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“Me deciding I was wasting time, I guess.”
“You were wasting time. I’ve been waiting for you for days. Weeks.”
“Oh,” she says, her throat sounding dry.
“What you did was really manipulative, Charlotte.”
“I know.”
“But kinda cute. Nobody’s ever played mind games with me before. I don’t dig it, but I still dig you.”
She peeks over at me. “You do?”
Shrugging, I say, “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.”
“Even after what I told you?” Charlotte asks, shocked.
“Let’s do it. As long as lying and shit isn’t your entire personality.”
“It’s not. Ask anyone!”
“Calm down, Charlotte. I believe you.”
She exhales slowly, deliberately. Then, a genuine smile breaks over her face. “When?”
“I have the afternoon off. It’s a date.”
“What, now?” she asks, incredulous.
“No time like the present,” I say.
Charlotte seems taken aback for a moment. But she’s a woman who’s quick-thinking.
“Okay! I…I was going to make a big production and beg your forgiveness. Ask you out formally, make reservations somewhere special in Gold Hill, but there’s no time for that right now.”
“Guess not,” I say. “We could just cut through the prelude and go to my place.”
Charlotte blanches, and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.
I know what people say about me in this town. That I’m a playboy, that I hit it and quit it. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“I’m probably not the one for you if that’s the case. I tend to move more slowly than that,” she says quietly.
Ah shit, I’m fucking this up.
I squeeze the hand I’m holding. “Listen, that was hasty of me. The truth is I’m just thrilled you asked me out. Going slow is fine.”
Charlotte’s softened eyes travel over my face and land on my mouth. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Then again, we don’t have to go glacier slow.” The pink in her cheeks darkens, and she bites her juicy bottom lip.
I lean in, memorizing the way she looks up at me, so sweet and vulnerable. I’m fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her, but I get the feeling that she should be the one to make the first move when it comes to kissing.
I laugh, “Glacier slow is definitely too slow. How about paint-drying slow?”
Charlotte’s smile pours something warm and healing into the gaping maw in my chest. “I don’t know, how long does it take for paint to dry?”
I shrug. “Couple hours, depending on the day.”
She breathes. “That’s a good amount of slow.”
