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“It's not gone yet,” she said before striding towards the house. “Besides, helping you make sure Ivy can have a happy life is helping me with mine. Would you like some coffee?”
“I'd love some.” He trailed her inside and passed the coffee table overflowing with her trinkets. On closer inspection, he spotted more than seashells. There was jewelry, coins that had been mostly worn away, and a large glass buoy at the center of the display. It was hollowed out, filled with sand and unlit candles.
Charlotte moved around the kitchen, gathering coffee mugs, creamer, and sugar. Once everything was on the table, she sat and pointed to the chair beside her.
“How's Ivy?”
“She's great.” He took the seat. “I got her to eat something other than chocolate cereal for breakfast.” He was proud of that. He'd mastered toasting bagels. He might try pigs in a blanket next.
“Sounds like you're adapting to fatherhood well.”
“If I can figure out the hair situation, I'll be set.” He took a sip of his coffee. It had a bitter taste that he loved. “Chicory?”
She nodded. “It's an acquired taste.”
“I love it.”
She put a teaspoon of sugar in her cup and gave it a splash of cream. “How can I help? On occasion, I have hair issues of my own.”
He stared at her beautiful long blonde locks and wondered what they might feel like in his hands or across his bare chest. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with a hair out of place. Do you know how to braid? Ivy loves braids. I can barely get the things around to make a ponytail.”
Charlotte smiled and nodded. “Poor Ivy. Poor you. Come here. I'll show you. It’s a lot easier than you think.” She turned, so her back was to him, and ran her hands through her hair, separating it into three sections. He carefully studied each movement, while avoiding any of his earlier thoughts, as she showed him how to start the braid. “See, you just fold one over the other, being careful not to make it too tight.”
“Your turn,” she said.
After a few attempts, he got the hang of it, and soon enough, he had finished braiding Charlotte's hair. He wanted to mess it up just so he could run his fingers through her silky strands, but he didn't.
She reached up and touched the braid, then turned around with a satisfied expression. “Not bad,” she said with a laugh. “Not bad at all.”
He smiled back, feeling proud of himself for learning something new in the foreign land of girldom. His gaze was fixed on Charlotte’s beautiful smile, and as his eyes moved to meet hers, he allowed his hand to touch her soft face and then leaned in to brushed his lips lightly against her mouth. He didn't know why he felt compelled to do it, but it felt right.
Charlotte's eyes widened, and before she could pull back, he moved closer. The kiss deepened as they abandoned themselves into the moment, their emotions swirling around them. She tasted like sunshine and honey, and he found it impossible to pull away from her soft lips and her gentle embrace. Everywhere they touched—their chests, their mouths, her hands gripping his arms—was heat, a fiery passion that coiled around him, making him want to stay there forever, even if he went up in flames.
When he gradually pulled away, Charlotte looked at him with what appeared to be a mix of embarrassment and confusion, but also burning in her eyes was passion.
“Oh my,” she said, gathering herself and catching her breath. “That was a wonderful kiss, but why?”
“Because I couldn't help myself. You are amazing, resourceful, creative, smart, and so giving. You are also beautiful, and it just felt so right. I hope I didn’t overstep.” He was always in control, but something about Charlotte made him want to throw caution to the wind. She brought out a spontaneity and impetuousness in him he knew was always there, but no one had ever succeeded in coaxing it out of him. An idea struck him. “What if you married me?”
She nervously bit her lip and took a step back, averting her gaze from his. “I can't do that, Bastien,” she said softly.
“Why not?” he said with a gentle shrug. “The bonus would come in handy, wouldn’t it? The money has to be useful,” he said, meaning to be a little playful, but wanting to acknowledge it would still be a business arrangement.
“That would make me like your mother, wouldn't it? She squandered her dreams on a loveless marriage simply to stay in the lifestyle she's accustomed to.” Her fists were balled tight at her sides as she looked away.
“But that's not what it would be with us. We know going in that this isn't a lifetime match. It's a business arrangement with the perk that we like each other, and Ivy loves you.”
She turned to face him. “Which almost makes it seem worse. I've held out for love my whole life, through the guys who only cared that I was a beauty queen to adorn their egos, to the lovely but boring ones who offered security instead of passion and adventure. No, I’ve come this far in my years. I’d rather live my dreams alone than marry without love—even for beautiful little Ivy, who will still be yours and not mine when the ‘business arrangement,’ as you describe it, is over. Your commitment to Ivy is noble, Bastien, and I’m fully committed to help you meet it, for both your sakes, but I can’t be your pretend bride. Let’s stick to the business arrangement we have.”
She picked up her mug and pointed to the folder on the table. “Let’s talk about someone who can fix your problem.” She lifted her coffee mug and gestured at the folder. “Tiffany will be here at ten tomorrow. I think she might be the one.”
Bastien wanted to trust her, but a part of him was not letting go of Charlotte or the kiss that still quaked through his mind and body in a way that caused him to question everything he ever believed about love. He couldn't say he was falling in love, partly because he had always guarded himself against it, but he knew the feeling was more than just a passing attraction.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Charlotte had the wildest dream. In it, she and Bastien were standing on the beach, hand in hand. She was wearing a pair of white clam diggers with sparkling crystals sewn at the hem, and he was dashing in his black tuxedo. The waves lapped at their feet as a warm summer breeze blew through their hair. They were getting married.
The officiant spoke, but it wasn't the words that mattered. What mattered was how the two of them looked at each other and how their love filled the air with an almost tangible warmth. The officiant stopped talking, and they kissed, and that was when she woke up with her heart pounding.
