The woman standing in front of me can’t be Evie Thomas. She’s got the same blue eyes, the same wavy hair falling over her shoulders. But everything else I’m noticing—it’s breaking my brain. Dark lashes, full, pink lips, creamy skin, subtle curves. Logically, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Megan warned me. Reminded me that Evie is in her twenties now. She’s been married, had a baby, experienced parts of life I haven’t even started to think about. But in my head, she’s always been my kid sister’s best friend, cheering from the stands at my college hockey games. This version of Evie doesn’t fit
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