by Mia Madison
Wants & Needs
Love at First Sight: Book Four
Mia Madison
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Wants & Needs
Love at First Sight: Book Four
Copyright © 2017 by Mia Madison
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Each book in the Love at First Sight series can be read on its own, but if you’d like to check out the previous books in the series, just follow the links below.
Touch & Taste (Book One)
Work & Play (Book Two)
Protect & Serve (Book Three)
1
When I was eight years old, I told my daddy that the only thing I wanted to be when I grew up was a princess. He smiled and patted me on the head before telling me that I already was a princess—his little princess.
After he walked away, I pouted and stomped my foot with a huff. I told my mom that I only wanted Owen to be my prince. After all, Daddy was already her prince. The memory was hazy now, but I could still recall the sound of her awkward laugh right before she warned me not to say that to my father.
‘It’ll break his heart that you want Owen to be your prince and not him.’
A much clearer memory was shortly after I turned twelve when my dad casually mentioned at dinner that Owen had received a promotion and was moving to another city for work. While he was saddened to lose the time spent with his best friend, he saw things in a positive light and was ultimately happy for Owen and the great opportunity.
I didn’t share the same viewpoint. I was devastated.
Not that Owen never came back to visit. No, he considered us his family just as we did him and he made it a point to come see us at least once a year. I cherished the small amounts of time I got to see him—which were just enough for me to hold on to my ridiculous obsession—until the fateful day when I was fourteen and he came back with a woman in tow.
Amber. She was all womanly curves and straight teeth and perfect hair and make-up regardless of the weather. She dressed like a real woman, with gorgeous outfits that I could never dream of being able to afford. How could a girl like me compete with a woman who was practically a supermodel? Especially in a competition for a man I had no business going after.
As puberty hit—or didn’t hit, in my case—my dreams were crushed by the realization that I’d never be a beautiful princess, which meant Owen would never be my prince. I was too scrawny, too shy, and way too awkward to ever be good enough for him.
Even though his engagement to Amber fell apart a few years later, I didn’t come close to measuring up to his standards. I was just too… plain.
Unfortunately, the knowledge that I wasn’t good enough for him had never been enough to make me let go of the vain hope that I could one day be his. I was all too aware that it was just a dream, but it was enough to keep the obsession alive.
A timid knock on my bedroom door brought me out of my heavy thoughts.
“Charlotte?” Mom’s soft voice called through the door. “You’re going to be late for work, honey.”
Instead of answering her, I grabbed my purse and opened the door. She gave me a hesitant smile and I felt myself frowning at the expression.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no… I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for your birthday dinner tonight.”
“Of course,” I said with a smile. “Layla’s going to pick me up from work so the cooking won’t be interrupted.”
“I’m making your favorites,” she said softly before turning to walk down the hall. I followed her to the door, neither of us saying anything else until we were settled in the car. “Is your—Did you invite anyone besides Layla?”
“Ava’s out of town so we made plans to have lunch next week. I didn’t invite anyone else.”
“Oh. Okay then.”
Mom was quiet as she drove me to work and I slunk down into the passenger seat, feeling massively awkward that she seemed so disappointed that no one else was coming. If anyone had a right to be disappointed, I thought it’d be me. It had never been a secret that making friends wasn’t an area where I excelled, so why did she seem so upset about it now?
I was unable to voice the question that lingered in my mind, so we slipped back into silence until she was pulling up to the curb of Clark’s grocery. I gave her a small smile before hopping out of the car and briskly making my way inside.
I placed my purse into my locker and took out my apron, tying it together before closing the door and heading toward the list of things my boss wanted done today.
Stock duty. I smiled at the sheet, thankful to get one of my favorite tasks. Stocking or cleaning suited me best—pretty much anything that didn’t involve direct confrontation with customers.
My joy was short-lived when I noticed Gary had register duty. Sighing as I prepared for what would inevitably happen, I pushed the stock cart onto the floor and decided to make the most of my time.
As I started going through the familiar motions, I allowed my mind to drift off into space—the biggest reason why I loved this part of the job.
“Charlie. Charlie!”
“Yeah?” I dazedly asked, snapping my head to the side and feeling my eyes go wide when they landed on my boss. I cleared my throat and softly apologized, “I’m sorry, Margret. I was zoning out a little bit.”
“No worries, dear. I wanted to speak to you about your shift tomorrow.”
“What about it?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that tomorrow’s your birthday? Don’t you think I know what it means to turn twenty-one?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I spoke to Jason and he’s agreed to cover for you. Have some fun, dear. Celebrate your youth!”
“I really don’t mind coming in, Margret.”
If anything, I wanted to come in. Having the day off meant I’d be sitting around the house doing nothing. It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. Nothing made me feel like more of a loser than spending my birthday completely alone.
“Nonsense. I insist you take the day off and we’ll see you bright and early Monday morning,” she said, turning around and shuffling down the aisle before I could voice my protest. “Oh, and would you please take register duty from Gary? He’s scaring the customers again.”
I knew it was coming, but it was still disappointing. With a heavy sigh, I dropped the barcode reader into the stock cart and pushed it up to the front of the store. Gary was leaning against his register—a bored look on his face.
“Want to swap?” I asked as I approached, gesturing down to the cart.
“Hell yes,” he breathed in relief. He quickly typed his number into the computer to sign out before he said, “It’s all yours.”
I forced a smile as he wandered off with my cart. I didn’t mind Gary as a coworker generally speaking—but he was the only person besides me who s
eemed to loathe register duty. The difference between us was he was a bold enough guy to purposely bother customers just so Margret would give him something else to do.
Though even if I was bold, I wouldn’t risk it. Gary was Margret’s nephew and therefore far less likely to be fired than I was.
I typed my personnel code into the register and settled in, forcing myself to fondly greet my first customer of the day even though my shyness made it difficult. Sometimes I wondered if I came off as rude, which only served to make my nervousness around people grow even stronger. It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t seem to break. Would I ever be fully comfortable with people?
Hours of awkward small talk as I rung up purchases passed and I caught myself glancing longingly at the clock. The end of my shift was growing closer and even though I was never fond of being the center of attention like I would be at my birthday dinner—I found myself unusually excited for it.
“Ten more minutes,” I mumbled to myself as I stared at the clock.
I was so entranced by the second hand ticking away that I jumped at the loud clang of glass bottles being placed on the belt. I spun around and looked down at the case of beer, then up to the young man buying it.
The apology I intended to give died on my lips when I saw the grin he was giving me and I shyly averted my eyes back to the beer. I scanned the barcode before I softly muttered, “I need to see your ID, please.”
The card in question came into view and I quickly located and typed in the birth date, noting the guy—Jeremy—was only two years older than I was. I forced a smile at him when I finally looked up to hand him back his license, swallowing hard when I saw that his grin had grown.
“Not a people person, are you?” he asked with a chuckle as he slid the card into his wallet and pulled out cash to pay. I shook my head, which seemed to amuse him further. “This isn’t exactly a great job choice, is it?”
“I-I prefer stock duty,” I admitted, my smile growing a little more genuine when I saw the predatory look in his eyes soften.
But then his eyes darted down to my chest and I felt my cheeks flame. I racked my mind for something to say when his gaze darted back up.
“Charlotte, huh? That’s a pretty name.”
I had been ready to flee and he had only been reading my name tag. For God’s sake—it was a true struggle not to roll my eyes at my own self.
“Thank you. I prefer Charlie, though.”
His nose scrunched up for a moment—the usual reaction—before his expression went back to neutral and he shrugged.
“Whatever you want. It’s your name after all,” he said, the smile returning to his eyes. As I was considering a witty response, he leaned forward and quietly asked, “Would you like to go out with me sometime, Charlie?”
I gaped at him. While he was cute—no denying that—my brain immediately began comparing him to my increasingly fuzzy memories of Owen and this poor guy came up short. Jeremy was too short and too skinny to be built like Owen—not to mention his black hair was a far cry from the sandy blonde I loved so much.
He took pity on me with a low chuckle as he reached across the register and snatched a stack of sticky notes and a pen. He jotted something on the sheet while I stared at him incredulously, waiting for an explanation.
“How about this—I’ll give you my number and if you decide you’re up for it—just shoot me a text. Sound good?”
Since I seemed unable to form a coherent string of words, I nodded dumbly and took the slip of paper. I glanced down at his name and number then back up to his face, giving him a small smile that I surprisingly didn’t have to force.
“Thank you.”
He grabbed the handle of the case of beer and winked. “Thank you, Charlie.”
I watched him leave with wide eyes, so focused on his retreating form that I screeched when a hand suddenly clasped my shoulder from behind the partition that separated the aisles.
“Jesus!” I screamed, spinning around and scowling at Layla as she burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. “H-How long have you been back there?”
“Long enough to see that poor guy failing in his attempt to pick you up,” she admitted with another laugh as she came around the front of the register and plucked the note from my hand. “So will you be calling this Jeremy kid? I bet he’d love to take you to dinner and paw at you in the back of his daddy’s car.”
I yanked the phone number away from her, trying to ignore the way my cheeks burned. She gave me an apologetic smile, but I could tell that she wasn’t really sorry. Because the truth was—she was probably right.
I looked down at the paper and offered her a half shrug. I glanced up just enough to see her eyes widen a hint with surprise and I smiled in response.
“Maybe I will call him.”
“I call bullshit. Even if you were the kind of girl who would call a guy and make the first move—which you definitely aren’t—we both know poor old Jeremy doesn’t stand a chance.”
Though it was true and I knew it better than anyone, the reminder still frustrated me. I hadn’t even seen Owen in almost two years—his visits had dwindled down to almost nonexistent as he got busier with work in his new town.
Why couldn’t I let him go?
“You’re off, dear!” Margret announced as she scooched up to the register beside me and tapped a nail on the screen. “I’ll take over here. You have a wonderful weekend.”
Layla frowned. “Aren’t you working tomorrow?”
Margret answered for me. “Nope! She has the day off. I want you to enjoy your birthday and the rest of your weekend, Charlie. We can manage just fine until Monday.”
“Go Margret!” Layla exclaimed, reaching her hand up and giving a bewildered Margret a high-five.
I rolled my eyes as they giggled together, shuffling off to get my purse while secretly wishing I could find a way to be as open with people as Layla was.
After ditching my apron and grabbing my purse, Layla and I made our way through the parking lot to her car. The drive home was short, but that didn’t stop Layla from teasing me about Jeremy the entire way.
“Stop,” I begged, covering my face with my hands after she made another insinuation of what she believed Jeremy would be like on a date. “I beg of you—please stop.”
“I beg of you to throw away that number. I swear—I think I recognize him from somewhere and that never bodes well.”
No, it did not. It usually meant Layla had seen him at a party she crashed and the majority of the people at those parties weren’t people I liked to hang out with. I mumbled my consent to ditch the number, knowing I would have never been able to work up the nerve to call him even if I wanted to.
“Please tell me your mom is making lasagna,” Layla practically moaned as she pulled onto my street. “Your mom is the best cook ever. Seriously. Want to trade moms?”
Even though my mom and I had our issues, there was no way in hell I’d trade her. Especially not for Layla’s mom. Not that I’d ever say that aloud.
“She’s mine,” I said, laughing when she pouted. I was about to continue the joke when the house came into view and I spotted a black pickup in the driveway. “Who’s that?”
Layla shrugged. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Who all is coming?”
“Just you,” I said as she pulled the car to the curb and parked.
“Well, I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world and you know Ava wanted to be here as well.”
“I know,” I confirmed with a nod, though her absence did make me sadder than I let on. “It’s not her fault.”
Ava and her fiancé had planned to come to dinner until Trent got a call informing him that his mother had a stroke. Ava confided that while he was putting on a good act of pretending to be fine, she could tell he was completely torn up about it.
She didn’t even have to ask. I was the one who offered to make delayed plans so she could be where she was needed. Had our situations been reversed, I knew she would have told
me the very same thing.
“Char?”
I turned to Layla, watching her eyebrows raise in a silent question and noting that she had one foot already out the door. I hadn’t even noticed that the engine had stopped.
“I don’t know about you, but the mystery of this black pickup is calling my name.”
“Are you sure it’s not the lasagna?”
Layla grinned. “That too.”
We laughed as we made our way inside and I was grateful to have her here. I was honestly surprised she hadn’t tried to talk me into going out drinking for my birthday, but thankful at the same time.
Besides, her birthday was only a month after mine. I had a feeling she’d have no problem playing that card to get me out of the house and into a club. I cringed at the thought even as I reached for the doorknob.
“Surprise!”
I laughed to myself as I stepped in, shaking my head at my mom and dad as they cheerily greeted me.
“It can’t be a surprise if I know about it,” I joked before the sound of footsteps coming up the hall captured my attention.
“The party isn’t the surprise,” Dad said with a chuckle.
I turned again and felt my smile fall as I stared into the eyes of the man I had obsessively loved for the vast majority of my life. Owen gave me a fond smile as he held up a small bouquet of white lilies—my favorite flowers.
I couldn’t believe he remembered, but I didn’t fully melt until I heard his smooth baritone as he softly said, “Happy birthday, princess.”
2
My eyes were wide and my mouth was hanging open as I stared at Owen, something in the back of my head whispering that it had to be a dream. But as Layla stepped a little too close and jostled my shoulder—subtly shaking me out of my rather embarrassing trance—I realized that he wasn’t a figment of my imagination at all.