Sophie
of Evan’s front door with my suitcase at my feet. My pulse pounds erratically, as if I’m in the middle of being chased by a crazed killer or trapped in a fight to the death. My mind is full of blaring alarms, and every part of my body is urging me to turn around and run.
Really, what the fuck am I thinking?
I lied to my parents, asked Audrey to cover for me, and willingly agreed to spend two weeks living under the same roof as Evan Knight. Not only that, but I decided to do all this in spite of what happened at that stupid party.
Going was a bad idea—I’d known that all along. So why did I go? Out of curiosity? Because I did deserve to have some fun?
I went because I’m an idiot, that’s why. And I’m here right now also because I’m an idiot.
If my Year 11 self could see me now, she would probably slap me in the face, or else take me to a hospital to have my head checked for significant brain damage.
Because what I’m doing is not only willingly entering the monster’s den, but agreeing to live with the monster for two weeks… after aggressively making out with said monster against a tree.
When I inevitably get devoured alive, I’ll have nobody but myself to blame.
I shake my head and pick up my suitcase. No. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not here out of stupidity—I’m here out of strategy, to serve my own interests. And I’ve picked up so many shifts at the café I’ll barely be in Evan’s house anyway.
Besides, I’m sure he’ll be up to his own stuff. He might not give a shit about his A-Levels, but he definitely gives a shit about sports, so there’ll be that, and I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have plenty of friends and girls to hang out with.
I ascend the steps to his door like they’re gallow stairs, bracing myself.
Before I can even knock on the door, it flies open and I’m faced with a beaming Evan. He’s in normal clothes, for once: jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Loose curls of sandy hair fall over his eyes and his cheeks are flushed as if from exertion. He smells… like cookies.
“Have you been baking?” I ask, peering around him.
“I’ve tried making cookies,” he responds brightly, taking my suitcase from my hands.
“Right… how come?”
I follow him inside and he closes the door behind me. The warm, sweet scent of cookies fills the foyer.
“I dunno, I thought it would be kind of a homey thing to do. It’s been ages since I’ve had company over for Christmas.”
I frown slightly. “Do you not spend Christmases with your family?”
“Eh, sometimes.” He shrugs. “But it’s difficult to get everybody in the same country at the same time. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“What stuff? I’ve got my suitcase and my backpack.”
“That’s all?”
“It’s not like I’m going to Paris Fashion Week. I’m going to be working most of the time.”
“Oh.” He stares at me for a moment, his smile wavering. I expected him to be cocky or obnoxious, but he’s not. In fact, he seems almost nervous. “Come on then, let me show you around.”
I nod and follow him on a tour of the house. It’s beautiful throughout: the dining room is simple yet tastefully decorated, the corridors upstairs all feature vases of flowers, paintings, plush rugs. Velvet curtains frame the tall windows and plant baskets hang in little nooks over armchairs. Even the bathrooms look amazing, with their marble flooring, lion-clawed bathtubs and enormous plants.
“This is my room,” Evan says, stopping in one corridor with his hand on a door handle. He gives me a sheepish look, and colour clouds the sharp plains of his cheeks. “Nothing much to see, I guess. Um, let me show you the guest room.”
He takes me to a room down the corridor. There, Chinese silk wallpaper in pale shades of green and gold adorns one wall, and the large French window gives way to a small balcony overlooking an enormous garden. A large bed with a headboard of padded green velvet dominates the room, complemented by sparse, tidy furniture.
“Uh, so this is your guest room,” Evan says, ruffling the back of his hair in a sheepish gesture. “There’s an en-suite, but it’s only got a shower, so if you fancy a bath, you have to use the big bathroom down the hall. And I think that’s everything.”
He stares at me while I take in my surroundings, and I realise my mouth has been wide open this whole time. I close it quickly and put my backpack down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Evan props my suitcase next to it and points to the wardrobe on the other side of the room.
“That’s the wardrobe,” he says uselessly. “So… yeah.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I’m suddenly aware of the strange intimacy of the situation. And with our disastrous and messy peace garden kiss hanging between us like a spectre, the situation is quickly becoming too tense to bear.
I clear my throat and say, “Thank you for letting me stay.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replies with a grin. “I’m gonna go check on the cookies if you want to get settled in or whatever?”
“I’m working later, so I’m just going to get ready and set off.”
“Oh.” Again, his disappointment is obvious. “Well, do you want a lift?”
Sitting alone in a car with Evan after everything that happened? Now that would really be a stupid thing to do.
“No, I have plenty of time to walk.”
“Right,” he says. “Right, right. Alright. Well, grab a cookie before you go.”
“Yes,” I nod. I’m blushing, and I don’t even know why. “I will. Thanks.”
“Right,” he repeats. “I’ll be downstairs, then.”
“Okay.”
Even though he’s so tall and broad-shouldered, there’s something childlike in the way he shrugs and marches out of the room. I stare after him, shocked at the realisation that I’m finding him kind of endearing. Maybe it’s the cookies, or that mop of curls falling softly into his eyes, or the way he’s being so weirdly courteous.
Or maybe it’s just a dangerous lapse in self-preservation on my part.
After emptying my backpack of everything apart from my travel essentials—earphones, purse, a book and a case for tissues, lip balm and hand sanitiser—I head downstairs. My coat is waiting for me on the coat hanger and I put it on before going into the kitchen just in case I need to make a quick exit.
I enter the kitchen to a scene of chaos: bags of flour and broken eggshells litter the counters, trays of cookies propped precariously wherever Evan found space to put them. He’s standing by the kitchen island, a look of intense concentration on his face as he carefully pipes icing onto flat white biscuits.
The artwork is dubious, but there’s something incongruously adorable about the way his tongue is sticking out, looking like he’s about to create the biscuit equivalent of the Sistine chapel.
“What did you make, then?” I ask, peering at the trays.
He looks up eagerly. “I’ve made chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies and snickerdoodles.”
Not exactly the kind of word I expected to come out of his mouth.
“Snickerdoodles?” I repeat, leaning over the tray. “I don’t think I’ve ever had those.”
“Oh, what? My mom made them every Christmas when we lived in Massachusetts. Here,” he grabs one off the tray and lifts it to my face. “Try one.”
I take the cookie from his hand because as homely as this is, letting him feed me a cookie would feel a bit too much like we’re playing mum and dad. He watches me expectantly as I take a big bite. My eyes widen.
“Fuck!” I say through my mouthful. “That’s amazing.”
Who would have thought the devil would be such a fine baker? I finish the cookie in a couple of bites, Evan watching me with delight.
“You like it?”
“Yes,” I say with some reluctance. I hesitate, then point at the cookie tray. “Can I take a couple for the road?”
“Yeah,” he beams, “have as many as you want. These will still be here when you come back anyway. You sure you don’t want a lift?”
I shake my head, wrapping two cookies in some kitchen towels. “No, I have plenty of time to walk. See you later.”
“See ya…”
Evan sounds like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t and I leave before things get awkward again.
the café, it’s bustling with customers, and Jess and Freddy are both behind the counter, taking orders and making coffees. Freddy looks up with a warm smile when I come in.
“My saviour!” he says when I slip behind the counter. “Do you know how glad we are to have you back?”
I laugh and point at the clock, which shows that there are still fifteen minutes to go before my shift starts. “Is that a hint to jump on now?”
Freddy grins. “I’ll pay you for the hour and you can have as many muffins as you want.”
“Fair.”
I drop my bag and coat off in the office, and hastily pull my apron on. Jess gives me a quick hug when I join her, and hands me two lattes in massive cups. “Will you be a sweetheart and take those to these two ladies over there?”
I nod and do what she asks. After that, the hours become one long blur of taking orders, popping muffins, cupcakes and brownies on little plates and making drinks, bringing them to tables, being kept chatting with chatty old ladies and clearing tables once they leave. Freddy makes sure to keep everything stocked up and helps with the drinks, since he’s brilliant at latte art and the customers love it. Jess, who is normally reserved and deadpan, always somehow becomes more animated and friendly the busier the café gets.
Eventually, night falls outside and there is finally a lull. Jess hops back onto the counter to rest her feet and Freddy immediately hands her a key lime cupcake, which she takes gratefully.
“How about I make you two a drink?” Freddy says. “What do you feel like? I’ll even make you a fancy latte if you want.”
“It’s too late for caffeine,” Jess says with a grimace. “Can I have a hot chocolate? With lots of marshmallows and cream?”
“Anything for you,” Freddy grins. “Sophie?”
“Same, please.”
My feet hurt, so I hop up next to Jess with a sigh of relief.
“How did your exams go?” Jess asks through a mouthful of cupcake.
I shake my head. “Stressful. Exhausting. Relentless.”
She laughs. “Yeah, sounds about right. I can relate. I’m surprised you’re not taking time off work to rest and chill.”
“I probably will take a few days off at Christmas, but I’m trying to make money while I can.”
“Fair, fair.”
Jess takes the mug of hot chocolate Freddy hands her and immediately takes a big bite of her whipped cream. Freddy hands me my cup and I take it with a smile.
“Thanks.”
“What are you saving up for, then?” Freddy asks, leaning against the counter with his own drink.
“I’m applying to universities abroad, so I’m saving for that.”
“Oh really?” Jess says. “I thought you’d be going Oxbridge.”
I laugh. “I’m applying, of course, but that’s mostly because my parents expect me to.”
“You don’t want to go?” Freddy asks with a look of surprise. “I thought it’d be right up your street.”
“Not really. After five years of Spearcrest, I’m ready to move on, and Oxbridge wouldn’t feel like moving on.”
“Where are you applying?” Jess asks. “If you don’t mind telling us, of course.”
“Well, I’m applying to most of the Ivy Leagues, but the one I want is Harvard.”
“Fuck me, Sophie!” Jess exclaims. “You’re not fucking around!”
“I admire your ambition,” Freddy says warmly, staring into my eyes. “You’re driven and unafraid of working hard for what you want. I think Harvard would be lucky to have you.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but luckily I’m saved from saying something embarrassing and awkward by the arrival of some customers. After that, it’s the final rush of the day, mostly orders to go, and then it’s finally time to close up.
“You go home, Sophie, we’ll close up,” Freddy says. “Thanks for today.”
“Yeah, go home and get lots of rest. You need to be full of energy for tomorrow!” Jess says giddily, bouncing around the shop watering the plants.
“What’s tomorrow?” I ask, glancing between Freddy and Jess as I remove my apron.
“Only the best day of the year,” Jess says with a little spin. “A magical day!”
Freddy laughs and hands me my coat and bag, which he fetches from the office.
“Tomorrow is when we put up the Christmas decorations,” he tells me with a broad smile. “Our parents used to do it every year, so it’s a bit of a tradition here at the Little Garden.”
“I can’t wait, then,” I say, putting on my coat and shrugging on my backpack. “I’ll make sure I’ve had plenty of sleep and a big breakfast, Jess.”
“You better!”
On the walk home, I can’t help but think of Freddy and Jess and their Christmas decorations.
The Little Garden sometimes feels like a dream world, a bubble away from the reality of my life. My parents don’t celebrate Christmas in a big way, but we always have a tree and some presents at Christmas.
Are they sad I’m not going to spend Christmas with them? When I told them about staying at Audrey’s for Christmas, they seemed happy, not sad at all. Mum gushed at the “opportunities” a friendship with Audrey’s family could present me in the future, and Dad told me to make sure I was on my best behaviour around them.
It’s not like I have anything to complain about. My parents have worked hard their whole lives and worked alongside people with more wealth and success than they’ll ever be able to aspire to. Now, they want nothing but the best for me, and they are aware of how difficult the best can be to get when you don’t start off with an advantage.
To them, Spearcrest is that advantage for me, and everything I do should be in service of my future, my success. There’s nothing wrong with that. I am the way I am thanks to them, and I have to remind myself to be grateful for that.
When I finally reach Evan’s house, I pause outside the gates. The house is enormous, towering over the pine trees around it, outlined by the faint starlight. Even amongst the massive houses on the street, this house is isolated, separated from the road by a long path and all those evergreens. I can see rectangles of light here and there, but the rest of the windows are dark. Such a big, empty house.
For the first time, I wonder how Evan feels about spending Christmas alone in this big house.
Asking him is out of the question, but when I enter the house, the first thing that strikes me is the silence. I check the kitchen, which he’s tried to tidy up with surprising success. The living room is ablaze with lights but as empty and pristine as usual.
I head upstairs to the guestroom to put my things down when I finally spot Evan.
His bedroom door is wide open, revealing a sprawling room, surprisingly tidy. An enormous TV is set on a low unit of dark wood, and Evan is sprawled in front of it on a pile of cushions. A game controller rests on his stomach, and the TV is flashing brightly coloured cartoons at the room, but he’s asleep. His mouth is slightly open, his chest is rising and falling slowly. At his side, there’s an empty plate with the corners of a sandwich left untouched, a glass half full of milk.
It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who’s been making my life a nightmare since Year 9, the guy who hoisted me against a tree and kissed me like he was starving and I was the last fruit on earth.
I stare at him for a moment, a weird sensation squeezing my heart. It’s not really affection, but something else, a sort of sadness—almost pity. There’s no reason to feel sorry for Evan: he’s as rich as it’s possible to be, privileged beyond belief. He will never worry about work or money.
And yet…
Padding across the soft blue rug, I kneel by Evan and poke his arm. There’s no response. From up close, it’s shocking how handsome he is, and I allow myself the indulgence of looking at him properly.
He was very pretty in Year 9 when I met him, but since then he’s grown more handsome—a sort of rugged, American handsomeness. Strong jaw, defined cheekbones, straight nose. His eyelashes are long and thick, just like his ridiculous hair. In sleep, he looks like a fairytale prince.
Of course, he’s closer to the wolf than the prince—but you couldn’t tell by looking at him.
I flick his cheek. His eyes snap open and he starts when he sees me.
“Sophie!”
My name slips from his lips like he didn’t even mean to say it. He probably didn’t. After all, he’s not called me by name for years. He sits up and wipes his face, scrunching up his handsome features with one hand.
“I fell asleep,” he explains uselessly.
“Really? Are you sure?”
He laughs. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Now you’re telling me something I didn’t know,” I retort. “It’s only eight o’clock. Do you always go to sleep this early?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says. “I was waiting for the guys to come online so we could game, but I fell asleep waiting.” He checks his phone and grimaces. “Zach is probably too busy obsessing over Theodora and I bet Sev is somewhere plotting some sort of plan to defeat his new arch-enemy, the fiancée.” He tosses his phone aside with a sigh. “Fucking sell-outs.”
I don’t see why he’s disclosing this stuff to me, but I have no interest in the complicated love lives of the Young Kings.
“Well…” I say, standing, “have you eaten?”
He points at the plate. “I made a sandwich.”
“That’s not a meal, though, is it? I thought you were meant to be all about health and fitness.”
“I am,” he says with a pout. “But I’m not great at cooking, and there’s nothing much in the fridge.”
I frown. “How do you normally feed yourself over the holidays?”
He shrugs. “My parents send me money, I usually order take-outs or make sandwiches.”
“Well,” I take a deep sigh and hope I’m not making a terrible mistake. “I’m going to need to eat, so… do you want to eat with me?”
He immediately sits up, and his eyes go three shades bluer like they’ve been lit up from the inside. “Yes! I’ll order anything you like.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m going to cook.”
“With what?”
“With ingredients.”
“But I don’t have any of those.”
“Right, that’s why I’m going to the shop.”
“Like… a grocery store?”
I roll my eyes. “I know you’re not too rich to know what a supermarket is, Evan.”
He raises both hands. “No, no, I just don’t go often. This is brilliant.” He leaps to his feet, almost headbutting me in his haste. “I’ll drive us. Let’s go shopping.”
He bounds off and I follow him. For some reason, his enthusiasm is both endearing and a little depressing. I make a mental note to buy some Christmas decorations while we’re at the supermarket.
Evan might be a complete and utter arsehole, but even arseholes deserve a bit of Christmas cheer.
