by Vi Keeland
“Yes. Very.”
“I can pick up some dinner and bring it back for you.”
“Will you stay and eat with me?”
“You need me to stay?”
“I feel like I do, yes. I don’t really feel like being alone.”
He looked pensive, then sighed. “Then I’ll stay for a little while.”
Letting out a breath, I said, “Thank you.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything is fine.”
“That’s not very helpful, Charlotte.”
“Just get what you like.”
Reed seemed frustrated with me and suddenly made his way toward my kitchen, which overlooked the living room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Going to see what you have in your kitchen.”
Reed was rummaging through my cabinets. This felt surreal.
Reed is in my kitchen!
He took out angel hair pasta, a large can of peeled tomatoes, spices, and a jar of kalamata olives.
He looked behind his shoulder at me. “Do you have fresh garlic?”
“Yes. I keep it under the sink.”
“Red wine?”
“On the wine rack in the corner.”
“Okay, I can work with this.”
My eyes widened. “You’re really gonna cook?”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t see you as the cooking kind.”
“I didn’t see you as a rock climber.”
“Apparently I’m not a very good one.”
“You were doing fine . . . until you weren’t.” He looked back at me, flashed a rare yet genuine smile, then said, “I cook for myself quite a bit.”
“I’m impressed.”
“When I get home at night, I often don’t feel like going out again, so I’ve taught myself to cook. I enjoy it sometimes.”
I lay on the couch in my absolute glory, watching him move as he chopped with his sleeves rolled up. Every movement of his body was a delight for my eyes as he drizzled olive oil, stirred, and tossed the pasta in a pan. The robust aroma smelled so good, better than anything I’d ever smelled before in my kitchen. He’d cracked the window open, letting in a delicate, nighttime breeze. A twinge of sadness hit me. I’d truly missed having a man around, even though I’d certainly never had one who cooked for me. Todd would have just ordered takeout. Unlike my ex, Reed wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves, get his hands dirty. I was loving that about him.
I could see that he was plating two servings. “Should I come to the table?”
“No. Stay where you are. I’ll bring it to you.”
This night just kept getting better. Reed placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table and handed me my plate.
“This looks amazing. What is it?”
“My take on spicy pasta puttanesca. Hope you can handle a little heat.”
“I can handle more than a little.”
Reed cracked another smile. He was definitely loosening up.
“I should injure myself more often if it means getting this kind of treatment.” I winked.
He sat on the chair across from me. “I do feel partially responsible for your mishap, so I’m happy to do it.”
“You merely said my name. I was the one who freaked out seeing you there.”
He took a bite of pasta, then said, “We certainly incite very odd reactions in each other, don’t we?”
“Yes, but I enjoy it . . . even when you send me your little blue hate notes. I enjoy every minute of bickering with you.”
Reed stopped chewing for a moment. It almost looked like it pained him to hear me say that. He cleared his throat. “Let me get you a napkin.”
I stopped him from getting up. “No. I’m good.” He sat back down.
“You look like you want to say something, Charlotte.” Reed seemed to be able to tell that there was something on my mind.
There was. A question that had been eating away at me. It was none of my business, of course, but I would ask him anyway.
“Why was Allison calling you about a honeymoon you never took?”
Reed paused and placed his fork down, and it clinked on the plate. “We paid for all of the arrangements, and the resort wouldn’t give us our money back. They would only give us a credit for a stay at one of their locations. Allison has continuously insisted that I be the one to use it.”
“Because she ended it. So she feels like you deserve it?”
“Yes. Evidently the credit expires in three months. I couldn’t care less, and I don’t have the time. I told her to use it or let it expire.”
“Use it, Reed. Make the time.”
“I wouldn’t use that credit even if I had the time,” he snapped.
Come to think of it, I probably would’ve felt the same way if Todd and I had had a trip planned before everything crumbled. Given how strong Reed’s feelings for Allison were, it made sense that he wouldn’t want to go on what would have been their honeymoon. I suddenly felt bad for suggesting that he go.
“I get it. You’re right. I’m sorry for prying.”
He lifted his brow. “Are you?”
“Not really.” I smiled. “Even though I still don’t know what happened with her, because you won’t tell me, for the record, I think she made a huge mistake.”
“No, she didn’t. She dodged a bullet.” He suddenly got up and took my empty plate back to the kitchen.
Okay. What was that about?
It was a while before he returned to the living room. Reed walked over to the window and stared out of it for a bit before picking up one of my framed photos.
I reached for my crutches and made my way over to him.
“Are these your parents?” he asked. His back was toward me.
“What tipped you off? The jet-black hair?” I joked. “They are. Frank and Nancy Darling. Best parents I could have asked for.”
“They seem . . . like good people from this photo, but yes, clearly they look different from you.” He turned around to face me and surprised me when he said, “I noticed you added something interesting to your Fuck-It List the other day.”
“Spying on my list, are you?”
“What’s on my server is mine, Darling—with a big D. It’s not spying.”
“Yes, I did add something I’d been putting off.”
“You want to find out where you came from.”
I knew that addition to my list was a lot different from all the others. Lately, figuring out exactly who I am had become somewhat of a focus for me. I’d lost a little of myself when I was with Todd—trying to fit into his career, his lifestyle, his hobbies, instead of what made me happy. And I couldn’t exactly figure out who I am without knowing where I’d come from.
“Someday, I would like to, yes. I added it on there, even though that one is really more bucket-list than fuck-it-list material. Not exactly something I can bang out in a day, nor is it necessarily one of the more enjoyable items for me.”
“Well, I think it’s brave. Whoever they are . . . they would be amazed to see how you turned out.”
“Thank you. And here I was thinking you just thought I was nuts.”
“You are nuts . . . but you have a lot of endearing qualities, too.”
“Thank you.”
A few moments of silence passed before he asked, “How much do you know about the day you were found?”
“You can Google ‘Saint Andrew’s Church Baby Poughkeepsie.’ You’ll find all the information in old news reports. And that’s about as much as I know. It was quite newsworthy at the time. But to this day, no one knows who left me there.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I guess.”
Reed could sense that I didn’t really want to talk about it and changed the subject. It was probably the only thing in my life that I wasn’t eager to discuss. Deep down, I knew I had abandonment issues. But living in denial was always easier than addressing them.
“So,
where do you do your sculpting?”
I grabbed my crutches and angled my head for him to follow me. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“You shouldn’t be moving around,” he scolded.
“It’s fine.”
I led him to what technically used to be my bedroom. Reed looked stunned to find that it wasn’t really a bedroom anymore at all.
A sheet lay over the floor. A pottery wheel sat in the center of the room. My bed, which was covered with junk, was pushed against the wall. Surrounding shelves held both painted and unpainted pieces.
“Where do you sleep?”
“The sofa in the living room turns into a very nice bed. Recently, I’ve turned my room into an art space. Someday I’ll get to have a bedroom and a pottery room, but for now this is how it has to be.”
He wandered around, gazing at my pieces. “You obviously made all of these?”
“Yup.”
“You mentioned once you went to college for art?”
“I went to Rhode Island School of Design in Providence for a year. But I ended up dropping out.”
“Why?”
“I realized that part of the beauty of being an artist is not having pressure put on you to create. And when that pressure was put on me, that was where my creativity basically ended. I sort of like to just throw raw clay on the wheel and see what happens. A bowl often unexpectedly transforms into a vase and vice versa. Sometimes my work turns into a useless piece of junk, and other times, something beautiful.”
“Like the one I caused you to break that you made for Iris. That was one of the nice ones, wasn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“That figures.” He smiled. Reed’s smile was like a gift. It was rare, but when it happened, it totally consumed me for as many seconds as it lasted. “Do you have a favorite piece?” he asked.
“You’d be surprised.” I moved slowly over to the corner of the room to pick up a small bowl. “This one, actually. It doesn’t seem like much at first, but if you look closely and become familiar with it, you see it’s perfectly balanced. Small, not flashy but colorful. Really exquisite.”
“Yes,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes. The temperature in the room felt like it was rising. “I honestly had no idea that you were this skilled. It’s very impressive.”
“Wow, I’ve impressed Reed Eastwood.”
“It’s not easy to do.”
“It’s not.”
Reed’s normally hardened expression had gone totally soft. His eyes were searching mine, and I felt something indescribable yet very strong between us in that moment. His body was close, and it felt like he could’ve easily leaned in and kissed me. Maybe that was just because I wanted him to kiss me so badly. Tonight we’d reached a level of intimacy that hadn’t existed before. Perhaps that made the physical need even more intense.
I could feel his breath a little when he said, “You’d better go sit down and get off your foot.”
CHAPTER 22
REED
I felt sick.
I think it might have been a reaction to Charlotte’s pixie dust or whatever spell she was casting on me.
I’d driven her to the office for the past few days. My problem was not that I didn’t want to do it; it was the opposite. I looked forward to the longer morning commute while ingesting her scent. I looked forward to her laugh and her ridiculous need to go to two different breakfast spots, one for the coffee, the other for the special kind of muffin.
This feeling had followed me around since the night of her little accident. At her apartment, when we were talking about her birth mystery, I’d seen a vulnerability in her eyes that I’d never noticed before. And when she took me into her art room, I’d been truly blown away by her talent.
When I got home that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and spent an hour googling “Saint Andrew’s Church Baby Poughkeepsie.”
There was probably only one thing cuter than present-day Charlotte Darling, and that was the red-faced cherublike version of herself from twenty-seven years ago. I might have printed the photo and tucked it away. And I’d take that fact with me to the grave.
The story was pretty much exactly the way she’d described it—a total mystery. A baby was found bundled up in a basket and left in front of the church rectory. The person rang the doorbell and ran, leaving Baby Charlotte in the hands of the church, then the state, before she eventually ended up in the hands of her adoptive parents.
Maybe it was because of the beauty of the little girl, but the news story stayed in the headlines for some time, following Charlotte’s plight from the very beginning up until she was adopted six months later.
As I sat in my office pondering Charlotte, she happened to walk by, carrying a few packages. I noticed that she was walking perfectly fine—with no limp. Just this morning, that wasn’t the case.
Hmm.
It made me wonder if she was playing some kind of game with me.
I decided to message her.
Reed: Judging from how you just waltzed by my office, your ankle seems to be a lot better. I’m guessing you won’t need a ride tomorrow.
Charlotte: LOL. I thought you were supposed to be at a lunch meeting on the Upper West Side.
Reed: Cancelled.
Charlotte: Ah, well, yes, I am doing much better. The rides into the office have been very helpful. While I’ve enjoyed your charming morning personality, you’re right. I think I can fend for myself now. The recovery time has far exceeded my expectations.
Reed: It’s far exceeded mine as well, so much so that it seems totally unbelievable. In any case, glad to see you’re feeling better. I guess now you can fetch my dry cleaning. I have some shirts that need picking up from Union Street Cleaners.
Even though menial tasks like getting coffee were part of Charlotte’s technical job description, we rarely asked her to do things like that anymore. Most of her responsibilities kept her in the office or at showings. Her role in the company was expanding. So I was totally messing with her in asking her to pick up my dry cleaning.
Charlotte: I’d be happy to pick up your shirts. Are they ready?
Reed: I was just kidding. I can pick up my own dry cleaning. You don’t need to do that.
Charlotte: Oh.
A few moments later, she appeared at my door. Her face was flushed, and she seemed like she had something major on her mind. “Can I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask.” I could see that Charlotte was definitely nervous. I took off my glasses and placed them on the desk. “What’s up?”
She closed the door, and her heels clicked as she slowly approached my desk.
“Is everything alright, Charlotte?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her palms on her skirt. “I’m just nervous to ask you something. But I told myself that I was going to do it anyway.”
“Okay . . .”
“I was wondering . . . if you would like to . . . well . . .”
“Just say it.”
Charlotte looked down at her feet. “Lately, I’ve been telling myself that I’m going to make more of an effort to go after what I want in life, take the bull by the horns, if you will. And, well . . . I really like your company. I was wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime outside of work?” She let out a long breath. “On a date.”
It felt like all my breath left my body.
I. Was. Not. Expecting. That.
Charlotte was asking me out on a date.
She was insane. And ballsy. And so fucking adorable.
And I wanted to say yes. God, how I wanted to say yes more than anything I’d wanted in a very long time.
But I knew that I couldn’t lead her on, as much as I enjoyed spending time with her. As much as being around her made me happy. As goddamn beautiful as I thought she was.
My lack of response caused her to backtrack. “Oh my God, Reed. Forget I said anything. It was just an impulsive thing. I really enjoyed our time together this week, an
d I find you . . . very attractive . . . and you sometimes look at me like you might feel the same and that whole thong experience in my office that one night . . . it was weird yet sexy . . . and I just thought that maybe—”
“I can’t, Charlotte. I’m sorry. I just can’t date anyone right now. The reasons are too complicated to get into. But my saying no has everything to do with me and absolutely nothing to do with you. I think you’re remarkable. You need to know that.”
“Okay.” She just kept nodding repeatedly. “Okay. Can we forget I asked this, then?”
“Totally forgotten.”
She turned around and basically fled.
After she left my office, my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. What she’d just done took a hell of a lot of guts. I knew that no matter what I said, she would somehow take it personally, and that killed me. I felt awful. She couldn’t possibly know how badly I wished I could’ve said yes.
And her boldness . . . that was so damn hot. Knowing she wanted me made it even harder to accept that I wasn’t going to be able to have her.
As the afternoon wore on, I couldn’t stop obsessing about having hurt Charlotte in some way. I wondered if there was a work-around, if there were a way I could spend time with her outside of work but where it wouldn’t be perceived as a date.
Deep down, I knew I was bullshitting myself. But if I never put myself in a position where I was alone with her, what would be the harm in spending some time with her?
Again, deep down, I knew this was bullshit, but yet I proceeded to walk down to her office anyway.
“Charlotte, can I speak to you for a moment?”
She seemed especially guarded. “Okay . . .”
Pulling up a chair in front of her desk, I said, “I was thinking about what you asked me earlier, and I was wondering if . . . maybe rather than a date, if you would be interested in spending time with me in another capacity—more as friends.”
“What do you mean?”
Making Charlotte feel better after my rejection earlier was my number one priority. I knew on some level this proposition was complicating the situation even further. But I wanted to reward her brutal honesty with something, even if meant tempting fate.
“I’d love your assistance in tackling a couple of the items on my bucket list, namely rock climbing to start—since you’re an expert and all now. I’m talking about outdoor climbing. There’s this place in the Adirondacks with guided instruction. I can send you the info. We could go up this Saturday. It would be one overnight. Separate rooms, of course. Would you be interested?”