#and then my mom got her some maternity clothes and she didn't even say thank you

[guinevereslancelot]

feeling like my friends secretly hate me at it's not even 9pm

[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.

[fuckthisshitimin]

Top five pieces of clothing and Top five random moments with strangers ❤️❤️

Oh gosh this took me so much time to answer I don’t think answers were supposed to be this long x)

But those questions were so exciting so I let myself get carried away. Thanks for asking! And I hope this is what you meant by the questions.

Top five pieces of clothing!

My ripped 501. My stepmother gave it to me when I was in high school because she didn't wear it anymore, too small and holes around the ankles. She got it when she was in high school herself so it should be just a bit older than me, maybe 25 years old? It was my first good pair of jeans even though they were already a bit worn out. Time (and maybe not-so-legal high-school shenanigans) tore holes at the knees that now go seamline to seamline, below the back pockets and at the crotch. I wear them with boxers because you can see the bottom of my butt when I bend down and my crotch when I sit cross-legged, don't know how long they'll last but I won't stop wearing them until they're just tired threads. Plus, in 2018 I found a jean jacket (1€) that perfectly matches them and cropped it so it looks like an ensemble.

My control birefs+bralette Impromptu ensemble. It was my mom's and when I stumbled upon it (yes I go through her clothes a lot) she told me she didn't wear it anymore, hadn't in at least a decade. Considering she didn't wear bras before maternity, the size and the fact she started wearing different types of bras when she started working again, I'll date it around 1997/1998 or 2001-2003 (couldn't find out much about the brand but I did find a brand with that name that was in business between 2002 and 2012, so, maybe this one?). So now I wear it. And I do my best to make it visible.

My pink slip dress. I found it in the trash and yes, it is a bit worn out. I can't know for sure but between the style, other pieces of undergarment and a top I found with it (all together), I get very strong 80s vibes from it? It's definitely not 21st century, and also definitely post 1950's, at first it made me thing of the 60s but it seems a bit too short (it is very short on me but it's a size too small), so... Also, yes, I wear it as an actual dress as much as I wear it as an underdress. Make sure to have nice underwear because it is quite see-through.

My loose knit long sleeved top. It was my mother's, and she stopped wearing it because it got torn and the hole is impossible to miss. It's see-through so I get to show off cool underwear with it.

My little black dress. The item in this list I spent the most money on, which was 3€, and also the most recent, it's probably 2010s. It's a simple textured strap very very minidress, tight and form fitting. It's a bit plain on its own but it is the easiest thing to style, for any season, I got it in a thrift store in 2019, I think?

Top 5 random moments with strangers

Okay, the award goes to this one train ride. It’s a trainline that goes from the big city to the smaller cities in the region, so there’s several trains every hour and some people take it every day, but it’s still less frequented than subways, streetcars or even other trainlines (like RER, don’t know of equivalents outside of France), and it has its own rules. Before the prefecture decided it was a major problem to be solved, the last car on this train was unofficially the smoking car. It is common knowledge and I have rarely seen people stumbling accidentally upon this car (twice exactly) and being taken aback by the pot. So it’s a loud, chill and convivial car (well used to be), we borrow lighters, or tobacco, and if I just wanna smoke my cigarette and listen to my music I know no one will bother me. This one day we stopped. For a long moment. With no explanation. And I mean, like... five minutes into the ride. We barely had left the station. So people started chatting, mingling even more, borrowing phones to call and say they’d be late, asking if anyone had news or making up theories. Normally, the motto is: in the winter, the tracks are frozen, in the spring, animals are barring the road, in the summer, it’s too hot, in the autumn, there are leaves on the tracks, but this normally happens further into the countryside, not there. The girl across from me was an art student, the others didn’t mention, but when we got the news. Someone was riding the train. Not inside. Nope, some guy had almost missed the train and had decided he lived in a movie, and so he jumped on the train and held hard and had held on for a good five minutes before he was spotted. He was fine, by the way. But the collective laughter. Most calls after that were on speakers, and we’d observe a silence when another passenger announced “The train is late, someone jumped on the train” and we’d laugh at any reaction. I miss the smoking car.

A few months back I hit a bit of a rough patch and so I screwed around and spent money I didn’t have, so, yikes. On my way home from school there were people skip diving and I was hungry, and I knew I didn’t have food home, and there was so much. But I am middle-class, like, I know if I asked to borrow money from my mom or friends it would be okay, I even had emergency savings I could unlock (but for some reason food didn’t feel like an emergency???), and I knew that the people that were skip diving needed this far more than me, so I stood there, looking at the vegetables with envy and thinking I’d stick around and help keeping the skip up, open and leaning, and if there was anything left I’d take that. Some woman asked if I wanted anything and I froze in place, and just shook my head. I couldn’t speak and barely muttered anything but this one guy saved a bundle of leek for me, tried to give me other things but I knew I just had to get through one week so it was enough. After that a lady in a bakery came to give us bread that they would have thrown out, and I accepted one, and damn, she was heaven-sent. Everyone was so bloody respectful and mindful of everybody else. I got through this week delightfully, and can never thank them enough for that.

Okay, a shorter one. Nothing really happened that time. Just. I was on the subway, and I saw someone sit next to me. Looked up by reflex and they looked up at the same time and our eyes met. And their eyes were a bit wide so I was wondering if something was going on, if someone was scaring them. We didn’t exchange a word but I observed them a bit, they were looking around, and then back to me. And I don’t know what this meant but it sure as hell meant something. We stared at each other like we were trying to remember when we met before. Then something made them jolt and they got up, but on their way they looked back at me, it was weirdly intense. We shared another two looks before they got off the car, I have no idea what happened, but it happened.

One night I was walking home around maybe 4AM, I had gotten bothered/whistled at a bit too much and was in a mood. Dressed in all black leather, face tight. And I spot a guy and a girl from the distance. They’re drunk, especially the girl, and they are half making-out but she doesn’t look like she can stand straight without leaning on him or the wall. She’s laughing but still shady. They’re on my way so I keep walking, observing a bit and pausing my music so I can hear what they are saying. Nothing alarming, but I must have looked quite pissed still because the moment the guy spots me he steps away from the girl, holds his hands up and says “everything is alright”. He looked scared it was the funniest thing. I didn’t answer him and just looked at the girl, made eye-contact, and asked if she was okay. She looked drunk but like she was thinking straight and when she assured me she was fine I lingered just a second to make sure then nodded to her and to him too and walked away. This is one of my funniest memories.

On the day after Valentine’s day, I found a white rose in the trash. I took it and put it in my hair. One guy spotted me. We made finger guns at each other. Short, delightful, satisfying interaction.

[lovingthereign25]

For Better or Worse

CH.2

Roman was back in town today, and it was his night to have the girls. Your in the kitchen finishing up lunch when you phone rings,and Roman's name comes across your screen."Hey Roman, what's up?" You answer. " Hey, I was just wondering if I could have the girls next Friday for Mom's birthday?" He asks "Yea absolutely, I'll send her gift  with them if that's OK?" You respond " That's fine, you got her something?" He asks, "Yeah, I actually got it a few months back'' you explain "hey, since I got you on the phone I was thinking maybe tomorrow night when I drop the girls off we could sit down and try to talk, yanno try to work this mess out"  he sounds so heartbroken "Yea, I guess so sounds good." You say "alright, well I'll be there in an hour or so thanks again for next Friday" he says before saying goodbye and hanging up. You walk into your living room looking at all the memories you and Roman had made over the years pictures from your wedding, maternity photos, holidays, birthdays,vacations, you smile seeing how happy you were and you can't help but think where'd it go wrong? What Happened? You and Roman were so in love, so happy, You smile remembering each moment. It wasn't that you didn't love Roman anymore you did just as much as you ever did maybe even more , it wasn't that he was on the road and only home a number of days , you accepted that it was once your life too. The problem was however the fights and how each time they seemed to get worse and more frequent the two of you would get to a point where you would say things just to hurt the other more, Roman would go his way you'd go your way never apologizing just simply moving on. Somewhere in the midst of it all you both stopped saying your "I love you"s that's what hurt you most feeling as though the love had been sucked out of your marriage.

**3 Months ago**

Today was your and Roman's Anniversary. You have been planning tonight for weeks, your sister had flown in to babysit the kids, you were making Roman his favorite meal for dinner followed by cheesecake for dessert. Everything was ready for when Roman arrived from being at a live event . "Okay, Roman will be here in a few hours, thanks again for coming to watch the girls Cecily" you say hugging your younger sister. "No problem gives me an excuse to see my beautiful nieces and spoil them" she smiles you roll your eyes at her giving your daughters a kiss " Behave for Aunt CeCe, I love you girls" you wave goodbye "love you mommy" they say in unison walking off. You head upstairs to shower and get ready for the night you planned for your husband after slipping into one of Roman's gifts you decide to send him a sneak peak of just what he'll be coming home too. 

Y/n: Happy Anniversary Baby! Can't wait for you to get home😘 

Roman: Jesus Y/n! Happy Anniversary Beautiful! I love you more each day that passes! Damn I can't wait to be rip that off you and fuck you senseless😜

Y/n: Me either Daddy! See you soon Big Dog! I love you.

Roman: I love you more baby! 

Roman Finally arrives home you greet him with a kiss that quickly turns very heated, Roman hands start to roam your body going closer and closer to your heat just and he's about to slip his hand into your panties you stop him."No No No Baby, Dinner and dessert then we play" you smile kissing his lips once more. " Mmm..you mean you're not dessert?" He asks. You shake your head no and lead him to the dining room, after your meal Roman goes to his luggage and brings you a huge box." Roman, what's this I thought he agreed no gifts this year" you say shocked " I know but I had this idea for a while now and just decided our anniversary was the best occasion to put it in motion." He says handing you the box. You look at him for a few seconds smiling at how amazing he is then open your gift. As you take it out you see its canvas of your and Roman's wedding vows with the day you got married and both your names.

"Oh My God Ro, I love this, Thank you baby!" You say with tears in your eyes, Roman hangs the canvas in your living room right above your couch "okay now let's get you upstairs so I can get my gift" he winks "Yea, oh but first I have something for you" you say grabbing the bag with Roman's gift handing it to him. "What's this?, No gifts I thought" he said mocking you from a few minutes earlier " Well I knew you would get me something even though we said no gifts so I got you a little something but nothing compared to what you got for me'' you say smiling . Roman opens his gifts immediately starts to laugh seeing the mug you bought for him

"Wow that's hilarious, thank you baby I love it!" He says kissing you."Now can I take my sexy wife up stairs and have my way with her?" He asks kissing your shoulder ,then neck. "Mmm.. Why go all the way upstairs, we have a perfectly good couch right here, or table" you wink at him Roman grabs you hand leading you to the couch he starts slowly kissing down your body lips, jawline, neck so on and so on until he reaches you stomach " Baby you're wearing too many pieces of clothing, let's lose some" he mumbled still kissing down your stomach to your thighs. He pulls you panties off admiring your wetness " Damn baby who made you this wet?" he growls "You did Daddy" you moan just as he was about to taste you , you stop him " Ro, make love to me, please" you beg "Anything you want baby girl" Roman says making his way back to your lips kissing you deeply as he removed your bra, he slowly laid you back positioned himself at your entrance and slowly slide into to you "God Y/n you're so fucking tight" he moans starting to thrust Roman gets a steady pace going not to fast but not too slow kissing you with each stroke " Shit Roman you feel so good" you whisper "Go Deeper Ro please" you nearly beg Roman obeys going deeper into your core until he can't anymore "Damn Y/n I love you so much "he breathes " I-I love you too Ro" you say about to reach your high "I'm close babe" you tell him "Right behind you love" he says thrusting sloppy now after a few more thrusts Roman and you climax together moans filling the room. "Happy anniversary Big Dog" you say trying to catch your breath "Happy anniversary baby" he says softly kissing your head.

**present day**

You were relaxing out by the pool, listening to music laying in the sun clearing your head when suddenly you heard a familiar voice coming from inside your home, "Y/n? Roman? , girls ? Anyone home ? Grandma is here!". Your mother was here. "Out by the pool mom" you yell from outside. "There's my baby" she says pulling you into her famous "Momma Bear" hug "where is everyone?"she asks looking around, how were you gonna explain to your mother that Roman her favorite son-in-law no longer lived here and  explain how you two were getting a divorce.

*Your sneak peak:

* Your gift from Roman:

*Your gift to Roman: