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Dammit.
I get up, and pull on a bathrobe, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Emotions are whirling through me, a potent cocktail of endorphins and serotonin and love—
No. Not love.
Absolutely not.
I distract myself by padding through to the kitchen and rifling through Charlie’s fridge. He joins me, dressed in boxers and a soft old T-shirt. “Hungry?”
“I mean, I worked up an appetite,” I reply, trying to sound light and breezy. Casual.
Not falling in love.
“Damn right, you did.” Charlie’s smile is just about panty-melting—if I were wearing any. “Here, I know what you want.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I know what all the girls want,” he says, reaching in, and pulling out… A cheese board.
I laugh. “You’re right. That’s exactly what the girls all want.”
He gathers the snacks, and leads me up to the rooftop, where we settle in some patio chairs, overlooking the lights of the city. I sit back, and take a sip of wine, still trying to wrangle my emotions into check.
“I know it’s a cliché,” Charlie says, stretching out, “but I do miss how clear the stars are in Hayworth.”
“Me too,” I say. Sharing a hometown with Charlie is a wonderful camaraderie, both of us able to understand that part of the other. But these days, I rarely think about Charlie Fox from high school, who was more of an idea to me than a real guy. The person I’m falling in love with—oh God—is the man beside me, more complicated than I ever imagined.
“I think I want to stay here all night,” Charlie announces. He wraps one arm around my shoulder, tucking me against him.
And as I rest my head on his chest, all I can think is: I think I want to stay hereforever.
20
GRACE
After that night,it feels like something should change between us. We crossed a line, feelings were felt, and it seems impossible that we should just carry on with our casual banter and parade of wedding dates.
But that’s exactly what happens. Charlie doesn’t skip a beat, and he definitely doesn’t give any hint that there are real emotions on the line. So maybe it was all in my head. Maybe he has earth-shakingly tender sex like that every other Tuesday.
Maybe I’m the only one feeling my heart twist with emotion every time I see him.
“All set?” he asks, picking me up the next week for Poppy and Dylan’s wedding.
“All set!” I say, piling into his car. We have a three-hour drive to the Catskills, and with gorgeous scenery flying by and Charlie at the wheel, I almost wish the drive was longer.
Not that I’m doing the math, but Charlie and I have spent every night together since the Ren Faire. On the one day we didn’t have plans, he showed up at the store with a takeout dinner, stayed to help me close, and then gave me two orgasms before we both conked out.
So, maybe I’m doing alittlemath.
But doesn’t all this great sex and conversation mean something to him? I can’t help but wonder, shooting glances over at him in the driver’s seat. I’m trying to let him go at his own pace, but that pace is an intense bubble of talking and sex and adventuring around the city.
In other words, a relationship.
At least, it would be with anyone else, but here, I just can’t tell. And yes, I know I should just come right out and ask him, ‘what, exactly are we doing here?’, but the truth is, I’m scared of what the answer might be. Because if his smile turns apologetic, and he gives me some speech about not taking things too seriously…
I don’t know what I’ll do, but I won’t be jumping for joy, that’s for sure.
So is it really so bad of me to push off the big questions, and instead just savor all the fun we’re having? Besides, a little voice keeps whispering that maybe the longer we spend together having this much fun, the more Charlie will reconsider his no-commitment stance. I just need to be patient and let him reach the obvious conclusion in his own time.
