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It reminded me of halftime in the locker room: The hard part wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But the energy you’d left on the field, the tiredness you felt down into your bones, was for a reason.
All the work—it was building toward something.
In all the destruction and mess, in the days and weeks I hadn’t been around to see all the minutiae, they’d erected the beginnings of a home.
It was like looking at the metal frame of an unfinished building. You knew exactly how unshakable it would be when it was done.
Charlotte was watching me quietly, and I said the words before I’d registered I was thinking them. “What’s theBurke PPon your to-do list?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s ... nothing.”
Even though the lighting in the room left a lot to be desired, it was easy enough to spot the pink blush as it climbed up her chest and into her cheeks.
“Does it have something to do with your proposal?”
“So what do you think about the house?” she asked, shifting her tone to something chipper. Unnaturally high pitched. She was nervous as hell. “Looks good, doesn’t it? Want to see the upstairs?”
“Everything is great.” I walked closer. “What’s the proposal, Charlotte?”
“You know, I’m just gonna let you wander some more. Feel free to let me know if you have any questions.”
She bolted from the room with her long-legged stride, and I stifled a laugh.
Instead of chasing after her to push a little bit, I took a few more minutes and wandered through the back of the house. Space to breathe wouldn’t be bad for either of us. Might act like a sedative to the awareness that crackled between us—a new energy that had everything feeling slightly out of balance.
Before I turned off any lights, I paused at the windows overlooking the yard and the bay.
You had to walk a little ways from the house to get the full view, especially now that all the tall trees were full of green, glossy leaves.
Everything was lush and filled out, the grass in desperate need of a trim. I made a mental note to ask Charlotte about that as I left the main house. I locked the door behind me, given all the expensive equipment that William and his crew had left behind.
Responsibility for the Campbell House—every blade of grass, every newly patched wall, every light bulb hanging from wires in the ceiling—still rested firmly on my shoulders. And I was trying to decide if the change I felt upon returning was solely about Charlotte or if it was about everything.
I’d had a few months to make peace with their existence—hers and the house’s—and I was still no closer to a decision at the finish line. That line drew nearer with every item ticked off the list, with every day that William and his crew showed up to put their skills to use.
Would it look like Chris had wanted it to? When he’d stood out in that front yard—overgrown then as now—and felt like a failure for not being able to step up like he wanted?
Were Charlotte and I making choices that would bring peace to a place that meant so much to my friend?
I had to think we were.
No matter how we bickered along the way, or how that energy was changing into something new, we made a good team.
For the short window of time that we are one,I thought.
With the finish line in mind, with the image of what everything around me would look like in a few months’ time, I let myself into the carriage house, my mind crowded and my heart unsettled.
Charlotte was sitting at the dining-room table, laptop open and a thumb tucked in between her lips while she chewed mercilessly on her nail.
Her eyes locked on to mine, and she snapped the laptop shut with a decisive click.
On the table next to her was an empty shot glass.
I pursed my lips when I noted the bottle of tequila on the counter next to the fridge. Beside it was her list from earlier. Withviolentscratches of her pen, she’d crossed off the entry that included my name.
“Consider me very intrigued by whatever it is you’re working on over there,” I said quietly.
Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. Her fingers speared through her vibrant hair, and her chest heaved on a few deep breaths.
