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“She got any cookies in there?”
“We’re here to put a table together, not raid her pantry,” Mal reminded him. Charlie laughed as he reached for one of the table legs.
“Does this mean she’s putting down roots?”
“Don’t know, Charles. Maybe it means she needed a table to eat her dinner from.”
“What happens when she turns out to be like other women and wants to make it official? You gonna cut her loose? Or buy her a ring?”
“First of all, Everleigh is nothing like other women,” Mal said matter-of-factly. “Trust me on that one. Second, I think it’s a little soon to think about it, but I sure as fuck ain’t gonna cut her loose.”
“You’ve wizened up a little.” Charlie frowned at Mal.
“Freakin’ Sev the fuck out, I’ll tell ya that.”
They shared a laugh as they got down to business. Charlie had put his share of IKEA furniture together—in his sisters’ places, a few things for his parents, even a little table at his place. True to form, he’d gone in thinking this would be easy, but there was more to the table than he’d imagined. By the time they had it pieced together, his back hurt from leaning over the upside-down table and his fingers were sore from manipulating so many screws.
“I think we’re done,” Mal announced.
Charlie climbed to his feet and twisted around to pop his back.
“Careful, old man.”
“Ready?” Charlie nodded at the table. Mal nodded. Just as they reached to pick the whole thing up and turn it over, they heard a knock on the door. “Who’s that?”
“How the fuck would I know?” Mal yelped.
“Don’t you know her neighbors?”
“Some of them, but I don’t know who’s at the door right now.”
“Everleigh?”
The familiar voice was a sucker punch in Charlie’s gut. He hadn’t talked to Tatum much in the past week, not much more than his usual good morning as he grabbed his coffee. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about her.
Every day.
Every night.
“In the kitchen,” Mal called, eyes on Charlie. Determined to act normal and not at all like a surgeon had just stepped into the kitchen, removed his heart from his chest and sewed it to his sleeve, Charlie glanced toward the kitchen door as Tatum entered.
“Hey.” She greeted Mal first, a hint of a smile on her face. Charlie took the opportunity to look his fill. She was dressed differently today—a halter dress if he remembered his sister Sarah’s words correctly. The top of the dress tied behind her neck, leaving her well-toned shoulders and arms bare. The hem of the white and green floral print barely reached her knees.
He’d seen her legs in the running shorts last week, and he’d admired the fuck out of them then. But something about the dress. The touch of makeup that made her eyes pop. The heeled sandals that made her fucking calves pop—delectable. He wasn’t sure what to fantasize about first—kissing her plump, shiny lips or her thighs wrapped around his waist and the heels locked at his back.
“Where’s Everleigh?” she asked Mal, but she glanced at Charlie. Caught him staring. Still too awestruck by the sight of her in a dress, he couldn’t seem to care that he was probably toast.
“In Branson with her mom,” Mal told Tatum. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks.” Tatum dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. Charlie fought the urge to pop his brother in the mouth. He wanted to tell her she looked incredible. He wanted that look on her face directed at him.
“What’s the occasion?” Mal asked her.
What the hell? When had his brother become the conversationalist?
“Job interview.” She glanced at Charlie again. “I was gonna see if Everleigh wanted to get dinner.”
“Come to dinner with us,” Charlie suggested.
