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I reach up to cup her face, my heart swelling with emotion for all this woman has given me, love, fulfillment, a family, a home.
Smiling, I lean across the center console to kiss her fiercely. “Me too, little brat.”
Teaser: For Always
Charlotte
“Did you need anything before I leave, Mr. Foster?”
Huck Foster, father of my best friend Lucy and my boss of over six years leans back in his office chair to look at me. His graying dark hair is messy, as though he’s been running his hand through it, and his usually bright brown eyes seem glazed and dull.
He looks exhausted.
And, handsome. Always handsome.
We’ve been open extra hours during Labor Day weekend, equipping Bear Creek’s last big influx of tourists for the year with camping, fishing, and boating equipment. Apart from Huck, I’m the only person who works here full time, and with most of our part-time summer help gone back to college, I’m finishing up yet another twelve-hour day.
My feet ache, and my hair desperately needs a wash, but I still hope Mr. Foster will ask for my help, and I’ll need to stay an hour or two. The thought of us sitting side by side and pouring over order forms, our knees bumping beneath the desk, is enough to settle something heavy and warm in my lower belly.
The fact that I’m praying for accounting work says a lot about how absolutely, desperately, pathetically gone for this man I am.
I still remember the day I realized I had a crush on Lucy’s dad. We were in 10th grade, doing a history presentation at the kitchen table when Huck came in from the garage, his hands and t-shirt stained with motor oil. He said something to us and walked out of the kitchen to the little laundry room. I looked up, caught a glimpse of him tugging his shirt over his head, and it was like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
Mr. Foster wasn’t like the boys who asked Lucy and me out at school. His broad, tanned chest was scattered with dark hair, which trailed down below the waist of his worn jeans. He was a man, fully settled into his body, and so handsome he was all I thought about for days. Weeks. Years.
Only a year later, he gave me a job at his family’s business, Foster Outfitters, and I went from stocking shelves and sweeping the floors to managing the whole place. Mr. Foster and I spend every day together now, and I still get butterflies whenever my eyes meet his.
“You’ve done more than enough for today, Lottie.” Sighs Mr. Foster, his voice rough with exhaustion. “Time to call it, I think.”
“Do you want some help with the orders?” I nod toward the monitor. He insists on doing all the ordering and inventory, even though the computer stuff grates on him.
“Don’t you want to go home?” He glares at me with an exasperated sort of fondness. “You’ve been here since seven.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind.” I don’t. Not even a little bit. I love my job, of course, but more than that, I love helping Mr. Foster, knowing that I’m keeping up something precious to him.
Even if I could have afforded more than a few classes at the local community college, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. Bear Creek is my home, and even though the Fosters will neverreallybe my family, they’re the closest thing I have. Even if Mr. Foster never sees me as I see him… I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Lottie.” It’s amazing how one word can make me feel warm all over. He’s the only one who calls me that. It’s always been Charlotte to my friends, and even my dad calls me Charlie.
“Mr. Foster.” I match his disapproving tone, furrowing my brow and pinching my mouth like he does when annoyed.
My boss stares at me for a second before his face splits in a grin, and he laughs, shaking his head at my cheek. “I’m your employer, you know.” He reminds me, without any actual warning in his voice, a new, playful light shining in those brilliant eyes. “Isn’t some level of respect customary?”
I shrug, forcing myself to look nonchalant. “Lucy’s across the country. Someone has to keep you in line.”
Mr. Foster snorts and shakes his head. Then, reaching forward, he switches off the computer. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
I don’t live so far from Foster Outfitters, and Bear Creek is about as safe a town as you can imagine, but Mr. Foster always insists on driving me anyway when we work late together. I used to protest, but those few stolen minutes in his truck's quiet, dark interior have always been the happiest moments of my day.
Later, when I’m alone in bed, I play our conversations over again in my head. Sometimes I swear I can catch the hint of his rich, woody scent on my clothes when I undress.
Those are the nights when I fall back on my cheap comforter and make myself come over and over again, imagining it’s Huck Foster’s fingers on me instead of my own.
I feel my cheeks warm at the thought, though thankfully, my boss is too preoccupied with grabbing his wallet and keys off the filing cabinet to notice. We leave the office, separating to turn off lights and lock windows, the same way we’ve done every night for years. It’s a familiar routine, something that should bring me comfort, but tonight I’m a ball of restless energy.
By the time Huck meets me at the back door to set the alarm, my heart is in my throat.
It’s a warm, cloudless night, and we walk in silence through the back alleyway to the familiar old, blue pickup parked outside the feed store. My mind is still spinning as he unlocks my door and holds it open, waiting for me to tuck my bag onto my lap before closing it behind me.
