Pretty soon, she’d be gone from Harlot’s Bay too. Because apparently she didn’t see much reason to stay, and wasn’tthatshitty news a power punch to the fucking gut?
He rounded the table. Inspected the setup from a partygoer’s point of view. Trays looked neat. Tablecloth wasn’t rumpled. At least a half dozen left of each item, pending Johnathan’s restocking. Good. At least something had gone right tonight.
With a grunt, he squatted down to clean up some dropped food at the foot of the table. Also to hide his stupid smarting eyes in kinda-privacy, since Charlotte—dutiful to the end—wouldn’t budge from her self-assigned position behind the table.
When he got a hold of himself and stood again, though, her hand under his elbow unexpectedly assisted him upright.
“Thanks,” he muttered, vaguely surprised by the gesture.
She was stronger than she looked. Good grip, too.
After letting go of his arm, she swung in a tight circle, scanning their surroundings. Then nodded to herself.
“If you keep your voice to a dull roar, no one will hear us over ‘The Wreck of theEdmund Fitzgerald.’” Her brow creased. “Which is a truly odd song to play at a reunion, but that’s beside the point.”
Befuddled and heartsick, he heaved a loud sigh. “Whatdamn point?”
“Tell me what happened.” When Charlotte’s stare met his, she didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch at either his scowl or his incipient tears. “Athena and Matthew aren’t here, and you clearly need to talk. So tell me what went wrong between you and Molly, Karl.”
Startled again, he actually focused on her. Paid attention to what probably should’ve been obvious a long fucking time ago.
Her voice was hoarse with fatigue. She looked tired too, with shadowed half-moons beneath her deep blue eyes. That shit was temporary, though. What was permanent: Those eyes didn’t belong to a naïve teenager anymore. Didn’t shine with innocence like they had when he’d first hired her. Instead, they were warm with sympathy and affection. Dark with concern and knowledge born of painful experience.
At far too young an age, she’d left carefree girlhood far behind, and while he loved her children with all his damn heart, he hated that she hadn’t had more time to believe happy, hopeful things about the world and about love. Somehow, though, she still seemed happy. Still seemed hopeful. Still seemed to be finding her place in the world—and finding love too, if he was reading things correctly when it came to Matthew’s nerdy, caring CPNP, Hector.
In the end, it didn’t matter whether Karl liked how it’d happened. Regardless, Charlotte had grown up. Become smart and strong and beautiful, in every way possible. Maybe because of her parents’ steadfast support. Maybe because she simplywasa smart, strong, beautiful person and always had been.
Most of the newest, most popular items on Karl’s menu?
Her ideas. Because she’d researched and taught herself a crap ton about food and creative flavor combinations in her nonexistent spare time.
Most of the items on this very table?
Her work had helped create ’em. She’d arranged the child care she’d needed and labored capably by his side without a single complaint, after paying close attention to his instructions and soaking in anything he taught her like a damn dish sponge.
Despite his fatigue-blurred eyes, he felt like he was seeing her clearly for the first time in years. Not as a kid, not even as a protégé or surrogate daughter, but as a colleague. As a friend, whose good will and strength he could rely upon, even as he offered his in return.
And if he was with a reliable friend?
He could let down his damn guard. “You really want to know what happened with Molly?”
“I really want to know,” she said without a moment’s hesitation.
So he told her everything. Except the sexual shit, because she might be his friend, but he was still her boss, and he wasn’t going toharassher. She listened silently the whole time, nodding on occasion to show she understood what he was saying.
And when he finally finished yammering, Charlotte looked straight at him and asked a simple, quiet question. “You didn’t tell her how much you want her here?”
He fidgeted. Got blustery and defensive, because he knew where this was damn well going: the same place it’d gone with Matthew and Athena. But Charlotte just waited patiently until he was ready to admit the plain truth.
“Saidpleasewhen I asked, but...” After scrubbing his hands over his face, he dropped them. “No. Guess I didn’t.”
“And you haven’t told her you love her?”
“She hasn’t said she lovesmeeither,” he pointed out immediately.
Other than his mom and sisters, no woman had ever told him that. And for the longest time, that absence—the lack of those words—had hurt him more than actual insults. More than most of his breakups ever had. At least until Molly had returned and showed him what actual love looked and felt like, and he’d finally understood.
His exes hadn’t declared their love because those relationshipsweren’tlove.
