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Chapter 16
Charlie A
Ha! Yep, my charm works every time, she said in response to my flirting. Flirting? Is that what I was doing yesterday? Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing.
She’s clever and intelligent, funny, and, yes, charming. Yet she doesn’t seem to realize it at all. I hate speaking ill of the dead, but Jim was an asshole. It sounds like he put everyone before her and then cheated on her, too. Prick! If he were alive, I’d be having a serious chat with him. No one deserves to be treated like she was, but she especially didn’t deserve it.
When I looked at her yesterday and she was smiling, her expression all glorious and happy, any earlier aggravation over her leaving dissipated, and I felt happy, too.
That was the first day we spent together as real friends, friends who knew where they stood in each other’s lives, friends without preconceived notions and no heavy judgments. I didn’t expect us to end up in that place when I showed up on her doorstep that morning, wanting her last name and phone number, but I also realize that sometimes the best things take time. For her and for now, I’m willing to be here as her friend.
I can’t get something else she said off my mind, so the next day, I bring it up again.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about living with someone and how you worried that something would happen,” I say, gauging her reaction. I take a lick of my ice cream and wait to hear if she responds.
She glances up from her hot fudge sundae, but returns her focus to digging out the cherry that’s fallen to the side of the bowl.
I continue because we’re friends, and friends should be able to talk about anything. Leaning closer to her across the small table, I explain, “Something could happen, yes, but that something could be good or bad. It’s a gamble, right? On the positive side, it’s a risk that can pay off.”
“On the negative side, I lost in the end,” she replies. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable.
“You could have won just as easily. You couldn’t predict that Jim would cheat. It sounds like it surprised you and wasn’t something he’d done before.” I watch for her reaction. She gives so much away in her expression. I doubt she’s even aware of it.
“I don’t know if he cheated before. I like to think he didn’t.” Charlie stabs her spoon into the ice cream and drops her hands to her lap, and looks me directly in the eyes. “But I won’t ever know now, will I?”
“I think it’s going to be a matter of trust.”
She tilts her head, and the late-afternoon sun lights her red hair from behind, giving her a soft halo effect. I force my eyes down to the melting ice cream in my hand to keep myself from staring.
“We should have just gone to dinner,” she says, deflated. “I’m hungry and not for ice cream. You up for fish and chips?” She perks up at her suggestion.
“I’m up for anything.” And I am. Everything feels like an adventure with her.
While walking down the street, she smiles, looking over at me. “I’m glad you called.”
“I’m glad you answered.”
She laughs, her sweet grin staying in place long after her laughter stops. She looks around as we turn a corner, and her face is serene, her eyes revealing her happy thoughts. As she tucks her hands into her pockets, she says, “I like spending time with you. Yesterday was nice just lounging around. There doesn’t seem to be that pressure that often exists between friends or . . .”
“Lovers?”
“Lovers!” She bursts out laughing. “No one uses that word anymore, Charlie.”
“What’s wrong with lovers?”
“Ew, stop saying it,” she chides, poking me in the side. I love how touchy-feely she is.
“Lovers,” I reply in a deep voice, then change it and do a bad British accent. “Lovahs.”
“Stop it! God, could you imagine being called someone’s lover?”
I scrunch my nose. She does have a point. “Sounds so seedy. By the way, I’ve been following you this whole time. You know where you’re going?”
“Sounds debaucherous. Yes, of course, I know where I’m going.”
“I don’t think debaucherous is a word.”
“It’s a word.”
I chuckle, glancing over at her. “No, I don’t think it is.”
“You wanna bet?”
“You’re a stubborn little redhead, aren’t you?”
“How about putting dinner on the line for it? And yes, it comes with the territory. Stubbornness and fiery-tempered.”
“I can’t see you as fiery-tempered.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying that’s one of the stereotypes of being a natural redhead.” We turn the corner, and she says, “I think it’s all of the fake redheads out there who are fiery-tempered and giving us naturals a bad rap.”
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” I chuckle, making fun.
She shrugs with a smile on her lips. “I overthink everything.”
