Teach Me Sweetly Read online

  Teach Me Sweetly

  Abby Gale

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  1. Eva

  2. Eva

  3. Elijah

  4. Eva

  5. Elijah

  6. Eva

  7. Eva

  8. Elijah

  9. Eva

  10. Elijah

  11. Eva

  12. Elijah

  13. Eva

  14. Elijah

  15. Eva

  16. Elijah

  17. Eva

  18. Elijah

  19. Eva

  20. Elijah

  21. Eva

  22. Elijah

  23. Elijah

  24. Eva

  25. Elijah

  26. Eva

  27. Elijah

  28. Eva

  29. Elijah

  30. Eva

  31. Elijah

  Epilogue

  If you liked Teach Me Sweetly

  Acknowledgement

  Other Books by Abby Gale

  About Abby Gale

  Teach Me Sweetly

  Copyright ©2018 by Abby Gale

  | All Rights Reserved |

  Cover illustration by PopKitty Design

  Edited by Keyrsten Robinson

  Proofread by Illuminate Author Services

  Book Formatted by Abby Gale

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except the brief quotations for reviews. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities were surely not intentional.

  Created with Vellum

  To everyone who has ever been sad.

  Always know there’s hope and light even in the darkest times.

  And to everyone who carries sadness in their hearts… even when they’re happy.

  There’s a beauty in your melancholy.

  “There is a life, and there is a death,

  And there are beauty and melancholy in between.”

  Albert Camus

  Prologue

  EVA

  I drink a sip of my too strong cocktail with a grimace, and keep staring at the cupcake in front of me like it holds all the secrets in the world. Like it can tell me what I did wrong to be sitting alone in this bar chair. On my eighteenth birthday. Without a friend or a parent to congratulate me on becoming an adult.

  Cheers and applause from a booth get my attention, and I turn my head to look. I see a girl around my age sitting in front of a cake and blowing out candles while those around her sing the Happy Birthday song at the top of their lungs drowning out the music playing in the bar.

  I don't see a familiar face in that group. Then, I notice the logo on their sweatshirts and t-shirts, The University of Puget Sound. They must be from Tacoma and probably here for the camping sites in the mountain our little town is famous for.

  I listen to their laughter and chatter. They sound so carefree, so happy.

  That’s how I should be spending my birthday, too. Being happy and carefree.

  With a sigh, I turn to stare at my cupcake.

  “Is it poisonous?” someone next to me asks.

  I turn my head to look at the source of the question to understand if it's directed at me. He looks really young, but I can't really guess his age. He has an edge that gives him a rugged and more mature look. The sharp jawline, thick eyebrows, straight nose, and high cheekbones scream all-male power. And it makes my heart beat faster. The only thing that doesn't suit that sharp look, is the dimple on his chin. That just makes him even more ravishing. Like this strong guy has a boyish side to him, and he looks at me with an amused expression.

  Remembering his question, I frown, “Wait, what?”

  “You’ve been staring at it for the last thirty minutes,” he tells me.

  A smile tickles my lips.

  “So should I presume you've been staring at me for the last thirty minutes?” I ask him in response. My voice is, to my surprise, almost flirtatious.

  His lips turn up in the corners with a very sexy smirk, but his response is innocent to the contrary. “I've been watching you watch that cupcake, trying to understand what's so interesting about it.”

  I sigh. “I… I’m just trying to decide if I should eat it,” I say with a shrug.

  He frowns with confusion. “Of course you should eat it… if you’re not too concerned about the calories.”

  I snort at that. “It’s my birthday cake,” I blurt out. I don’t even know why I said that.

  “Happy birthday,” he says, lifting his glass with amber liquid in it toward me in a toast.

  Clinking our glasses, I smile shyly.

  “So… how old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  His eyes widen, and I realize how beautiful his eyes are. Big and blue. They're like fire, if only the ice could burn as bright. I remember seeing blue fire on the internet once, his eyes remind me of that. My eyes are blue too, but when I look in the mirror they're like a piece of glass, dull without a spark, but his eyes… they're hypnotizing.

  “No shit,” he says, breaking of my ogling.

  I quirk my eyebrow at him.

  His eyes roam over my body slowly, deliberately, and I use this opportunity to do the same. The black t-shirt he’s wearing stretches over his chest. I spot the leather jacket behind the bar chair. His muscular arms are covered with tattoos. I have strange urge to find out how far that ink goes on his body.

  I only stop checking him out when he finally says with a deep voice, “You don’t look eighteen.”

  My back straightens, and his eyes fall to my breasts. His Adam's apple moves slowly, and he licks his lips before taking a sip from his glass. I gulp down my own drink to ease the dryness in my mouth.

  “How old do I look?” I ask. My voice coming out huskier.

  His gaze makes a quick run over my body once more before he takes his eyes off me and focuses on the drink in my hand which I’ve long forgotten.

  “Well, since you clearly drink alcohol, I would say at least twenty-one.”

  I make a shocked face. “Are you telling me I look old?”

  He seems confused for a second, probably trying to understand if I'm serious. I chuckle at his confusion, and he relaxes.

  “Elijah,” he finally says, holding out his hand for a shake.

  I shake his hand. “Evangeline.”

  “Evangeline,” he repeats my name. The way his voice tests every syllable sends a strange shiver down my spine.

  Clearing my throat, I focus on the glass in my hand instead of staring at him, but my eyes turn to him when he holds a lighter in front of me while the flame dances softly.

  “You don’t have a candle, so this will have to do,” he explains. “Make a wish, Evangeline.”

  I wish to love and be loved, I think to myself and blow out the flame.

  “And now, please eat the damn cupcake,” he commands, and I giggle, taking a bite from the cupcake.

  He smiles at me sweetly, and it warms my heart. As strange as it may sound, I feel close to him like we’ve known each other more than just a few minutes. I guess that’s why I offer him some of my cupcake, but I don’t know why I suddenly feel flustered when he actually bites down from exactly where my mouth was a few seconds ago. And I don’t know why I’m now thinking of licking the cream from his lips.

  Shaking myself from the thought, I ask him, “Are you new in Madison Grove?”

  “Yes. This bar is my first stop in the town actually.”

  “Oh, you’ve just arrived?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah.”

  “From where?”

  "Seattle. I'll start a job here tomorrow. I should've come a few days ago, but my dick of a boss didn't let me leave the Diner early," he complains.

  Bumping my shoulder to his, I say, “To new beginnings here, then.”

  He turns his head slightly. His lips caress my cheek, and I shiver when his breath hits my ear as he repeats. “To new beginnings.”

  I lick my suddenly dry lips. My eyes dart from his mouth to his captivating eyes. I feel my cheeks heat up. Clearing my throat, I lean back so I can put some distance between us. I’m afraid he’ll hear my racing heartbeat. He gives me a knowing smile, like what I’m feeling is written all over my face. Turning on my bar stool, I try to focus on the people dancing, but my traitorous eyes keep darting back to him. And to my delightful surprise, his eyes lock with mine every time while he gives me his sexy smile.

  My body is buzzing with sweet excitement I’ve never felt with anyone before. My lips curl into a shy smile with his attention locked on me.

  Finally, he breaks the silence filled with awkward tension, and exciting anticipation. "Would you like to dance with me, Birthday Girl?"

  I only nod. At that moment, there’s nothing else I’d rather do.

  1

  Eva

  Home versus a house.

  There’s a difference between the two words. One represents warmth and love while the other is nothing but a cold building with four walls. After what happened years ago, I learned how quickly a home can turn into just another house. And the truth of this is the first thing that punches me in the face every morning.

  But this morning it's so much stronger. I felt like Cinderella in that bar for a few hours last night, and now, I'm back to my miserable life. I sit on my bed for longer than usual, my eyes fixed on the bare wall in front of me and replay the night before. It was the best birthday I've had in a long time. I don't know how to explain it, but that stranger, Elijah, somehow filled a void inside me even if it was only for a few hours. We danced, drank, and danced again. I saw the desire in his eyes, and I wanted to bring him home last night, but I didn't want to give myself to someone just because I was sad on my birthday… again. The last time didn't play out well, and I didn't want to put a stain on last night's sweet memory.

  With a sigh, I lock the memory inside my mind along with a handful of other happy memories and head for the shower.

  After putting on my school uniform, I walk along hallways of the Faye Mansion. If you walk every room, every hallway in this old beast, you wouldn't need to worry about doing your morning workout. But it's not the reason why I'm walking through the empty rooms, I'm trying to find something to make this house feel like a home again. The way it once was. Now, caressing the vanity table in the master bedroom, the only sign of someone's existence in the room is the faint citrus scent from my mother's perfume.

  Grabbing the bottle of the perfume, I spray a wisp under my ears. I’ve heard about the scent of a mother and how it reminds people of home; for me, this perfume is the only thing that links me to my mother and the house I live in.

  After one last glance at the perfectly fixed room, I head for the next door, my father's office.

  I sniff longingly the moment I open the door. The scent of cigar and whiskey surrounds me. It's not faint, since the maids in the house aren't allowed to be inside the office. Looking around, I see the cigar butts on his desk. The only thing I've seen in a long while that belongs to my dad.

  This is what's left of the family I had. Just scents. And inanimate things that assure me my parents are still alive, just absent from my life.

  “Miss Faye, your breakfast is ready,” Stacey, one of the maids informs me. She’s close to my age. She could be my friend if my parents didn’t forbid anything outside a professional approach between the staff and us. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone losing their job, and more than that, I don’t want to lose a familiar face just because of my selfishness.

  Heading to the dining room, I place my hip against the table and take a spoonful of my cereal. This room is big, just like the rest of the house, but it’s also as empty. It’s been almost a year since I had breakfast with my parents. If you count the time I caught them as they grabbed their travel coffee mugs. We shared a hand wave as they rushed out and that was the only familial reaction I had. I had to wake up two hours ago to catch a sight of them that day.

  This house is the most beautiful and biggest one in town, but it’s never been home. And I’d give everything away just to spend some time with my parents, just to feel like a family. Just to feel I’m cared for by my parents like most teenagers take for granted.

  When tears threaten to well up in my eyes, I grab the apple from my breakfast tray, my bag from the chair, and leave the house like it’s on fire.

  It’s my last year in high school, but the kids never stop reacting in the same way when I enter the school parking lot. It’s like one of the high schools in those chick flicks. Yes, I have a driver. Get over it already.

  Rolling my eyes, I walk through the gates and head for my first class.

  “Miss Faye!”

  I stop in my tracks, groaning inwardly when headmaster John’s voice looms over the school hallway. Dammit, I was so close to making it to the class.

  “Yes, Mr. John,” I mumble, turning to face his angry face.

  His gaze roams over my uniform before he snaps, “My office. Now.”

  When we head to the other building which his office is in, he doesn’t wait to reach there to reprimand me.

  "I'm really tired of having the same talk with you, Miss Faye. We're trying to be understanding about your rebellious behavior, since your family is very generous to our school, but I'll have to call them about your behavior if you insist on breaking the school dressing code."

  I snort. He always says the same thing, threatens to call my parents. I wish he would. All I do - breaking the dress code, smoking pot in the school library - is to make him call them but he never does it.

  “Please, go and talk to Mrs. Green about your behavior. Hopefully, she’ll help you realize your mistake,” he grits out and walks away.

  With a shrug, I head for the counselor’s office instead of going to my Math class. I hate Math anyway.

  “Eva, I really don’t know how many more times we’ll have the same talk,” Mrs. Green sighs as I sit in front of her desk.

  "Mrs. Green, the school wants me to wear my uniform, and here I am, wearing my uniform. I don't know what else you want me to do," I say, glaring at her.

  “Your uniform is too provocative,” she tells me slowly.

  I look down at my uniform. The pleated skirt and white shirt. Just the standard uniform. What's the problem if my skirt is a little short? It's not much different from cheerleaders’ skirts. And my shirt is a bit tight, so what? I grit my teeth. "Provocative for who? The perverts with dicks who don't know how to control it?"

  “Language, Miss Faye.”

  I sigh. “Can I leave now?”

  She shakes her head. “I know you kids like to rebel, but you’re making life hard for all of us.”

  I grit my teeth. “I’m eighteen, Mrs. Green. That makes me an adult, not a kid.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. An adult. Okay, you can go now.”

  Grabbing my messenger bag, I leave her office.

  The school counselors think they can help everyone, that they can understand everything and know better, but actually, all Mrs. Green thinks about is if her nail polish will match with her tailored suit.

  Otherwise, she might realize how alone and lost I am.

  2

  Eva

  I hate this school.

  I hate this town.

  I just want to go away and find a happy place like everyone seems to find in books and movies. But maybe it's only fiction. Maybe in real life, no one finds their happy place, and that's why they wanna create it.

  As I walk from the office
back to the main school building, I sigh and change my mind about going to the class. I’m already in trouble, one more or less wouldn’t make any difference. So instead, I sit under a tree at the back of the school buildings and grab my journal from my bag.

  Writing is the only thing that makes me happy in life. At least I can create a happy place there.

  This town is so small, and everyone knows everyone, but it's not a close-knit community. All people care about is your money. Your bank account decides if people will greet you on the street or turn their heads away. That's why people smile and try to make small talk with me when I take a walk in the streets, not because they give a shit about me. If my family and I weren't their favorite gossip topic, I'm sure they wouldn't even know my name. But my family's money also makes us the target of their prying eyes and cruel comments, even when my family was shattered by loss.

  Madison Hall High is one of the two schools in town and the only private one. The kids in here all know each other. They grew up together. They’re in the same circle, the circle I’m not invited. Because I was always the rich kid they love to hate. Even though they were rich and spoiled, they always thought what I had was better, bigger, shinier. They hated me for the things I didn’t ask for. In their eyes, I had it all.