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“I think that would be a great plan.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you on Saturday at two.”
“Are you free at noon?”
“Yep.” I don’t hesitate when it comes to spending more time with her. “I’ll bring lunch.”
“I’ll make cupcakes.”
“You pick the movie.”
“I’ll make the couch up.”
“Make the couch up?”
She laughs. “Yeah, pillows and blankets.”
“So you’re taking this napping thing to a whole new level?”
“I have a feeling we’re going to need to energize ourselves for that family dinner.”
I laugh out loud. “You may be right.”
“So noon?”
“You’ve got a date.”
“Hey, Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for calling.”
“My pleasure.”
Suddenly, Saturday night doesn’t seem so bad after all. She’ll be with me, by my side, and that makes this whole thing seem much more manageable. I’m especially looking forward to our afternoon nap and snuggling with her. I smile at the thought of a couch full of pillows and blankets, movies, cupcakes, and Charlie’s pretty face.
Chapter 25
Charlie B
“Come in,” I shout from the kitchen. I know it’s Charlie. I left the door unlocked since I would be busy in here baking.
He walks in, and I hear the deadbolt being reset. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.”
“I unlocked it for you.”
“Maybe you should just give me a key,” he says, walking into the kitchenette and waggling his eyebrows.
“You’re feeling bold today.”
“Are my Saturday afternoon cuddles not enough to warrant a key?” He sets a bag down on the counter just as I take the cupcakes out of the oven.
“I have no response to that,” I say sarcastically, waving my free hand in the air.
“Carrot cake?”
I look over my shoulder and smile. “Yes, how did you know?”
“It smells spicy and, I don’t know, carrot-y.”
“Carrot-y?” I ask as I dump the cupcakes down onto the counter. I place them one by one onto the rack to cool.
I feel his chest press against my back. “Can I have one now?”
“You don’t want to wait until they’re frosted?”
“I’ll eat one when they’re frosted, too.”
I hand him a particularly perfect-looking one and watch as he takes a bite. It just never gets old watching him do this. The way he pulls the wrapper down on one side, and the way his eyes close as his teeth sink into the cake—it’s quite the sight.
With his mouth full, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. After a kiss to my temple and a nod of approval from him over my cupcakes, I laugh.
He makes me feel warm, and . . . I don’t let myself finish the thought. I step out from under his arm and reach into the bag of groceries. “What beer did you bring, Charlie?”
He watches me, amused by my reaction or lack thereof. He loves that he elicits these kinds of responses from me, and I don’t want to make him smugger, so I don’t give him the satisfaction. My stubborn side is coming out.
He comes closer again, reaches over me, and pulls the six-pack from the bag. “Guinness.”
“A dark beer.”
“A man’s beer.”
“Ha! Guinness has less alcohol than a Budweiser.”
“What? No! You’re dashing my beer dreams here.”
“It’s true, and sorry about the dream dashing.” I giggle at his pouty face.
“No matter. You ready to step up your drinking game, Ms. Barrow?”
“I can drink you under the table, Mr. Adams.”
He ruffles my hair and asks, “So I take it the challenge has been accepted?”
“Getting sloshed isn’t a great idea before the dinner tonight.”
“Who says I’ll be sloshed?”
I nod. I can see right through his false bravado. He’s nervous about tonight for sure. I am, too, but I don’t want to make this about me. Not tonight, when he needs me. “You know where the glasses are.”
I adjust the blanket and the pillow before sitting down on the couch. “I was thinking we could watch a documentary today?”
With two beers in his hands, he sits down next to me and passes me mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I sip the dark Irish beer.
“A documentary? What’s it about?”
“The slaughterhouses of Montana.”
He shoots me a confused look and scratches his head. “Um. Okay.”
“You don’t want to learn what goes into our meat products?”
His laughter mocks as he stares at the television. “Not really. Sometimes the old saying ‘ignorance is bliss’ is very apropos. This might be one of those times.”
“Come on. It will be educational.”
“It’s your turn to pick, so the slaughterhouses of Montana it is.”
Charlie. Sandalwood, peppermint, cedar, and coriander. “Charlie,” I murmur, inhaling all that he is.
Plush lips press to my forehead and retreat too soon.
My eyes fly open to be met with his sleepy grays, the filtered afternoon light making it dark in my living room. I relax into his chest again. I fell asleep in his arms, and he won’t hear any complaints from me.
“You kissed me,” I whisper, just because I want to acknowledge it happened. Maybe I say it more as a confirmation since I’m still tired, hoping it wasn’t a dream.
