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Friday morning saw a bit of a break in the cold. There was still a substantial amount of snow on the ground, but the roads were clear and dry and the sun was shining.
Maverick should have been in a great mood. Hell, he should have been over the goddamn moon. He’d finally broken though his mental block and written some stuff. Great stuff. Good hooks and melodies he knew Donovan would be all over.
He’d met a woman who’d come out of nowhere. A woman who challenged him. A woman who made him laugh. A woman who made him crazy with desire because, hands down, she was responsible for the best sex he’d ever had.
Sure, she got under his skin. Hell, when was the last time he’d had to argue the merits of the adaptation of The Lord of The Rings? In his mind the books were okay, but the movies killed it.
He didn’t give in to her on that one, even when she played dirty and started a strip tease in an effort to get him to agree with her (she thought the movies didn’t come close to the epic greatness of the novels). Maverick held firm. He’d stood his ground because in fact, LOTR was the best damn trilogy ever made.
The truth was, Maverick was having a hell of a good time figuring her out. Or at least he was trying and up until the previous night, he’d thought he had a handle on her. But something was off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. They’d gone to bed. They’d made love and it had been an intense coupling. He’d never felt so goddamn complete.
He’d held her for the longest time and felt as if he had the world by the balls.
But that feeling left him like air seeping from a tire. Whatever they’d shared the night before was long gone by sunrise. It was in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t aware. It was in the way her eyes slid from his when they did connect. It was in that last kiss before she’d left for her shop. Something was missing. Some little piece of Charlie had vanished overnight.
So what was he going to do about it?
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He brought his truck to a halt at the only traffic lights in town and then glanced at his cell.
“And why the hell aren’t you calling me back?” he growled at the device. He’d called Donovan as soon as Charlie left for work. Donnie was his person. His go to when things were heading south and for whatever reason, he had a feeling that things were heading south for him and Charlie.
Donovan would say the right things. She’d offer some frank, sometimes harsh advice. He’d probably bitch about it, but in the end he’d take it. Because that’s how he and Donnie rolled. They always had each other’s back.
The light changed to green and Maverick headed out of town. He needed some recording equipment and his guitar and a few other things he’d left behind at Cooper’s when he’d basically moved into Charlie’s place.
By the time he reached his brother’s home, the sun was slowly disappearing behind a significant band of nasty clouds coming in over the water. Maverick pulled the collar of his jacket up, frowning. They were definitely snow clouds.
He walked into Cooper’s house but the place was silent. Figuring his brother was out in the shop, Maverick headed that way, glancing up as a couple snowflakes hit him in the face and for the first time since he’d arrived in Fisherman’s Landing, he wasn’t liking the thought of more snow.
Was it just his mood? Or was this Californian boy in need of warmer temperatures and sun?
He pushed the door open and spied Cooper right away. His brother was sitting at the bar with his laptop in front of him and a half-gone bottle of whiskey at his side. From the looks of it, he’d been sitting in the same spot for hours. Most likely all night.
“Jesus, Cooper. Did you forget to bring a razor with you?”
“What’s it to you?” he shot back. “You look like a freaking lumberjack,” Cooper rubbed his eyes and reached for the bottle next to him. His hand hovered over it for a few seconds and then he sank back onto his stool.
“What time is it?” he asked, scrubbing at the dark blond stubble on his face.
“Time for coffee,” Maverick replied, heading to the kitchen area. “I’ll make a pot.”
His brother slid off his stool. “Good. I’m gonna shower.”
Twenty minutes later, Maverick was leaning against the bar when Cooper strode into the shop, fresh from the shower, though still unshaven.
Upon a closer look, Maverick whistled. “What the hell happened to your eye?” The bruising was fading but someone had definitely taken a shot at him.
“Mom wouldn’t like this look for us,” Maverick said as Cooper crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“No, she wouldn’t.” Cooper said, moving over to the bar and motioning toward the bottle. “Hand me that, will ya?”
Maverick raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“What are you, my mother?”
Maverick handed him the whiskey and watched Cooper pour a generous bit into his mug. “Hitting it a little hard aren’t you?”
Cooper shrugged and didn’t answer. Maverick studied his brother closely, noticing the fatigue and general haggardness about him.
