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“Nope,” Charlie says, tersely. “Screw that guy. Go again. Clear the mind map.”
“Themind map?” I shoot back. But I keep my eyes closed. “What is this? Some kind of meditation on—”
“Trusting yourself?” Charlie says. “If that’s what it takes. Now, you can do anything that is a real job. What are you doing?”
Okay, fine. I let my mind wander, dreaming up the perfect career. All the things I like about my current job —with none of the demeaning bosses and humiliating errands. And way more money. Maybe I have my own office, and I’m more like a grand planner than the day-to-day assistant, helping with recommendations and small quests...
“Well?” Charlie asks quietly.
I’m almost startled by the nearness of his voice—the nearness of him. My eyes blink open, and he’s right in front of me, watching intently.
Close enough to kiss.
“I guess, working for myself would be pretty great,” I admit. “Problem solving, and connecting people doing great work in this city with people who can pay well for it.”
“Almost like… A luxury concierge service?” Charlie says, looking supremely smug. “Gee, I wonder what genius came up with that idea?”
“Hey!” I shove him good-naturedly, and Charlie catches hold of my hand like it’s instinct. Just like that, we’re holding hands. Standing there. Inches apart.
I gulp, my pulse suddenly racing at high speed.
Down, girl!
Last time we were this close, I kissed him, which is the last thing I should be thinking about right now. When my lips part, no words come out. And did my center of gravity just change? Because I swear I’m swaying closer to him. Closer…
“I’ve got to go,” Charlie blurts, dropping my hand.
I stifle a groan. Did I make it weird again?
“Sure.” I agree quickly, backing off. “Thank you for psyching me up.”
“Any time,” he nods, bolting for the door.
Before he can flee, I add, “Hot tip: Use that Charlie Fox charm to get out the shop door as quickly as possible. Skyewilltry to interrogate you.”
“Roger that,” he says, throwing me a grateful smile. “See you this weekend.”
Great. T-minus two days to stop my breath from hitching every time he looks at me. Should be no problem.
* * *
After he leaves,I treat myself to a coffee and a walk to clear my head. This thing with Charlie Fox has gotten real complicated, real fast—and deep down, I’m wondering if he feels it, too. One minute, we’re biting each other’s head off, the next, we’re bonding over 1990s British comfort TV. And the moment after that?
The kind of hot makeout action that makes me wonder what I’ve been missing my whole life.
Despite my protestations, I love that he cares so much about my career and is pressing me to think big. The problem is that I also want him to press me up against any available flat surface, and that cannot happen for, well, countless reasons.
Starting with the fact I’m not even sure he wants me like that. Sure, he kissed me back, but it’s like bad pizza on a Friday night: If it’s there, you’re going to take a slice, even if you’re not really in the mood.
So am I just bad pizza to him, or one of Magnolia Bakery’s finest cupcakes: Worth lining up around the block for an hour on the weekend?
After strolling aimlessly for an hour, I wind up where I often do—the bench outside my local dog park. Someday, when I have a more stable setup, I hope to have a pup of my own. My mental happy place is imagining a little routine of morning walks and Prospect Park on weekends. I scroll local rescues way more than I care to admit, pining away for the day I can bring one of them home.
Until then? I can live vicariously through the dogs here.
“Hi,” I coo at a beagle, sniffing toward me. I look up to the owner, who nods her okay. “Look at these velvety ears. What a sweet puppy.”
The dog’s tail wags, and I feel my body relax a little. The dog park is a public health benefit, really.
