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Is this what a real connection feels like? It’s been so long, I’m not certain anymore. As much as I want to stay and get to know him better, Rachel looks pleased with my imminent departure. Just as I’m about to exit, I glance back, my eyes meeting his one final time.
I catch a cab, abiding by one of my golden rules: No subways after nine o'clock. Settling into the back seat, I reminisce about tonight. It was a good time, which was a nice change.
Thinking of Charlie, I’m glad Rachel found someone interesting this time. To most men, she’s the epitome of a single city girl—if she sleeps with a guy too soon, she won’t be considered wife material, and if she doesn’t have sex with him soon enough, he won’t want her as a girlfriend. I know under her optimistic enthusiasm she gets lonely. Hell! We all do. Right now, I’m just trying to enjoy the fact that I had a great time with a fascinating man . . . oh yeah, and Rachel, too.
I push down the pang of jealousy surging through me because she met him first. I take a deep breath and chant, “I will not fall for Charlie. I will not fall for Charlie.” After I repeat the phrase several times, I rationalize that walking away was the right thing to do. Rachel has staked her claim, so I can’t dwell on him, although I want to.
I crawl into bed later that night feeling hopeful, which is a nice reprieve from my usual sadness. I smile, thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can find someone as charming as Charlie one day, too.
Chapter 2
Charlie Adams
“I don’t think I need it—”
“Dude, take it, just in case. If it brings you lady love”—Conner clears his throat—“then I’ve done my job.”
I roll my eyes, but also laugh at the gesture. “I haven’t seen a rabbit’s foot in years. I think since I was eight.” The orange foot is creepy, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings, so I loop the chain onto my key ring. “I’ll give it back to you next week.”
“No hurry. Just take care of it.”
I’m caught between being creeped out and amused that he thinks this thing can do anything other than scare women away, but I humor him. “Yeah, okay. I’ll keep it safe.” I walk to the door and yell, “Rip it up in Aspen.”
He shouts from the back bedroom, “Yeah, no doubt, dude!”
Leaving his apartment, I gallop down the stairs. I can barely remember the last time I snowboarded. It’s been a few years. The last time was three years ago when I spent Christmas with Conner and his family in Park City. My family was still holding their grudge against me for dropping out of university and thought it best if I didn’t come home for the holiday. They thought I’d come begging my way back into their good graces, return to college, and step in line to run the family business, but I didn’t. I just hopped on the private jet with Conner and took off. My parents didn’t call me on Christmas or New Year’s like they had every other year of my life when we were apart. That hurt, especially since I called them on both days and was sent to voicemail.
Most people, including all of my childhood friends, would have caved at that point, but my parents’ wealth and status was not my concern at the time—just like it’s not now. I had goals and my own dreams to pursue, and their cutting off my allowance and living expenses wasn’t going to deter me.
The rift between us has continued to this day, but it’s softened. I see my parents occasionally now. My mom reads my articles that make the paper, but that’s all. I’m the prodigal son who let them down. I get their disappointment, but I don’t understand the treatment. I’m their only son, their only child. Aren’t they supposed to love and support me, no matter what? I work hard and don’t need their money. Shouldn’t they be proud I’m making my own way? I am. I hope one day, they will be, too.
As I approach The Bagelry, the smell of fresh dough and coffee permeates the air—my version of heaven in the morning. I turn and go inside. Tony leans forward on the counter, and in his thick Bronx accent, he asks, “Your usual, Charlie?”
“The usual.” I set my money down, taking my coffee and bag from him. As I back out the door onto the street, I call out, “Keep the change.” Walking down the remaining two blocks to my apartment, I appreciate the new, warmer air that covers the city.
As I press the code to get into my building, Mrs. Lackey walks by, greeting me warmly. “Good morning, Charlie.”
