Page 49 of Cherry Picking

“Clearly.” He points the remote at her. “You’ll allow an old man a couple of nights of peace.”

“Fine.” She lets it slide with an easy shrug. “I’ll double the set after the holiday.”

He begins the slow business of hoisting himself onto the walker, waving me off when I move to assist. At the mouth of the hallway, he stops and looks back at the two of us on opposite ends of his sofa, and he winks at me. It isn’t subtle.

My father has never done anything subtly in his entire life.

“Night, kids,” he says, and vanishes into the hallway before I can find a response.

I turn toward the sink and start rinsing the dessert plates just to give my hands a task.

Evie hops up onto the counter beside me, close enough that her knee brushes my arm. She bumps my shoulder with hers. “So. Charlotte’s finest. You got other plans tonight, or is it just you and the dishes?”

I look at her. Six weeks of wanting to be in a room with her, and here we are, my father asleep on Christmas Eve.

“Depends,” I say. “Do you have something in mind?”

Her smile arrives slowly, and it’s a direct threat to my self-control. “Ever been a tourist in your own town, Maxwell?”

I take my time with the towel, drying my hands. “Why? You planning to make it worth the trip?”

“Oh, honey. I’m the best this valley has to offer.”

“Genuinely low bar,” I say, already reaching for my keys. “But I’ll let you take your best shot.”

CHAPTER 14

EVIE

Briggs insists on driving his rental rather than taking my car. It’s a black SUV that smells aggressively new and has obviously never once known struggle. He handles it with a casual wrist draped over the wheel while I give him directions.

“I grew up here,” he reminds me, turning onto Boulder Highway.

“Yeah, and you’ve been gone for a while.” I point at the windshield. “Tonight, you’re a tourist, and I’m the only guide in this town who works Christmas Eve. Downtown, please.”

“Not the Strip?”

“God, no.” I settle into the seat. “Told you. This is Evie’s Vegas adventure, not a bachelorette party.”

He looks over, and under the flicker of the streetlights, a smile fights its way out from beneath the mustache. He resists it, so I make it my personal mission for the night to ensure he loses that battle at every turn.

Our first stop is the El Cortez on Fremont. The carpet is hideous, the ceilings are claustrophobic, and the entire room is bathed in a stubborn, retro orange glow. I love it here for no logical reason.

I guide him to the craps table and drop forty dollars I definitely shouldn’t be spending, which he covers before the dealer can even reach for my bills.

“This is on my tab,” he says.

“Alright.”

He lifts a brow. “Just like that? You’re not even going to put up a fight?”

“No, I’m quite fond of the division of labor. You provide the capital, I provide the personality.” I stack the chips. “Do you actually know how to play this?”

“I’m aware there are dice involved.”

I stare at him. He meets my gaze without blinking.

“You’re serious.”