Eve: In.

Eve: INN.

Eve: It’s North Year’s even! Don’t be at the inn!

Her next text was a series of wine emojis. He chuckled and glanced at the time. Judging by the misspellings, she was a little toasted.

Sawyer: It’s New Year’s eve, yes, but it’s six p.m.

Eve: Oh, right. Do I know how to party or WHAT? Anyway, don’t stay there. Do someone fun.

Sawyer: Hmm. Do someone fun. Who do you suggest?

Eve: SOMETHING.

Eve: Or, whatever, do SOMEONE if that’s your thing. I’m sure Pie an hook you up with someone.

Eve: PEARL

Sawyer: I go on duty at seven. Cops don’t get New Year’s eve off.

He stared at the phone for an embarrassingly long time. She didn’t reply.

He sighed and went to the kitchen to rinse his brush. The problem here, he was pretty sure, was that once you kissed Evie Abbott, it was hard to put the genie back in the bottle. A can of worms got opened. Whatever cliché you wanted to throw at it.

Because he was kidding himself with the whole recalibration thing. There had been none. Evie Abbott was the best woman he had ever met, and he wanted her so badly it made his teeth hurt.

It took three tries for Eve to get the charger cord plugged into her phone.

It was possible there had been a little too much New Year’s cheer.

But there! Third time’s the charm! Yay!

She got nothing but the battery-charging image, though. The thing was super dead. She’d turned the ringer off and gone back to her party when she and Sawyer started talking about the possibility of him “doing” someone. Not that he was going to.

But he could.

But he probably wouldn’t.

Because he was working.

Which wasn’t the same as because he didn’t want to.

Her thoughts landed on Sadie, the diner owner who supposedly had a crush on Sawyer. Who was Sadie? That she served up homemade hot beef sandwiches that were apparently the best in southwestern Ontario didn’t mean anything. That her cinnamon rolls were legendary was not of any concern to Eve. Even if Sawyer supposedly loved them.

Sadie loved Sawyer. Sawyer loved Sadie’s cinnamon rolls. Hmm. What was that diagram thingy called, with the overlapping circles?

She lurched toward the corner of the room, aiming for her desk so she could get a pen and paper to actually draw the diagram she couldn’t remember the name of, but realized too late that there was no desk in this room because this was no longer her room, she having moved out of her parents’ house years ago. It was a den.

She bonked into the bookcase.