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“They are our friends,” she finished, understanding.
“What about you?”
To his surprise, a small, shy smile played on her lips. “I’m practicing my magic. Fire and ice seem to be at play, but I’m still trying to find my specialty.”
His heart swelled when he read the excitement in her tone, her happiness feeding his. He nodded.
“That’s good. I would love to see it when you are ready.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“I have to go now, though.”
Then, because he couldn’t help himself and didn’t care much anymore, Charlie leaned in and kissed her in front of everyone—and there was no greater joy than when she kissed him back.
The rest of the hours blurred after that, boredom taking over him as he did what needed to be done, talked to Edmund about it and tried not to think too much about her. The latter was impossible, really, so it was with relief when the sun set, and they could finally meet up in the garage and inside one of Edmund’s cars.
“I thought Edmund got disowned by his family,” she said, awe apparent as she visibly counted the number of vehicles parked.
“He did. But he stopped trying to hide his creative side, and the famous, anonymous painter became the famous, renowned Edmund Wilder. Alexa’s on the rise, too, so you can imagine how many people are fighting over auctioning their art pieces.”
It filled him with pride, knowing his sister had gone from the greatest torment of losing her first love to finding it again with a more worthy man.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“He’s not bad. A pompous ass sometimes.”
“But he loves your sister and nephew,” she pointed out.
“Yes. And that’s all that matters. Anyway, are you hungry?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I have a restaurant in mind. It’s private, too, so our safety is assured.”
“I didn’t burn a room today.”
The declaration had him looking back at her, where he noted for the first time that her hands were wringing her skirt. She had taken his suggestion and had dressed in a floral skirt and a plain black tank top, the ponytail emphasizing her smooth neck. It had him staring, realizing she never put her hair up—and that he had avoided looking too much earlier because he might end up doing nothing else. Then he absorbed the rest of her statement.
“Today?”
“I almost burned one yesterday. Diego witnessed all the mess.”
The news didn’t faze him, not when he was used to Daria doing her thing and sharing the results no matter how brutal it went. He assessed what she wasn’t saying now and tilted his head.
“How do you feel about it? Not burning a room today?”
“Accomplished.”
“But something’s still missing,” he concluded.
“I shouldn’t feel that way. I should be grateful, right? Because this was all I ever wanted.”
There was so much melancholy in the words that he couldn’t help leaning in and nudging her chin with his fingers. When she looked at him, he rubbed it with his thumb.
“Remember what Mr. Bald Man said?”
“It’s a process.”
