to peel back one of his layers, it seemed she’d instead added another. The heaviness was back in the air, this time more ponderous.

“I was glad for it,” Evie added quickly hoping to steer the intent of her story down the path she’d meant. “I knew he wasn’t alone over there.”

He still wouldn’t look at her, but his head bobbed slowly in agreement.

The look on his face was far from the quiet serenity of their New Orleans setting; Mer was, instead, marching threw destroyed jungles, battling more than simply heat and exhaustion.

“Were you close to anyone in your division?”

Merriell reached for the bottle of wine and poured what was left into his glass before throwing it back with all the ease of a seasoned alcoholic.

“Sorry,” Evie’s focus fell away from him, the fervent rhythm of her heart loud in her ears. “We can talk about something else.”

He said nothing for a long while, taking a few deep breaths, then shook his head.

“No…it’s fine…”

Clearly, it wasn’t, but his voice was the opposite of his rigid posture—gentle but guarded. That part of the war he could stomach speaking about: people other than himself.

“I was close to a few of ‘em.” He murmured, still looking lost.

Some of the sullen air ebbed, and Evie’s own posture straightened a bit.

“Do you keep in touch?”

He shook his head, the glum expression more akin to disappointment instead of recounting thoughts of war. Merriell missed them, maybe only somewhat, but he missed them; Evie could see it so clearly.

“I ain’t heard a peep from anyone since I got off that train.”

Evie frowned—heart aching for him.

“You haven’t tried reaching out to any of them?”

Surely the bonds forged in war were among the strongest ever to be had. Fellow soldiers were not simple, fleeting, acquaintances; like her brother had all but written, they were brothers. And while Mer was reluctant to bring down any walls in regard to talk of battles fought, it was obvious he shared the same sentiment. He needed someone who knew his struggles firsthand; Evie knew she could never be that person for him. Nevertheless, she could always be there when he needed someone.

Mer shrugged, “Allah them fella’s live miles from here—Sledgehamma’s prolly the closest…”

Evie’s brows furrowed and she smiled gently, “Sledgehammer?”

Surprisingly, a faint, but fond smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Eugene Sledge—tough son of a bitch. Alabama boy.”

“You could write him, you know,” Evie suggested, seeing the levity begin to creep back into his features.

“’Spose I could…”

He wouldn’t. Evie knew that without question.

Merriell wasn’t the type to keep in touch; hell, he barely kept in touch with his own sister. He didn’t like to be a bother to anyone even if it came at his expense. Evie made a mental note to look into Mr. Sledge from somewhere in Alabama for Mer’s sake, and her curiosity.

“How ‘bout we go for a walk?” he asked suddenly, casting her a charming grin to help deter any more talk of war and loved ones lost forever. “New Orleans is magical unda the stars.”

Relief enveloped Evelyn hearing his want to continue their date after her failed attempt to peek into his past. She feared prying, ever so gently, would set them back several paces. It meant everything that he still wanted to share an evening with her.

Perhaps even more astonishing was the power of his smile and the gentle expression he held with it. The heavy air evaporated, and the majesty returned as though it was never there to scuttle their time together. Evie melted under that smile, and she found herself powerless to keep from smiling back.

“It’s probably gonna rain soon, so we bettah go now before the clouds swallow ‘em up.” He added tossing a glance to the heavens.

Evie’s eyes followed; he was right about the canvas of stars overhead being magical. As for the rain, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Sounds wonderful,” she said smiling at him.

Merriell stood fluidly, offering her his arm once more like a proper gentleman, and she eagerly linked herself to him, utterly intoxicated with adoration.

The melancholy of their conversation drifted far away, stolen by the spring breeze that—just as Mer had predicted—began to push clouds over head. Nevertheless, they paid the ominous sky little heed, too enthralled with the sights and sounds of New Orleans.

Artistry pumped life into the sleepy city along the Mississippi; New York felt almost sterile in comparison. The stately homes, gas lamps, and moss-covered trees were among the few captivating sights telling stories rich with history while radiating a kind of exuberance one could only find in the south. Evie never wanted to leave.

Time felt frozen as they strolled through the French Quarter, unable to surrender their soft smiles. Evie could feel Mer’s eyes on her, gentle and observant as he lived vicariously through her eyes, able to see all those familiar things for the first time again. They stopped for a while to listen to a musician on a street corner playing jazz on his well-loved saxophone, and those soulful melodies pulled Mer’s grin wider as he tossed several coins into the man’s open case before the two of them carried on.

As they neared the bistro, thunder tolled like the ring of church bells issuing a baleful warning that quickend their pace, but only slightly. Not even the threat of a storm was going to dampen what remained of their date. Others rushed around them in search of shelter and they alone seemed unbothered.

Only when Merriell’s truck came into view did the heavens open up.

“Shit!” Mer exclaimed, chuckling as he tugged Evie under a small overhang out of the rain. “We was so close!”

“Oh well,” she laughed.

The small cubby left them no choice but to huddle together: Mer’s back against the dry brick while Evie stood pressed to him, palms flat on his chest. She could feel his gaze on her, the beat of his heart under the tips of her fingers, the heat of his breath beating against her cheek. And before her eyes could even venture to meet his, they stopped at his lips abruptly aware of their proximity to her own.

All at once, her throat was dry, and she felt dizzy. Never had she been so close to him. Her heart was absolutely racing.

Slowly, she watched as his lips spread into the most devilish of all his smiles.

“I notice when you stare at my lips, ya know.”

The low bravado of his voice lit her senses up like fire, and the fog in her head grew impossibly denser.

“You could just kiss me an’ get this awkward part outta the way if ya wanted.”

Evie’s heart skipped and her breath caught, her eyes finally fixating on his. There was a delight in them so grand, and so overwhelmingly enchanting that his expression alone riddled her with want.

Despite the dubious charm and cocky comment, Merriell hesitated so she could make the first move: once again keeping a respectful pace so she felt comfortable. The notion settled warmly and the confidence it elicited made her lips curl into a matching smile.

Gently, and without breaking eye contact, Evelyn reached for the knot of his tie and pulled his lips to hers as she guided them back into the warm rain.

The moment he kissed her back, she knew she was done. Merriell owned her heart, body, and soul.

His lips were soft and perfect against hers, respectfully hesitant in their movements, yet still hungry enough to leave Evie yearning for more. And when the feel of his fingertips pressed into her hips, she was soaring on cloud nine.

When it was over, all either of them could do was stare in wonder, oblivious to the rain soaking them.

A slow, playfully arrogant smile worked onto Mer’s face, his styled curls ruined and clinging to his forehead as water dripped from his sharp features.

“You—uh—wanna do me a favor an’ run that by me again?”

With a smirk and a nod, Evie wrapped her arms around his neck, and his looped around her waist, pulling her snug.

“Gladly,” she murmured, kissing him deeper than before.

[alottanothing]

Count On It

Summary: Evie has another run-in with her beautiful stranger at work. Jonny remains uncooperative

Previous Part: Kismet

Word Count: 5691

Warnings: Language, Mentions of nonconsensual advances.

Taglist: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Happy Halloween!!!!!! What's everyone going as? I, myself was a pirate for the tricker treaters yesterday, and today I will be galavanting around Ohio Renfaire as a witch. Anyway, on to the chapter. I actually managed to have time to edit this like I normally do (unlike the last part) which I have no idea how I managed that--life has been insane for me. Not a whole lot happens in this chapter, it introduces a new character and sets up the next part. If you didn't know, I'm making character moodborads for all the key players, so look for Birdie Ibott to be added sometime on Monday or Tuesday! Those can be found on this series' master page. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this part as a little treat for Halloween.

Also: HUGE shout out to my girl @freebooter4ever for making the actual drawing Evie sketches out in this chapter. Her doodles sort of played a hand in the creation of this series, so it meant so so much to me that she took the time to do that. You rock!

For four days, Merriell Shelton was a stranger.

Four days of unexpected longing. Four days of Evie choosing not to read them as the universe telling her the encounter she'd had with Mr. Shelton was nothing more than a whim. Four long days of nothing but work, and Jonny Doyle to occupy the hours of her life.

Maybe Merriell was to remain a mysterious stranger. Perhaps the only role he had to play was that of a kind soul who could aid her in a time of need—a brief gust of hopefulness to keep her heart appeased. If that was true, why did his absence leave such a significant hole inside of her?

If fate intended to have Merriell's purpose in her life remain something so fleeting and insignificant, then Evie knew she should have been at peace with never seeing him again. But, as the days dragged on without any sign of him, that wonderful tingle his company lent began to once again feel like the void she’d been running from.

It was absurd—she knew that—how entranced she'd allowed herself to be with Merriell: a man who was little more than a stranger. Cynthia would have been furious to find her brooding over a man she'd only just met. Her best friend had always favored reason over intuition. Both had their merits, which made reason a difficult thing to argue when her friend cast it upon her, but Evie always tried. Being away from her for the particular quandary of missing Merriell Shelton would save Evie several lectures.

Work proved to be a good distraction. For a few hours, she found a reprieve from that strange gnawing in her gut that begged her to ignore reason. The routine at the old general store was hackneyed but perfect for keeping her wandering mind occupied. Birdie helped too. Her warmth and charm were similar to Merriell’s, which helped pacify the yearning. Whenever shifts slowed, the two of them would talk and laugh; the older Cajun woman was bursting with wisdom and stories that she seemed to pass around like sweet candies for all to savor.

The comfort of work, however, was never strong enough to combat the anxiety of returning to Jonny's. Even when she returned to an empty house, she knew it was only a matter of time before he came raging through the door, drunk and angry with the world. She'd learned quickly it was best to pretend she was already in bed to avoid his tirade, although, that didn't always work.

The night Merriell had come for dinner Jonny spent the rest of the evening visibly upset. Evie couldn't tell if his anger stemmed from the alcohol still in his system or the sense of jealousy he harbored towards her. He’d stayed silent, but his expression remained a scowl until he finally had gone to bed.

One of the only reasons Evie had agreed to accompany Jonny to Louisiana was his declared understanding that she only intended to stay in his spare room until she could get a place of her own. She made it clear before she stepped foot in the train station over a year ago that the two of them were not, and never would be a couple. Jonny had nodded and promised he only wanted a familiar face moving south with him.

Maybe he did mean to keep his promise. Maybe it was his dependence on alcohol that caused him to break his vow. Or perhaps it had all been a charade to put her at ease until he could persuade her into his bed. Whatever his reasoning for letting her stay with him, it was not long before Jonny felt he was owed something for his alleged kindness.

On several occasions, Jonny had wandered into her room—reeking of liquor—speaking his lewd desires, and she would forcefully escort him to his room with a foray of threats. It worked for a while. Then it turned into a game—something for him to win. Not every night, but most of the ones he came home far past his limit, he’d make his move and Evie would always put him to bed. Sometimes she’d have to do it several times before she got her point across and he stayed in his room. Sometimes she’d leave him on the sofa and just go to bed. That was always easier.

The worst was the night when he'd stumbled in, working off his belt and pants as he crawled into her bed. Never could she remember ever moving faster; she jumped out from under her covers, not even bothering to fight, she just ran. That night she spent locked in the bathroom, sobbing on the floor, too afraid to sleep.

Of course, Jonny swore the next morning he had no recollection of trying to force himself on her, but Evie didn't care. It was just an excuse—one he offered without the benefit of an apology or an inkling of remorse. To him, her anger with the entire situation made him the victim.

After that, Evie never slept without making sure her door was locked.

***

Sleep was elusive; Evie laid wide awake, blinking up at the cracks in the ceiling, waiting helplessly for the sandman to pay a visit. Her mind, was in no way accommodating to the idea of sleep. In fact, her head was fraught with too many thoughts to find rest even though her body craved its sweet reprieve. It was as though there was a huge weight inside of her skull, vibrating with a mess of every tiny detail or notion of her life. Thoughts of her past lingered to haunt her, thoughts of her present felt meek and devoid of even simple joys. However, it was thoughts of her feature that swirled almost maddeningly in her head—vague but hopeful. It was there her mind dwelled, so easily choking out the prospect of sleep.

She stayed in her bed, desperate and irritated by sleep's apparent lack of willingness to hold her in its grasp until, finally, she embraced the wakefulness she could not seem to shake.

The dark made it difficult for her to see exactly what time she gave up the notion of slumber, but by the heavy darkness out her window and the muffled—yet somehow still shrill—cry of insects outside, Evie knew that morning was a good way off. With an annoyed huff, she tossed her quilt aside and sat up with a stretch wondering how best to busy her already busy mind.

There were several things she could do around the old cottage. The kitchen was in need of a good deep clean, and most of the drapes would've benefited from a wash or two. But, venturing into other parts of the house risked crossing paths with her impetuous roommate. Even if he was in his room, his nosey disposition would surely coax him into the open, most likely to complain that she was making too much noise for him to sleep. It was difficult to keep a frown from turning on her face as she played out each of those scenarios in her head: every outcome ending in some baseless argument.

Evie sighed again knowing counting the cracks in the ceiling was far more beneficial than any chore she would complete when the risk of Jonny interrupting was so high.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her room, her mind drifted in search of a thought that did not plague her—one free of fear, or grief, or annoyance, or Jonny. She yearned to cling to something warm and blissful, released from all those irritating notions.

Something like her beautiful stranger.

Slowly, Evelyn's frown worked into a light smile feeling the butterflies flitting in her stomach at the thought of the man who had charmed his way into her mind. There, he was able to combat some of the shadows that dwelled in her memory, somehow able to curb the grief with the swirl of color he'd brought back into her life.

Any rational person would strive to find something else to fixate on; a part of her wished he was not so ingrained into her memory. Yet, a larger part of her thrived with Merriell in the forefront of her mind. And soon, as she sat in the dark of her room, the only thing filling her head was him.

Evie's smile pulled a little tighter, her heart warm and her fingers buzzing with inspiration.

With sleep so far out of reach, Evie tugged gently on the pull-chain of the lamp next to her bed, illuminating one side of her room in a soft yellow glow.

When she'd packed her art supplies away to find a job, something kept her from packing everythingcompletely out of sight. Under her bed, she'd tucked away a well-used pad of paper and an assortment of her favorite drawing utensils in case of a creative emergency. Muse’s were fickle beasts, after all. One had to catch them as often as one could.

Evie easily found the box of necessities and situated herself against a stack of pillows, eager to ride the coat-tails of inspiration before it left much too hastily as it often did. With the pad of paper propped against the angle of her legs, Evie began to draw with hope and whimsy to guide her fingers.

The slight grit of the artist's paper instilled her with surgical focus as she raked the chunk of charcoal across the page. She felt brazen diving into a piece with no plan, kindling a hint of foolish confidence. Charcoal was a messy medium to work with, though she preferred it to graphite; the shading was always so much more substantial and dramatic than what could be done with pencil. Graphite was an excellent crutch, and she often used it to lightly sketch out a piece before filling it in. Yet, as she worked with only memory and no guide, Evie had never felt more adept in her skill.

Time seemed to stand still as she worked. And when the soft tendrils of morning light were slowly devouring the shine of the stars out her window, she had finished.

To the naked eye, the piece would look flawless. Evie though could pinpoint each tiny error. Still, she smiled at the image shear impulse had created.

The figure sat at the counter alone—smoke from those around him a halo above his curls—his finger absently tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. The stranger's face was handsome, but beneath his beauty, a peculiar sadness dwelled to darken his sharp features. He was lost somewhere, in his thoughts or his memories, unable to combat them without a vice to help chase them away.

The narrative of the figure she'd drawn stirred a hint of mystery and melancholy—who was the man sitting alone with only his drink as company? What tragedy had stolen the joy from his handsome features?

One day I'll know… Evie promised herself smiling gently at the man in her drawing.

She dated the bottom corner and began to write Merriell's name on the back until she stopped a moment before titling the piece Beautiful Stranger #01, instead.

Before long, a yawn overtook Evie's pleasant expression making the notion of rest finally tangible. Sketching had settled her mind, as it usually did, and she carefully tucked all her supplies away before reaching for the pull chain on her bedside lamp. She hesitated, fingers barely touching the cool metal as her eyes wandered over to the latch on her bedroom door.

It was locked; Jonny could not hurt her that night.

As she had hoped, sleep was restful and empty, yet those hours of slumber managed to feel like a blip. When she woke, Evie did so with a jolt, knowing without the aid of a clock, she had overslept.

"No no no no no…" She panicked, almost rolling out of bed and onto the floor in her haste.

She dressed in a whirlwind, pinning her hair out of her face with so little time to braid it properly. Two and a half blocks were all that stood between her and the bus stop, which on any other day Evie would have easily walked to catch a ride into town. But, the morning stop was well past its pick up; the bus would only return in the evening to drop everyone else back off. Birdie's general store was several miles away, nestled in the heart of Bridge City. And as a seasoned New Yorker, Evie knew she could walk the distance without getting winded, but time was her enemy. She needed to get to work as soon as possible, which meant her only choice was to borrow Jonny's car.

Unsurprisingly, he was still asleep when she worked up the nerve to tip-toe into his messy chamber. There was a foul stench in his room that smelled of alcohol mixed with body odor. She'd stopped doing his laundry when she told him she was going to go find a job (something she shouldn't have started to do in the first place), and it seemed as though he'd stopped doing it too.

"Jonny…" she whispered forcefully in an attempt to wake him easily.

He did little more than shift and groan in response, making Evie frown. She did not have time to coddle him.

"Jonny!"

That time his grown sounded irritated, and he frowned, refusing to open his eyes.

"What?!"

He was already pissed.

"I'm late for work, could I borrow the car?"

"No," he said without hesitation. "I need the car later to go into town."

Jonny rolled over, away from Evelyn, seeming to go back to sleep. His sheer lack of humility and motivation set Evie's teeth against each other as annoyance seeped into every trace of her expression and demeanor.

"Then you have to give me a ride," she said sternly.

Jonny rolled onto his back, red-faced and angry.

"Jesus, Evelyn! Can't you take the fucking bus? I've got a headache!"

Evie's eyes narrowed, and she stomped forward to the edge of his bed, fire burning.

"No. I can't take the fucking bus, Jonny. I missed the pickup. So I am either taking the car, or you are giving me a ride because I am not walking five miles into town when you won't even do your own damn laundry! Heaven forbid you get a job!"

"Fine! Fine!...Christ, woman. Shut up…" He held up his hands, waving them in an attempt to put an end to her shouting. "Lemme get dressed."

"Quickly," she warned, stomping out of his room so she could take a breath out of the toxicity of where he slept.

He was not quick.

No doubt, Jonny, as a form of retaliation, purposely took his time. And as alluring a notion it was to storm in and start another spat, Evie knew it was better to let him be. He was going to take her to work, that was all she needed—she'd won that round.

With a sigh, she made herself a cup of coffee and sipped as she leaned against the counter, ready to abandon her mug on a moment's notice, knowing if she wasn't following him the moment he trudged out of his room, he'd turn every shade of red and start screaming again. How anyone could harness so much hostility was beyond Evie's ability to comprehend. It seemed tiring, for one. But who willingly acted the way Jonny did thinking it was right? Even sober his temper took little to irritate. Meanness was in his soul, and Evie couldn't even pity him.

"Let's go. Now!" Jonny grumbled as he sped through the house, snatching his keys from their hook on his way out the door.

He didn't even bother casting her a glance and Evie could do nothing but frown as she placed her half-drunk mug of coffee in the sink, following him over the threshold. It was mornings such as that when Evelyn wished she'd stayed in New York City. She missed friendly faces who greeted her in the early hours of the day: the smell of her mother making breakfast while her father drank his coffee reading the paper. But all that happiness had soured; there were more ghosts back home than there were friendly faces, and Evie was not strong enough to weather them.

The ride into town was mostly quiet—uncomfortable—but quiet.

That was until Jonny felt brave enough to comment on how irresponsible she'd been for oversleeping.

"I'm irresponsible?" Evie glared, dumbfounded. "At least I have a job to be late for, Jonny!"

His face turned one of those alarming shades of red Evie was so insufferably used to.

"It's hard for me to work with my arm all fucked up!"

Her eyes narrowed, "You and I both know that's a load of bull—you were not discharged from the Army because you took shrapnel."

Jonny's jaw was set tight, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. It was obvious he wanted to argue, but he knew he was cornered.

"You're just lazy, Jonny. And you don't take orders." Evie continued. "You can tell everyone your sob story from the war, but you are not fooling me."

The interior of the car was silent again, and while the air was definitely cumbersome, Evie felt a tingle of righteousness trickle through her. Perhaps she had been irresponsible for missing the bus that morning, but she was trying, which was far more than Jonny had done.

It was so easy for veterans to get jobs; over a year ago, places were hiring women in droves. In 1947, Evie was lucky to have found a job. With the war over everyone wanted a soldier working for them—a young man who was hardworking and trustworthy—a man who could take orders and would not bite back at authority. Jonny had never been that kind of soldier, thus he would never be that kind of worker.

As for whether or not he'd taken shrapnel during the war remained to be seen. It was possible, but Jonny lied all the time, especially when he could get something from doing so. The notion of his alleged injury only came up when he needed a crutch to get out of something, or a way for some unknowing kind soul to shower him with pity. Not once had he complained about a bad arm when it didn't benefit him.

Nevertheless, that was the story he'd told everyone when he'd returned home in '43. He thrived on the attention and pity the sob story rendered, and in the beginning, Evie'd been one of them until she'd found his discharge papers during the chaos of moving.

According to the documentation, not only was he insubordinate for the duration of his time in the service, he'd also threatened a member of his platoon at gunpoint while under the influence. The only reason he wasn't court-martialed was that he never fired his weapon. Why she'd been surprised to learn of the matter of his removal, Evie wasn't sure. But after living with him for eighteen months it was not a difficult conclusion to figure.

"I'll pick you up at five," Jonny mumbled when he pulled up to the curb outside the general store.

Even if she had wanted to, Evie didn’t have time to offer any thanks before Johnny sped away–the passenger door slamming shut from the force. She stood in awe, a heavy sigh parting her lips, head shaking, as she watched his reckless vehicle speed down main street and out of sight. He would be in a rotten mood all day, something Evie was almost certain would come to haunt her before the day was over. And while the notion of enduring whatever fit Jonny’s temper cooked up just for her, she decided not to dwell on it. There was too little good in her life to let the threat of a “could be” situation ruin a day in Birdie’s company. She would make the most of what she could. She had to.

Thankfully, the interior of the general store was quiet when Evie crossed the stepped inside. Instantly, the warm atmosphere and rich scents of old lumber and barrels of coffee beans put to rest the remaining ire left in her system, bringing a soft, contented smile to her lips.

Evie placed her bag behind the counter and reached for her navy apron hanging on the hook by the window.

“Birdie?” She called, hearing the older woman’s soft humming coming from somewhere in the building.

“Back here, dearie.” She answered. “Come an’ gimmie a hand, would ya?”

Evie followed the sound of her boss’ voice, finding the old woman in the farthest part of the store, stocking the shelves with jars of preserves. Birdie tossed her a welcome smile over her shoulder.

“Mornin’, Evie.”

“Morning—sorry I’m late, Birdie.”

The old woman’s brows knit together, and she searched her store for a clock with a glance.

“Are ya?” She shrugged. “Coulda fooled me. Just help me with this, yeah?”

“Okay, sure. No problem.” Evie nodded, smiling at the woman’s nonchalance.

Birdie patted her on the back and continued to place jars on the shelf, humming.

Work that afternoon was not profoundly exciting, but what it lacked in thrill it made up for in repose. The routine was relaxed and, despite the doldrums, the hours ticked by. She spent her morning placing the new inventory and making sure everything was priced how it should be, then she would finish her shift at the counter, ringing out customers while Birdie made lists of what needed to be ordered in the future.

Evie liked her time at the front the best. Most of the patrons who stopped in were friends of Birdie’s or her late husband Cecil, and the old woman would regularly introduce Evie with a smile. Chatting with those friendly strangers always helped bring some light into Evelyn's life, and little by little the residents of Bridge City were beginning to make her feel at home.

It was nearing closing time when Evie found herself in the far corner of the store sweeping the floors. How fitting it was to begin and end her shift in the same area of the building—a thought that made her smile as she focused on the movement of bristles against the wood. That fleeting tickle of jovial musings waned as the usual bought of melancholy that accompanied the end of another shift hit without mercy. Knowing she was to leave the serenity of the old general store to endure another evening of loneliness or Jonny—an angry Jonny—always twisted sickly in her stomach and made her frown.

If she was lucky, his frustration would heed a night of debauchery in New Orleans with his group of friends, leaving her alone in the old cottage for the majority of the night. Even then, she’d be left in the quiet to contemplate the grief in her heart; either way, there was no winning.

“Hiya, Birdie.” Came the sound of a familiar thick accent. “Got any smokes?”

Evie perked up instantly, suddenly hearing only the muffled beat of her heart in her ears. Excitement felt like fire in her veins, and all at once she was light-headed—Evie had never felt more ridiculous.

In an attempt not to seem obvious, she began working her pile of dust to the front of the store, eager to investigate the voice.

“There she is!” Birdie grinned causing Evie to look up with a nervous smile.

Merriell was leaning against the counter, his expression holding that charming smirk he seemed to wear with pride. His jeans were ratty—a hole at each knee—the blue denim blackened with grease stains here and there. The white shirt he wore was just as dirty but was free of any visible tears. It did, however, hug his lean frame in such a way Evie had a difficult time not staring.

“Evelyn, dearie. Ya never mentioned ya knew Merry!”

Mer made a sour face, but his smile remained.

“Oof,” he cringed. “Birdie, ain’t no one called me Merry since I was eight!”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she placed her hand on her hip with enough sass to shake the very foundation of the old general store.

“Merry Shelton, I’ve known you since you was toddlin’ ‘round here in nuthin’ but ya birthday suit. ‘Cause ya mama—try as she might—could not keep ya in ya clothes. All of which entitles me ta call ya whatevah the hell I damn well please!”

Merriell chuckled and leaned over the counter to plant a kiss on Birdie’s cheek.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.”

As the two of them laughed, the depth of their loving history caused Evie to smile. She was glad that Merriell had Birdie, and that Birdie had him. Whatever their stories were, whether light or darkness trailed behind them, at least they had one another.

“Ev, darlin’. Tell me how it was ya came ta know my handsome, Merry.”

“Her car broke down a few days back,” Mer cut in before Evie could gather her words. “She came in ta Doc’s askin’ ta use the phone ta call a mechanic.”

Birdie’s smile grew, something mischievous twinkling in her eyes as she passed a glance between the two of them. All at once, she was greatly intrigued with the two of them.

“Did ya fix it for her?”

“Sho did,” Merriell grinned smugly. “An’ as a thank you, I got me the best Italian home-cookin' I evah had.”

Birdie’s smile turned to Evie, her salt and pepper brow raised with query.

“Are ya Italian?”

Evie shook her head, “Irish, actually. But my ma lived across the hall from an Italian family after moving to the states when she was 18. They were kind enough to pass along a few recipes.”

“Oh, that’s nice. An’ I shoulda guessed you is Irish—all that red hair an freckles, gives it right way.” Birdie shook her head, seemingly disappointed in herself.

Evie smiled gently at the old woman’s reaction before turning back to Merriell.

“Thank you again for what you did.”

“Nah, thank you…” A shade of darkness flashed in his eyes, but he glanced away too quickly for Evie to gauge it properly.

It was as though he had something else to say, but thought better of it at the last moment, casting his glance around for some way to steer the conversation elsewhere. Finally, his wayward eyes came back to her, focusing on the broom in her hand.

“So…you enjoyin’ the job? Birdie’s bein’ nice, ain’t she?”

The old woman cast him a heavy frown, muttering a curse as she gave his arm a solid punch before snatching the broom from Evie and wandering into the store.

“She’s great,” Evie told him, leaving out the bit where Birdie was the only good thing consistent in her day-to-day life. “And I like it, it’s better than sitting at home.” Dealing with Jonny.

Mer nodded but said nothing else.

He never looked away from her though, his glance attentive and tender. He looked at her almost in—not quite awe—but something in that ballpark. It wasn’t something Evie was used to.

“So…why did you come in so close closing?” She asked in an attempt to thwart the blush his watchfulness began to stir.

His eyes pointed to a row of packaged cigarettes displayed on the counter.

“Birdie lets me bum smokes every time I fix somethin’ for her—or change a light bulb." Mer reached behind her for a pack, and Evie couldn’t help but watch the movement of his fingers as he opened the box and lit up.

“Do you always trade your skills for goods or services instead of cash?”

The corners of his mouth quirked into a small grin before he blew a stream of smoke out his nostrils.

“Sometimes a favah is the best currency ta have. Ya nevah know when ya gonna need a helpin’ hand.”

His expression softened from its usual wit to a guise brimming with compassion, something almost vulnerable. “I don’ eveah expect anything back though, helpin’ people’s just good for ya soul—money don’t mean nothin’ next ta that.”

All at once, some profound feeling worked through Evelyn’s body she didn’t quite understand. It was warm like every other feeling she’d reveled in on behalf of Mer’s presence. But suddenly it was so much stronger. Every part of her tingled; she was overcome with happiness and a sense of security.

Merriell's inherit generosity was a beacon she wanted nothing more than to cling to; the embodiment of southern hospitality. He was nothing like the New York indifference she was accustomed to.

“I suppose you’re right,” Evie said finally.

“‘Course I am,” Mer grinned, that hint of vulnerability swallowed by his arrogance.

“Does that mean you’re too good to have a real job like the rest of us shmucks?”

Merriell chuckled, flicking ashes from his cigarette into the tray beside the register before taking a long drag.

“Nah, I’m a workin’ shmuck too—necessary evil.”

“Ah…” Evie nodded, trying to match just a fraction of his charm. “Unfortunately so.”

As she watched him inhale a few more drags from his cigarette, a million questions began swimming about in her mind. Merriell was like a wayward summer breeze blowing in during the deepest part of winter—warm and whimsical but mysterious. There were a thousand things in his smile that made her yearn to know him at an intimate level, and a thousand more in the melancholy he held when he thought no one was looking.

There were so many layers to her beautiful stranger, each one harder than the last to uncover. But Evie was prepared to wait, to help him blossom, if he wanted.

Birdie returned to the front of the store with the broom and a full dustpan, dumping the trash into the bin beside the counter.

“Well, anothah day ovah. I prolly won’t be needin’ ya till ‘bout noon or one o’clock tomorrow, Evie. Sunday’s always slow before church lets out.”

“You sure?” Evie asked, beginning to untie her apron. “I don’t mind coming in early if you need me.”

Birdie shook her head, “I been running this place for a long time, it’s always run like clockwork—just like the folks that live here. Sunday mornin’ is for the lord, ain’t no one gonna be stoppin’ in ta buy nothin’ till they done prayin’.”

“I take it you’re not the church-going type?” Evie asked, brow raised.

Her mother had been raised Catholic, and as such, Aileen Clarke, raised Evelyn and James to be devout Catholics as well. She’d hoped at least. Evie admired the sense of community the church offered, but she never felt connected to it; her soul was too wild. Unlike so many, Evie didn’t judge a person for how or where they spent their Sundays.

“Oh, child. I got too many vices ta ask God for his forgiveness every week. We ain’t been on speakin’ terms for quite a while.”

Evie nodded, curious, but said nothing.

“Shelton’s feel the same way,” Mer added, speaking with his cigarette between his lips.

“Clarke’s too,” Evie said, feeling obliged. “What’s left of us at least…”

The space was quiet for a moment, her statement hanging somewhat awkwardly, and Evie quickly sought to remedy the cumbersome atmosphere.

“Okay, so noon tomorrow?”

Birdie nodded.

“You—uh…” Mer stood up a little straighter scratching the back of his head as his cigarette clung precariously to his bottom lip. “You need a ride home? I’d be happy ta take ya.”

The smile on Evelyn's face barely had time to form when Jonny’s voice broke the levity in the atmosphere.

“I’m her ride home.”

In his hand, he held a mediocre bouquet which he shoved into Evie’s grasp after pushing past Merriell.

Immediately confusion twisted onto her features as she glanced at the flowers.

“Jonny, what are these f—“

“I’m sorry I was a dick this morning.” He huffed without an ounce of any real sincerity. “I thought I’d make it up to you.”

A lump formed in the back of Evie’s throat she struggled to swallow, feeling uncomfortable with what his gift implied. She looked to Merriell, finding him watchful again, concern weighing on his brow.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers, Jonny. An apology would have been enough,” she said finally, looking back to her roommate.

Redness swelled on his face, his scowl growing deep as the onslaught of rage began to brew behind his eyes.

“Thanks though!” Evie said quickly in an attempt to keep his temper at bay.

He sighed, already irritated just from being there. “Are you ready to go?”

Jonny eyed Merriell maliciously, but once more Mer stood his ground unfazed.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Jonny added, his tone sounding darker.

All at once, alarm twisted her gut into anxious knots and every nerve in her body screamed out in warning not to follow Jonny home. And while everything inside begged her not to go, Evie did not want to cause a scene.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Let me just get my…”

Birdie handed her the bag she carried into work, her dark eyes conveying an air of caution. “I’ll be seein’ ya tomorrow, dearie.”

“Yeah, tomorrow—have a good night Birdie,” Evie said.

She stopped in front of Merriell on her way out the door, meeting his gaze, finding his eyes fierce with concern.

“See ya around?” Evie asked as Jonny yanked her by the wrist towards the door.

“Count on it.”

It was that intensity in Merriell's eyes when he spoke that kept the fear at bay. And all Evie could do was hope it would help see her through whatever awaited her when she got home too.

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[alottanothing]

* = implied smut (non explicit material) ** = smut (explicit material)

Character Mood Boards

Request Prompts

Hope [8/20/21] WC: 3604 Run away. Run away was a strangely powerful instinct, especially when that instinct was born from grief. And grief alone was dangerous. [...] For Evelyn, she feared what grief may twist her into. And so, she ran the first chance she got.

Kismet [9/24/21] WC: 5707 Jonny did not know how to keep a house. In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. [...] And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Count On It [10/31/21] WC: 5691 For four days, Merriell Shelton was a stranger. Four days of unexpected longing. Four days of Evie choosing not to read them as the universe telling her the encounter she'd had with Mr. Shelton was nothing more than a whim. Four long days of nothing but work, and Jonny Doyle to occupy the hours of her life.

The Storm [12/08/21] WC: 5314 The rain was falling in sheets. It was as though the heavens themselves had opened up to pour upon the earth a miserable malaise to make Evelyn's evening even more overwhelming. [...] But not even the ferocity of the weather could hold a candle to the rage of emotions swirling like a vortex inside of her.

Fresh Air [1/13/2022] WC: 6384 The night howled with the fury of a beast, but morning arrived soft like a whisper. Sunbeams trickled in little columns of radiance through the break in the curtains; the sound of birds singing their cheerful lilt offered a reprieve from the booming of the storm. The gentleness of late dawn and the solace of waking under the protection of the Shelton roof brought a smile to Evelyn's face [...] Knowing Mer was somewhere close [...] filled her with a giddy, hopeful warmth.

Baggage [2/09/22] WC: 3514 The cab of Mer’s truck was quiet as he drove; the world outside seeming far away, somehow. Still, the sound of the small-town whispering in from the open windows filled the space, offering a peaceful soundtrack in which to ponder. With so much to work through in their heads, words felt too arduous to try to string together cohesively.

The Favor [3/09/22] WC: 5194 The first handful of weeks living with Merriell Shelton were the happiest, safest, weeks Evie had lived since being persuaded south. [...] No more did she spend her nights fearfully barricaded in her room; no more did she need to walk on eggshells—scared of lighting the fuse of a dishonorable man’s temper. No more Jonny Doyle.

[alottanothing]

Coming Sometime in August!

I’m Back! Sorta!

Okay, I never really left, but I’m back with an actual contribution to the fandom!

So this series has been in the works since before Left to Ruin was complete, which makes this a long time coming. This will be an ongoing series, meaning that it has no definite ending yet; which leaves it open for potential requests if you guys enjoy the characters/tone/settings and such. This is new for me. Usually, I have a finite end in mind when I post something, but this is literally just domestic af Merriell stuff, more lighthearted stuff than LtR as a whole.

Since this is an on-going thing, I, unfortunately, won’t have weekly updates like Left to Ruin, I’m thinking either monthly or twice monthly depending on my muses. I can say that I have 16 outlines for various parts ready to be written out, so I’m not completely in the dark. My goal is to have this “on in the background” while I work on the second part to LtR I’m calling Now and Forever--so you guys can occupy yourselves with this until that is done.

If you want to be tagged in this let me know. It's a Merriell x Original Character like LtR was (with an OC). I've just always used OCs and I feel the most comfortable writing with them. So if you only like reader interest pieces only, I totally get it. Just wanted to let everyone know.

I'll be posting a lil summary on my Masterlist page here soon so you guys know the jest. Keep a lookout, and feel free to ask questions if you have them Idk what kind of questions you'd have, but I'm friendly and like to chat.

Also, Shout out to @freebooter4ever. Her wonderful Rami doodles became a huge part of this, and she was kind enough to conjure up a doodle specifically for this!

[alottanothing]

Masterlist

Ahkmenrah (Night at the Museum)

Left to Ruin [multi-chapter] (5/29/20-11/20/20) WC: 144k Before Ahkmenrah was a relic in a museum, he was the pharaoh of one of the world's greatest empires. His life was spent to its fullest, with the people he loved, and ended by one who did not love him in return. 

Elliot Alderson (Mr. Robot)

Black Friday (12/08/19) WC: 8k After convincing Elliot to go out for an impromptu Thanksgiving, Darlene also manages to rope him into Black Friday shopping. Lots of Alderson Sibling bickering and fluff. I just want them to be happy damnit

Merriell "Snafu" Shelton (The Pacific)

Beautiful Stranger Series [Multi-Part] Spring of 1947, the world and wannabe artist Evelyn Clarke are healing after the war has ended. Orphaned, and with grief in her heart, she flees from the only home she's known, finding herself in a little burg nestled along the Mississippi, just a stone's throw from New Orleans. There she meets a man, who's charm masks the same demons she's carried for over a year, and together, they realize they can finally heal.

Rami Malek

Ghosted [collaboration with @sherlollydramoine] (11/03/20) WC: 8K During the production of his current film, Rami convinces you to move into a charming home, only a few miles away from Salem. The charm of your new home fades however when you realize you are not the only thing living within the walls of the old house.

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Waitin' on the Day Series [Multi-Part] ongoing In 1978, Eddie Munson found himself abandoned, left in the care of the only person who ever seemed to care for him, his uncle. Following Hawkins' golden-hearted 'Freak', on his ventures through school and beyond, where he meets a girl from the big city who changes his life.

Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Cowboy Casanova [one shot] (7/02/24) When your evening ride is interrupted by a horse thief, your handsome outlaw comes to your rescue.

[alottanothing]

To anyone keeping up with this series of mine, I will soon be posting the next part (I know, it's been almost 2 months). So if you need a refresher, or just want to read the previous parts again, this masterlist if finally up to date!

* = implied smut (non explicit material) ** = smut (explicit material)

Character Mood Boards

Request Prompts

Hope [8/20/21] WC: 3604 Run away. Run away was a strangely powerful instinct, especially when that instinct was born from grief. And grief alone was dangerous. [...] For Evelyn, she feared what grief may twist her into. And so, she ran the first chance she got.

Kismet [9/24/21] WC: 5707 Jonny did not know how to keep a house. In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. [...] And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Count On It [10/31/21] WC: 5691 For four days, Merriell Shelton was a stranger. Four days of unexpected longing. Four days of Evie choosing not to read them as the universe telling her the encounter she'd had with Mr. Shelton was nothing more than a whim. Four long days of nothing but work, and Jonny Doyle to occupy the hours of her life.

The Storm [12/08/21] WC: 5314 The rain was falling in sheets. It was as though the heavens themselves had opened up to pour upon the earth a miserable malaise to make Evelyn's evening even more overwhelming. [...] But not even the ferocity of the weather could hold a candle to the rage of emotions swirling like a vortex inside of her.

Fresh Air [1/13/2022] WC: 6384 The night howled with the fury of a beast, but morning arrived soft like a whisper. Sunbeams trickled in little columns of radiance through the break in the curtains; the sound of birds singing their cheerful lilt offered a reprieve from the booming of the storm. The gentleness of late dawn and the solace of waking under the protection of the Shelton roof brought a smile to Evelyn's face [...] Knowing Mer was somewhere close [...] filled her with a giddy, hopeful warmth.

Baggage [2/09/22] WC: 3514 The cab of Mer’s truck was quiet as he drove; the world outside seeming far away, somehow. Still, the sound of the small-town whispering in from the open windows filled the space, offering a peaceful soundtrack in which to ponder. With so much to work through in their heads, words felt too arduous to try to string together cohesively.

The Favor [3/09/22] WC: 5194 The first handful of weeks living with Merriell Shelton were the happiest, safest, weeks Evie had lived since being persuaded south. [...] No more did she spend her nights fearfully barricaded in her room; no more did she need to walk on eggshells—scared of lighting the fuse of a dishonorable man’s temper. No more Jonny Doyle.

[alottanothing]

Apparently the tags didn’t work the first time, so let me try again.

@ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar & @xmxisxforxmaybe

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[alottanothing]

The first part is going up next Friday (8/20/21)! Be sure to let me know (if you haven’t already) if you would like to be tagged! ❤️

Coming Sometime in August!

I’m Back! Sorta!

Okay, I never really left, but I’m back with an actual contribution to the fandom!

So this series has been in the works since before Left to Ruin was complete, which makes this a long time coming. This will be an ongoing series, meaning that it has no definite ending yet; which leaves it open for potential requests if you guys enjoy the characters/tone/settings and such. This is new for me. Usually, I have a finite end in mind when I post something, but this is literally just domestic af Merriell stuff, more lighthearted stuff than LtR as a whole.

Since this is an on-going thing, I, unfortunately, won’t have weekly updates like Left to Ruin, I’m thinking either monthly or twice monthly depending on my muses. I can say that I have 16 outlines for various parts ready to be written out, so I’m not completely in the dark. My goal is to have this “on in the background” while I work on the second part to LtR I’m calling Now and Forever--so you guys can occupy yourselves with this until that is done.

If you want to be tagged in this let me know. It's a Merriell x Original Character like LtR was (with an OC). I've just always used OCs and I feel the most comfortable writing with them. So if you only like reader interest pieces only, I totally get it. Just wanted to let everyone know.

I'll be posting a lil summary on my Masterlist page here soon so you guys know the jest. Keep a lookout, and feel free to ask questions if you have them Idk what kind of questions you'd have, but I'm friendly and like to chat.

Also, Shout out to @freebooter4ever. Her wonderful Rami doodles became a huge part of this, and she was kind enough to conjure up a doodle specifically for this!