by S. L. Scott
We cross the street and buy a coffee from a bakery. We get it to go so we can continue walking and enjoying the late April day.
I notice he watches me in a protective way. He steps closer when people pass us on the sidewalk as if to guard me. He held his hand in front of me when I was about to step into the crosswalk and a car ran a red.
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” he asks.
He makes me feel safe. So when he wants to know something, I feel secure in sharing myself with him. “Not at all.”
“What’s up with Jim’s family? From what you’ve told me and from the funeral, I gather you didn’t get along?”
I stop to admire the necklaces and earrings in the window of a shop. Even though I don’t like the topic, I’ll answer anyway, because I’m not the downfall of that relationship. I say this to myself a lot to counteract all the passive-aggressive comments Cherry used to utter under her breath. One day I hope the negativity from back then won’t reside in my head any longer.
“It wasn’t that we didn’t get along,” I say. “It was more that I wasn’t the one they wanted their son to marry. I’m not from their world, and I didn’t fit in, like ever, even when I tried. And trust me, I tried.”
“If you have to try that hard, then it’s not worth it. They’re not worth the effort.”
“I was in love.” I shrug as we walk on, tossing my cup in a nearby trashcan.
“Love makes us do stupid things. The old saying is true. Love is blind.”
“You too, huh?” I nudge him in the ribs.
“A story like that requires heavy alcohol, not coffee.”
I’m enjoying our time together too much to upset the vibe. I smile in sympathy. Understanding not wanting to revisit old heartache, I don’t push. “You’re not like most guys I’ve met here. Why are you so nice, Charlie?”
“What, you don’t know any nice guys in Manhattan?”
I can tell he’s teasing, but he truly doesn’t understand how rare a man he is. “I know one.” I want to touch him again, even if just in a teasing way, but I shove my hands in my pockets to restrain myself.
“You probably say that to all the guys.”
My smile grows, and I feel happy. “Ha! Yep, my charm works every time.”
“I bet it does. I just bet it does. So, it’s Saturday night. No hot date?”
“He’s hot, but more of the platonic kind,” I say, kind of wishing we hadn’t decided to stay just friends.
“Come over here. I want to show you how platonic I can be.”
“Who says I was talking about you?”
He doesn’t shrug or slump. He’s all cocky, confident again. “I think I’m the hottest platonic friend you know, excluding last night, of course.”
Yep, there was nothing platonic about last night. “Is that so?”
“It most certainly is,” he says, holding his hand out. “Now c’mere.”
“You sure do hold yourself in high regard.” I walk toward him, taking hold of his hand. “Can I confess something?”
“Confess away.”
“Is it sad that last night,” I say, peeking over at him, “was the most action I’ve seen in a long time, and that was with a friend?”
Squeezing my hand before wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he laughs. “Yes. Actually, that is one of the saddest things I’ve heard in a while.”
I attempt to elbow him in the ribs. “Ha ha. Where’s your hot date, then, show-off?”
He blocks the hit, holding me even tighter against him to keep me from escaping. “She’s right here.”
Smiling, I lean my head on his shoulder. While I love the feeling of being in his arms again, I’m uncomfortable with the swirling emotions he evokes, so I change the subject. “I’m still hungry, are you?”
“You devoured half a pizza and I don’t know how many cupcakes earlier. That wasn’t enough?” He’s back to teasing, letting me know we’re good. Looking up at him, his eyes are blue and happy, and that makes me giggle again. “You want to order something at your place?”
“No, let’s stay out.”
“Come on. I’ll let you take me out for some grub.”
“You’ll let me?” He winks, laughing. “Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes with a sly grin on his face. “I’ll buy. By the way, this act of yours is so transparent, Ms. Barrow.”
“What act would that be?” I ask, raising my eyebrow at him.
“You just want to go out so you can show off your hot platonic date.”
Now that makes me really laugh. “You always see right through me, Charlie.” That’s truer than I’d like to admit.
The weather is perfect, and we are friends again. I don’t think this night can get any better, until it does with one simple gesture. He pulls me closer, until I’m as close as I can get to him. I wrap my arm around his middle, and I don’t fight this feeling of security he gives me. I revel in it.
Chapter 16
Ha! Yep, my charm works every time, she said in response to my flirting. Flirting? Is that what I was doing yesterday? Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing.
She’s clever and intelligent, funny, and, yes, charming. And yet, she doesn’t seem to realize it at all. I hate speaking ill of the dead, but Jim was an asshole. It sounds like he put everyone before her and then cheated on her, too. Prick! If he were alive, I’d be having a serious chat with him. No one deserves to be treated like she was, but she especially didn’t deserve it.
When I looked at her yesterday and she was smiling, her expression all glorious and happy, any earlier aggravation over her leaving dissipated, and I felt happy, too.
That was the first day we spent together as real friends, friends who knew where they stood in each other’s lives, friends without preconceived notions and no heavy judgments. I didn’t expect for us to end up in that place when I showed up on her doorstep that morning, wanting her last name and phone number, but I also realize that sometimes the best things take time. For her and for now, I’m willing to be here as her friend.
I can’t get something else she said off my mind, so the next day, I bring it up again.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about living with someone and how you worried that something would happen,” I say, gauging her reaction. I take a lick of my ice cream and wait to hear if she responds.
She glances up from her hot fudge sundae, but returns her focus to digging out the cherry that’s fallen to the side of the bowl.
I continue because we’re friends, and friends should be able to talk about anything. Leaning closer to her across the small table, I explain, “Something could happen, yes, but that something could be good or bad. It’s a gamble, right? On the positive side, it’s a risk that can pay off.”
“On the negative side, I lost in the end,” she replies. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable.
“You could have won just as easily. You couldn’t predict that Jim would cheat. It sounds like it surprised you and wasn’t something he’d done before.” I watch for her reaction. She gives so much away in her expression. I doubt she’s even aware of it.
“I don’t know if he cheated before. I like to think he didn’t.” Charlie stabs her spoon into the ice cream, dropping her hands to her lap, and looks me directly in the eyes. “But I won’t ever know now, will I?”
“I think it’s going to be a matter of trust.”
She tilts her head, and the late afternoon sun lights her red hair from behind, giving her a soft halo effect. I force my eyes down to the melting ice cream in my hand to keep myself from staring.
“We should have just gone to dinner,” she says, deflated. “I’m hungry and not for ice cream. You up for fish and chips?” She perks up at her suggestion.
“I’m up for anything.” And I am. Everything feels like an adventure with her.
While walking down the street, she smiles looking over at me. “I’m glad you called.”
“I’m glad you answered.”
&nbs
p; She laughs, her sweet grin staying in place long after her laughter stops. She looks around as we turn a corner, and her face is serene, her eyes revealing her happy thoughts. As she tucks her hands into her pockets, she says, “I like spending time with you. Yesterday was nice just lounging around. There doesn’t seem to be that pressure that often exists between friends or . . .”
“Lovers?”
“Lovers!” She bursts out laughing. “No one uses that word anymore, Charlie.”
“What’s wrong with lovers?”
“Ew, stop saying it,” she chides, poking me in the side. I love how touchy-feely she is.
“Lovers,” I reply in a deep voice, then change it and do a bad British accent. “Lovahs.”
“Stop it! God, could you imagine being called someone’s lover?”
I scrunch my nose. She does have a point. “Sounds so seedy. By the way, I’ve been following you this whole time. You know where you’re going?”
“Sounds debaucherous. Yes, of course, I know where I’m going.”
“I don’t think debaucherous is a word.”
“It’s a word.”
I chuckle, glancing over at her. “No, I don’t think it is.”
“You wanna bet?”
“You’re a stubborn little redhead, aren’t you?”
“How about putting dinner on the line for it? And yes, comes with the territory. Stubbornness and fiery-tempered.”
“I can’t see you as fiery-tempered.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying that’s one of the stereotypes of being a natural redhead.” We turn the corner, and she says, “I think it’s all of the fake redheads out there that are fiery-tempered and giving us naturals a bad rap.”
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” I chuckle, making fun.
She shrugs with a smile on her lips. “I overthink everything.”
“I can believe that.”
“Stop it,” she playfully replies. “Now, back to debaucherous.”
“Yes, please do get back to debaucherous.” I know it’s not a word, but I’ll play along for her since she’s so eager to prove me wrong. She’s cute when she gets that tiny, determined line between her eyebrows. Another giveaway on how strong she is as a person. “Okay, the loser buys dinner.”
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk and pulls her phone out, typing in the search box. Listening to her sound out the word is quite adorable. “De-ba-cher-ris.” She puts a hand on her hip, and her lips purse. “Hm!”
“What’d you find?” I ask, peeking over her shoulder.
She spins out of my reach and says, “Back away, back away. I didn’t search right. Let me do this again.”
I snicker on the inside. I know she’s not going to find it, but I like her tenacity. I step back and cross my arms in fake annoyance, but I can’t stop smiling as I watch her fingers zip across the screen. “Don’t forget about the u.”
“The u? Where does that go?”
“Well, in debauchery, it goes after the a.”
She types some more as a huge smirk crosses her face before it falls just as fast. Without looking at me, she tosses her phone into her handbag and says, “Come on. Guess I’m buying.”
I’m obnoxious, so I fist pump. I also do a little consoling and a lot of trying to restrain myself from laughing, because she apparently is a sore loser. I wonder if that’s a redhead trait, too.
Her eyes roll as she pouts. “Stop it! So it’s not a word. It’s close to a real word.”
“If you want to use debaucherous, I won’t judge.”
“Why do I not believe you? See? I can already see you judging me. It’s in your beady, blue eyes.”
“Beady? I’ve been told I have enchanting eyes, soulful even, but never beady, baby.”
That elicits a laugh from her, which makes me laugh, too. “And you’re not conceited at all, are you?”
“Nah, not conceited, just speaking the truth.”
“Ugh, and you’re insufferable, too.”
“Ha!” I smile.
She bumps me with her body to the right. “If you can contain your self-indulgent glee for a while, we can eat. We’re here.” She presents the door like a game show hostess.
“I don’t know if I can contain myself. You might have to help me with that. Teasing—”
“More like taunting.”
“Okay, taunting. Taunting you is so much fun. It’ll be hard to stop.”
“Shush it and come on,” she says, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me inside.
I’ve never been here. I’ve never even seen this place before. “Should I be worried, Charlie?”
“Nah, it’s the best in the city. The guy is from England. He knows his chish and fips.”
“Don’t you mean fish and chips?”
“Nope. Just go with it.”
I laugh. “You’re killing me with the funnies today. You know that?”
“Yep, I sure do. You should stick around. I’m a real riot.”
“I just bet you are.” Yes, this is turning into quite the beautiful friendship.
Sitting at my desk on Monday, I catch myself staring out the window at the leaves budding on the tree outside. On Sunday, Charlie twirled a leaf between her fingers when we walked through the park. We sat by the pond near The Boathouse Restaurant, watching joggers as they passed by, kids playing tag, and couples strolling hand in hand. I lay back on the grass, staring into the clear blue sky, letting my eyes drift closed, when her head came to rest on my stomach.
I may have stopped breathing for a moment. In actuality, I know I did, but trying to play it cool, I inhaled long and slow until I was breathing normally again. I don’t think she noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything. Just as I lifted my head to look at her, her arm reached into the serene air and caught a leaf as it floated down from above. Wordlessly, she smiled and admired the new green leaf of spring.
We lay there for a few minutes when she suggested we go for ice cream. It was almost a relief to get out of that position. Her closeness, the intimacy of the moment tugs at my heart, and being a typical guy, it also turned me on. I wanted to touch her, hold her, make her sticky and sweaty again, but that’s not who we are now. So, ice cream it was instead.
Back to the blinking cursor on my laptop, I start typing the first words that come to mind and let my fingers tap over the keyboard unrestrained for the next two hours without a break. Somehow, I manage to write my first full chapter to a novel that I have no clue of what the story is. And yet, the words flowed like a river, steady and strong. The words “My Everything” stand out to me as I write them, and I’ve found my title.
After I save the document, I read the first few lines over, getting lost in them again.
My Everything ~
I want to say I fell in love at first sight. That would be the romantic version, but that’s not the truth. I fell in love with the woman who would become my sun, my beacon, my compass, my everything when I sat next to her at a funeral and saw the depths of sadness and true beauty for the first time.
I miss Charlie. Just three days into . . . whatever this is, and I miss her. She’s captivated me and makes me use words like ‘enchanted’ while writing. The word ‘beguiled’ has crossed my mind three times since I’ve known her. But damn it, men aren’t supposed to use those words, much less think them. I stand and pace, rubbing my temples to alleviate my anxiety. One glance at my watch and I know I have to see her. A plan is formed and I’m out the door within twenty minutes.
“Holy sh—”
“What are you swearing about over there?” I call to Rachel without looking up from my monitor.
“Turn around, Charlie,” she says. She giggles and her laugh sounds like it’s directed more at me than humoring me.
I spin in my chair and gasp. “Charlie!”
“Charlie,” he says, greeting me. His voice is smooth and charming as always.
My heart is racing, my hand is tapping against my chest, and instead o
f greeting him like I should, all I can think about is what I look like right now. I would have worn a different outfit, put more makeup on, and spent more time styling my hair.
While he’s standing there grinning, I take a second or two to admire his great posture and his strong shoulders.
“I hope I’m not interrupting. I mean, I know I’m interrupting. Your work, for example—”
“It’s all right. I’m glad to see you. How are you?” I pretend to be all business-y, but it’s hard around him. I want to frolic and eat sweet treats in his presence, but I roll my eyes for using the word ‘frolic,’ even if just in my own head.
“Other than a problem with speaking, I’m good. Great in fact.”
I’m waiting for him to tell me why he’s here, but he takes a few moments to look around before his eyes land back on me. “I wanted to see if you were free for lunch?”
“Yes, she is,” Rachel shouts over the cubicle wall.
“Hi, Rachel,” he says. He chuckles quite loud, drawing some attention from nearby coworkers.
I stand and peek over the divider wall. “I thought we had plans?”
“Oh, I forgot I have tooooo, ummm . . . damn, I need a pedicure. I have to get that done.” She can’t look me in the eyes when she lies, so she stares at the monitor in front of her. “You should go to lunch with Charlie.” And like that, I’ve been brushed off.
I turn back around to face him. I love Rachel for freeing our date, but I also hate her for being so obvious. I try to hold back my giddiness over seeing Charlie for the third day in a row by hiding my face and ridiculously big smile as I reach down and grab my purse. “It looks as if I’m suddenly available if you want me.”
His mouth quirks up in a devilish smirk. “Yeah, I guess, you’ll do,” he teases.
We walk to the elevators in quiet confidence, but I see Mr. Smith standing by the front desk. “How are you today, Ms. Barrow?”
“I’m well. Thank you, sir.” Wanting to escape, but not wanting to be rude, I introduce Charlie. “Mr. Smith, this is my friend, Charlie Adams.”
“Charlie Adams.” He interrupts the introduction to ponder aloud, “You look familiar.”