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My head snapped up at Charlie’s voice, so close now to where we were, but she was staring at Keith, and very clearly avoiding looking at me.
“That’s what I said!” Keith said in exasperation.
“Charlie,” I murmured as I stood.
She tried to smile, but it fell flat. That was when I noticed she was shaking. “Come on, it’s time to go.”
“Go? You’re not staying for dinner?”
Charlie looked up at Graham at his question, and shook her head firmly once. “No, I was just helping your parents set up in here. Keith and I are going out—”
“Yeah! ’Cause I’m her hot date.”
“Right,” she said with a flash of a smile, and ran a hand through Keith’s wild hair.
“You don’t have to leave because you’re not in the wedding,” Graham said. “I think Knox and Harlow wanted you here. We all want you here.”
Charlie pulled Keith closer to her, and took a step toward the doors. Her head tilted slightly and her eyes narrowed like she was studying Graham. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, unsure. “No, it’s fine. We already have plans.”
“All right. See you tomorrow?”
She nodded faintly in response to Graham’s question, but with each step she took away, her head was bowing down more and more—already trying to be invisible.
I took a step forward, and reached out toward her. “Char—”
She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes again.
Acknowledgment. Agreement. Defeat. And a warning—clear as day in those blue eyes—not to say anything more.
I dropped my hand as I choked back my next words. Whether they would have been an apology, or something else to hurt her more, I wasn’t sure. With a stiff nod, I turned back around, and tried to ignore the disappointment radiating from Graham.
“Good effort.” Frustration leaked from his words.
“Whatever, man.”
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Charlie
June 3, 2016
I CREPT OUT of the room I shared with Keith late that night, book in hand, and made my way to the living room for a little “me” time. Something that had already been a luxury since Keith was born, and something that had been nonexistent in the week and a half that I’d been working at Mama’s Café.
But after everything since I’d moved home—or, more accurately, all the crap with Deacon—I needed this time.
I didn’t care that I would be dead on my feet for my shift the next morning. Who needed sleep when there were other worlds to get lost in? Made-up lives that you wished could be your own? Fictional men to swoon over—ones that were in no way linked to Marvel Comics or a notebook almost a mile away in a locked-up café?
I moved things out of the way in the fridge until I found my secret stash, and grabbed a cold bar of chocolate before walking back toward the couches.
I’d just gotten a lamp turned on and myself settled under a blanket when Grey plopped down next to me.
I froze from tearing open the wrapper for a few seconds, then slowly resumed what I had been doing as I watched her watching me.
“Hi,” I said warily, and handed her a small chunk.
“So who are you reading about tonight?” she asked as she popped the chocolate into her mouth. “Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? Belle?”
“None of the above. I told you I don’t read fairy tales. Did I wake you?”
