by Amelia Wilde
“Horrible. This room needs a lighter color. More neutral.”
“I think blue is soothing.”
“Then paint it blue.” Charlie’s laugh is a rumble.
“But blue is horrible,” I tease.
“Horrible for selling. Not horrible if you love it.”
I laugh, and he laughs too, a silent shake in my back.
Would he be standing this close, if he wasn’t falling too?
He wouldn’t. I know it.
With Charlie, it’s not about what he’s saying. It’s rarely about what he’s saying. I’m the one who likes to say things. When I die, people will probably tell stories at my funeral about how I would never shut up. That’s different with Charlie. Being in silence is easier with him. It’s not my favorite—silence will never be my favorite. I itch to turn on some music, even now. But it’s easier.
Probably because our communication can happen in other ways.
Speaking of that…
Charlie absently traces one finger down the front of my chest, a neat path between my breasts, and my nipples rise into peaks on the crest of a shiver.
“Did you like that?”
“I did like that.”
“You know…if you’re really going to sell this place, we should enjoy it before you do.”
“There’s no furniture.”
He gallantly takes off his shirt and lays it on the ground. “A blanket for you.”
“That’s not furniture.”
“Then don’t lay down.”
With one easy movement, Charlie turns me toward him and lifts me into his arms. My legs go around his waist and he backs me against the wall and turns my head with one hand so he can lick down the length of my neck. Sweet Jesus, it’s hot.
“God,” I gasp. “Who are you? You were never quite like this before. Kind—kind of like this, but different—oh, it’s—it’s so much more—”
“I’ve had a long time to think about what I would do to you if I ever got the chance.”
“Do to me?” A pleasure tinged with darkness moves through me like winged desire.
A wicked glint lights up Charlie’s eyes. “Yes. To you.”
“Like fuck me up against the wall with your hand around my jaw?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
15
Charlie
The meeting Roman has called in light of my recent text message starts on time. Driver’s the last to enter the room, looking down at his phone. Huck and Beau are already here. I stand at the back, Driver and Beau sit across from Roman, and Huck leans against the wall to the right of Roman’s desk.
“Holiday’s going with me,” Driver announces, apropos of nothing. “She’s finishing the packing. Let’s make this quick, all right?” No one says anything. “You guys are assholes.”
Beau laughs. “Good job, team. Solid burn against Driver. But I think we should discuss the man of the hour.”
“Who’s the man of the hour?” asks Huck.
“That would be our brother Charlie. He’s solved the mystery.”
“I haven’t. That’s why we’re having this meeting. But I did get a lead.”
“A lead?” Roman says. “Let’s get it out in the open.”
I tell them about the trust. I tell them about the rules, which we should all know about, but a few of us probably don’t. I tell them we need to find Asher.
“Did it take you this long because of your new lady friend?” asks Beau, waggling his eyebrows.
“She’s the one who gave me the idea, so you can all shut your mouths about her. It’s my private business.”
“Private business can be lucrative,” Beau says. “Just ask Roman.”
Roman is busy staring at me in disbelief. “This has been staring us in the face the whole time. How did we not think of this?”
“Probably because most of us have more exciting things to do with our lives,” says Beau.
“This is your livelihood, too,” Roman says, pointing a finger at Beau.
“Ah, yes, but I am resilient. There’ll always be another resort for me to land at.” Beau puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. “So what do we do?”
“We’ve got to get into contact with Asher, obviously,” says Roman. “Charlie’s right.”
“I have an idea,” says Huck, whose skin is already tan from being out on the sailboats. He immediately stepped into head up a new configuration of watercraft, including kayaks, stand-up paddle boards, and little sailboats. It’s like he wants to be back, but he doesn’t want to be on land. “Let’s text him.”
“That’s my line,” grouses Beau. “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
“I’ll get you a drink from the bar,” offers Huck.
Beau clicks his tongue at Huck. “You sly dog. You know a virgin Thunderstorm is the way to a man’s heart.”
“You are so weird. Do you know that?” Huck laughs.
“Who, me? I’m not the one who hired my best friend to work out on the docks with me.”
Driver looks up from his phone. “You hired your best friend, Huckles?”
“I hired Katie, yeah.” Huck stands up straight against the wall and folds his arms over his chest. “She knows her way around the water.”
“No one say anything about bathing suits,” Beau says in a stage whisper.
Huck’s face reddens, but he smirks at Beau. “Don’t say anything, guys. It might get Beau riled up.”
“Too late. I’m already riled up.”
“I’m the one who should find another resort to work at,” says Roman. “Gentleman, we have a goal. Let’s get on it.”
“Do our jobs?” asks Driver.
“Yes. And text Asher. I also emailed him, but it bounced back. No forwarding address.”
“Yeah, Roman, emails don’t do that,” says Huck. “Come into the present, old man.”
“I sign your checks,” Roman fires back.
“Actually, I think Charlie signs all of our checks,” says Beau. “Isn’t that true, Charles?”
“Our resort is losing money to a mysterious account hidden in the trust,” I say, loudly and slowly. “This is something we should figure out. And yes, Beau, I do sign the checks.”
“You heard the man.” Beau gets up from his chair. “Meeting dismissed.”
“Meeting not dismissed,” says Roman. “Driver, be prepared to cut your trip short if Asher shows up. Charlie, are we sure this isn’t a savings account we’re losing money to? It might not be…you know. What we think it is.”
“Embezzlement,” says Driver.
“Way to say it right out loud,” answers Beau. “Wait, by show of hands, are any of you embezzling money from the resort?” He keeps his hands pressed flat to his pants.
“You’re the one I ended up twins with,” I grumble.
“God’s gift to you,” Beau says with a wink. “Nobody’s raising their hands, by the way.”
“Okay.” Roman claps his hands together. “Meeting dismissed.”
We walk out of the office together and split off to separate destinations. I’m going back to Leta’s to tell her that I’m finally making headway.
“Hey.” Beau jogs a few steps to come level. “How’s things?”
“Fine. Good.”
“Nice job on that clue, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you in love with her again?”
I stop and face him. “You’re going to ask me that now?”
“Uh, yeah.” Beau gestures around. “We’re alone. And she’s been at your house, and you’ve been at hers, and…I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“Yes.” A heady montage of Leta’s sighs and moans spins through my head. “Yeah, I’m more than okay with it.”
A grin spreads across Beau’s face. “Oh, my god. You’re happy, aren’t you? You’re happy she showed up.”
“I think this is going to go somewhere,” I admit. “I think…I might ask her to stay.
Formally. With words.”
“Nice. That’s…yeah. You should do that. That’s great. Wait—where was she going to go?”
“Sell the house she inherited from her aunt, and—it’s a thing.”
“Got it. Keep me posted.”
I roll my eyes. “Naturally. You’re my first call.”
Beau winks. “I know it. I have a different thing on the beach. Stay strong.” He turns on his heel and goes.
“You too.”
“I’m always strong,” he calls back.
It feels good, admitting it out loud. It feels better to know it. Leta was the missing piece all along. Now that she’s back in her rightful place, I’m not going to let her get away. She’s got another week here at least, and I’m going to use every minute to convince her that Ruby Bay could be home. Maybe once all of this is settled and we figure out all the finances, I could…I could consider compromising. If I’d still have at Bliss. I’m not going to give that up, either.
She’s sitting on her front porch when I get back, bobbing her head along to some music playing from her speakers. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles, but it’s not a bright one. A distracted thing.
“Hi.” I bend to kiss her on the temple.
“Hi. How was the meeting?”
“Good. We’re finally moving forward, as long as we can find my brother.”
“That’s good.”
Her phone rests on her knee, facedown, and Leta taps at the plastic case with her fingertips.
“What’s going on with you?”
She bites her lip and glances across at me from underneath her eyelashes. “I’ve had a call.”
16
Leta
I dream of the phone call.
It should have been a dream come true, this phone call, and it was—for a hot second. A woman named Margot Piazzi was on the other end of the line. Margot of art-scene fame. Margot of the most prestigious gallery in the city, and lots of other cities besides. Margot, Margot, Margot. She likes my wine nights idea.
In the dream, I say her name too many times and make it weird—in real life, I managed to hold it together. Because Margot Piazzi has heard of me. Me, Leta Quinn. She likes my studio and gallery, and she wants to work with me on opening more like it. A franchise opportunity, but one that benefits women artists.
“I would have called sooner, but I was on a retreat cruise.”
I wanted desperately to know what a retreat cruise is. Is it doing art on a cruise? If so, sign me up for the next one. But I didn’t ask, because Margot was busy telling me that we should sit down for a meeting at my earliest. She already has ideas for the branding—Joyful Pearl, based on the meanings of our names. I could do without the joyful, personally, but she has thought about this. She walked past my studio, and thought about it, and called me. Her rich self called me so we could come up with a partnership.
I wake up with a start, shouting yes into an empty room. Yes, Margot, I will marry you.
No. That’s not.
I put a hand over my mouth. If I woke up Charlie with an orgasmic shout directed at Margot…
But the bed is empty.
After I told him the news, he took me shopping for a bed. The old bed was old, so I let Pete throw out the mattress and salvaged the frame. Charlie helped me drag the frame back into the master bedroom and waited with me while the delivery guys came. He helped me put the sheets on and crawled into it with me.
He’s not here now.
I get up and pull on the infamous bathrobe, which must have been Mari’s. It was hanging on a peg by the door the night the wall exploded. It’s enormous and overly fluffy, but I tug it on over my tank top and shorts and go looking for my…
My what? My temporary lover? My boyfriend? That night on the sand, he definitely felt more like a boyfriend than anything else. More like a non-temporary lover.
I pad down the stairs.
He’s not in the kitchen, or the living room, or anywhere else. I go back up and squint at my phone on the bedside table, my heart thudding heavily against my ribs. It’s one in the morning.
Leta: Where are you?
I’m not expecting an answer, but one comes almost immediately.
Charlie: Home.
My heart twists.
Leta: Not comfortable here? I’ll get another mattress
Charlie: It’s a good mattress
I can’t have this conversation via text.
Back downstairs, I slip on a pair of sandals and go out into the night.
I wouldn’t walk alone at night back in California, but here at Bliss, the biggest risk is tripping over the curb and scraping my knees. At the very edges of my senses, I can feel a nip in the air. It’s not an actual nip—more the hint of a nip—but I pull the bathrobe closer. The summer lasted longer this year. I can’t help feeling like it was for me, personally.
Less than five minutes. That’s how long it takes to get to Charlie’s, after all these years living on opposite sides of the country. My body sighs into it—that convenient distance. I wouldn’t mind if it were three minutes. Or two minutes. Or five seconds, like it was when he was in my bed.
That’s what has my heart pounding. Why did he leave? What does It’s a good mattress mean?
I go up the steps to his porch and raise my hand to knock.
“Hey.”
My lungs collapse, my knees go week, and I brace myself against the door. Oh, god, it was stupid to walk alone at night, and now—
“Are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” Charlie. It’s Charlie. He’s stood up from wherever he was lurking and stands next to me at the door. “Like,” I gasp. “What were you doing out here? I thought you were inside.”
“We were texting,” he says. “I was sitting on the porch.”
“Didn’t you see me coming? I’m in a giant white bathrobe.”
“I did, but I thought you saw me.”
I get my knees back underneath me and straighten up. “Well, I almost died of a heart attack just then.”
A wind chime rings in the far distance.
“You want to go inside, then?”
“No. I’m sweating now. If I go inside I’ll probably sweat to death.”
“Very attractive,” Charlie says.
“It would be your fault.”
He gestures to a set of wicker furniture, very similar to Mari’s. I sink down into one of the chairs with as much grace as possible. In other words, I let my ass fall into it like a puppet with the strings cut.
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” I say into the silence.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you left?”
Charlie sits down next to me and looks out at the street. No traffic rumbles by, like it would in California. It’s just…quiet. The rush of the lake is the loudest sound, followed by the breeze. “I thought there was more time.”
“Is this about the news that I got?”
He leans back in the chair. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
It rolls into me then, a wave of anger and hurt. It’s the twin of the anger and hurt I felt back then, when he wouldn’t come to California with me. When he wouldn’t even think about it. “We never talked about it because we agreed to talk about other things instead.”
“We did talk about those things. We talked about your house, and your aunt, and your studio.”
“So because we talked about those things, you left in the middle of the night.” Tears sting the corners of my eyes and I blink them back. “After the time we’ve had now?”
“The time we’ve had now doesn’t mean…it doesn’t mean things are different.” Charlie looks down at his hands. “Doesn’t it tell you that things are like they always were?”
“Were they so bad?”
“Not until the end,” he says softly. “This last week has felt like an accelerated replay of everything that happened before.”
He doesn’t have to say it—including this.
“It could be differen
t this time,” I offer, struggling to keep my voice steady.
Charlie looks me in the eye. “Could it?”
“It could be. If you…” Even as I’m saying the words, I know it can’t be.
I know.
Charlie belongs here, with his family. And I belong where the universe sends me. I always have.
“I thought you’d take the news as a sign,” he says.
He’s right.
17
Charlie
I run and run and run.
As soon as the sky is light enough, I put on my shoes and run. I circle the club twice, and then I head out onto the main road toward Ruby Bay. When I’m done with town I come back and go down to the beach. The sun hasn’t crested the horizon by the time I’m pounding the sand, calves burning and my abs on fire.
Back and forth, back and forth. Then and now. It’s all the same.
I’m going back to California, Leta whispered last night, and then she got up and left.
I didn’t chase her.
You can’t argue with fate, or with destiny, or whatever it is she thinks directs her life. She’s always been that way, and she’s never going to change. Leta has never thought of her life as something to be directed. She’s at the whim of the universe.
To her credit, it’s worked out.
But it didn’t feel like it was working out the last time this happened.
You just don’t care, she spat at me on the front stoop of the apartment building, all the way back in that shitty college town that seemed magical because of her. You’ve never cared about anything but that fucking resort.
It’s my family business, I told her. I’ve always wanted to be part of my father’s legacy, I told her. My plans haven’t changed. It’s been the plan since day one.
Change the plan, she shouted at me, color high in her cheeks. Take a chance, for once.
I can’t.
You can.
I don’t want to.
Leta had balled up her fists, car keys dangling from one of them. You’re a weight around my neck, she said finally. You want to drag me back to the life that’s comfortable for you and pin me down.