by Jenny Hale
Flash followed her upstairs.
Emily went into her room, allowing Flash to come in, and then shut the door. She squatted down and rubbed his cheeks. “And what do you think of Charlie cooking for us?” she asked him quietly. Before she could pull back, Flash gave her a big wet kiss, making her laugh. “You like it when he cooks?” she giggled. “I wonder if he can cook like Gram,” she whispered and Flash kissed her again. “You think he can? Well, let’s get ready then.” She stood up and pulled a pair of shorts off the chair in the corner.
Flash flopped down onto his cushion and chewed his bone as Emily slipped her clothes off and threw on a T-shirt and her shorts. Then, she headed downstairs, her little shadow behind her.
When she got to the kitchen, Charlie had found one of Gram’s oven mitts and was pulling the oysters out of the oven. “I heated them up a few minutes so they’d pop open. Now, I’m just going to remove the top shell. Do you have a butter knife?”
She opened the drawer and retrieved one.
“Do you mind prying them open for me, please? You can throw away the top and then loosen the oyster on the bottom. I’ll mix the other ingredients together.” He opened the cabinets until he found a bowl. Then, he put in breadcrumbs and spices and started mixing.
Emily finished opening the shells as Charlie began peeling the outer covering off the garlic. She pulled the garlic press from the drawer and set it beside him. “Do you make this a lot?” she asked.
“I’ve made it a few times.” He picked up the garlic press, loading the garlic. “Thank you,” he said, holding it up.
“You seem to know your way around a kitchen.”
“I live alone. If I don’t cook, I’ll starve, and I refuse to hire someone,” he said with a grin.
“Why?” She stood next to him and scooped the garlic peel off the counter with her hands, throwing it away.
“I suppose I like to be in control of what I cook. Growing up, I didn’t get to choose, but as an adult I can. I like having the ability to cook however I’d like. If I want more butter, I can add more butter,” he said as he looked over at her.
“So you like taking charge. Not surprising.”
He grinned. “I like this recipe because it’s easy. I have to add a little olive oil and some chicken stock.” He reached into the bag and pulled out the rest of the ingredients, pouring the stock in last. “Now, I’ll just spoon this mixture on top of the oysters and really pack it down. Then, we’ll pop them into the oven.”
“I’ll make us a salad.”
“Sounds good.”
As Emily moved around the kitchen with Charlie, she thought about the day that unknown man had walked into Francine’s, and now look at them. She filled a bowl with lettuce, thinking how she’d never done this with Brad. She’d cooked. He’d eaten. And neither of them had really ever questioned it. But here was this man who treated her so differently, and it was as if just now she realized what she’d been missing. The thought scared her to death, but she was going to push it to the back of her mind tonight.
With a few shredded carrots and a chopped cucumber tossed in the bowl of lettuce, she set it on the table with a glass of iced tea for each of them. Charlie plated the oysters, the stuffing sizzling in each shell. The buttery, herb smell washed over her, making her stomach rumble.
“Wow, that looks delicious.”
“I’m glad,” he said with a wink. He pulled out her chair.
She poked her fork into one of the oysters, the breadcrumbs golden and crispy on top. “How do you eat it?” she asked, holding the entire thing on her fork.
He chuckled. “You just put it in your mouth. It’s not that big.”
“It’s too big of a bite for me!”
He chewed on a grin. “Would you like a knife?”
As she attempted to stab it with her fork, he let out a little laugh, smiling now, his chest rising and falling with his amusement, and she couldn’t help but find him attractive, which made her mind wander. Their little conversation just now made her think of something. She struggled to straighten her face out, heat from embarrassment burning her cheeks, but she could see he’d noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She got up, trying to hide her thoughts, and grabbed a knife from the drawer as he followed her with his eyes. She had to get herself together.
“What?” he asked again, with more emphasis, a crooked grin on his face.
“It’s just… I realized something. But it’s nothing. Really.”
He was staring at her, waiting, an adorable look on his face. His eyes were daring her to say what she was thinking out loud, his smile different than it had been before, more personal, as if she were someone he’d known for years.
“Oh, okay. Fine.” She took a sip of iced tea to try to cool her burning face. It didn’t help. It was a stupid thought but now she’d made such a scene she’d have to tell him or his curiosity would get the better of him. She took a deep breath. “Aren’t oysters supposed to be… aphrodisiacs?”
“Ha!” He threw his head back and then looked at her again. “I’ve heard that, yes. But it hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Well, I’m glad it hadn’t!”
“Why?”
He was still smiling, but his face was baiting her, she could tell. What was going on between them? They’d spent time together, and, while she could feel herself letting her guard down tonight, she didn’t know quite what to do. She couldn’t believe how she’d turned the conversation. What was she thinking?
He seemed to sense her confusion as he said, “Personally, I think wine is more of an aphrodisiac than oysters any day, and we’ve made it through that on several occasions just fine. I’m sure, given that we’re drinking iced tea, and we have an entire kitchen table between us, that we’ll be able to control ourselves,” he teased.
She didn’t even want to think about that bottle of white wine he’d brought over. It was still in the fridge. She looked down at her food, trying to stifle the grin on her face and the blush in her cheeks, and in both instances, she was unsuccessful. She needed to change the subject.
“You said you eat alone in your apartment.” She mustered the courage to look up and found him looking at her affectionately, a slight smile on his lips.
“Yes.”
“I rarely eat alone so I can’t imagine that. Don’t you want to talk to someone?”
He shook his head. “No. I enjoy the silence. My job back in New York is quite demanding. I have about fifty employees—who are probably wondering what has happened to me, by the way.”
“You haven’t checked in?”
“I do, via email.” He stabbed a piece of lettuce with his fork. “This is the longest I’ve ever been away.”
“What about when you did your renovations? Weren’t you away then?” She leaned on her forearms casually, more interested in him than the food.
“I did them at night.”
“You worked all day and then renovated your house at night? That seems like a lot of work.”
“It’s amazing how living in a construction site will motivate a person.” He chuckled. The modest chandelier above the table sent a yellow glow around the room, casting a light shadow on his face.
“True. When I’m alone, I like to take walks or sit out by the water. I’ll bet Central Park is amazing. Do you ever take walks there?”
His face was thoughtful as he shook his head. “Not very often.”
“Why?”
“I’m too busy when I’m home.”
“Life is about balance, though, isn’t it? You seem to be finding that balance here.”
Charlie let out a quiet laugh. “This is not what I call balance. This is me barely working. I’m on vacation.”
“So when you have only a meeting or two a day, you call that a vacation? What would you do if you had no work at all for two weeks?”
“I’d probably go crazy. Wouldn’t you?”
“Not if I were in the right place.”
<
br /> He nodded slowly as if reconsidering. “Yes, you might have something there. I’ve been here almost every day and I haven’t been bored once.”
Emily tried to keep the thrill of that revelation behind her features.
When their plates were empty, Charlie said, “I got us a movie. Still hungry? We’ve got the popcorn and wine.”
“First oysters, now wine,” she said, feeling comfortable enough with him after their conversation to tease him. His honesty just now had made her feel like she could tell him anything.
“Ha!” he laughed. “I swear,” he said, holding his hands up in the air. “I’m innocent. I just thought it would be nice with the movie.”
Emily could see the sincerity in his eyes, but she could also see the excitement, and it sent a thrill through her chest. She found herself enjoying having that look of happiness directed at her. “Okay, fine. Pour us some wine, I suppose.”
They cleaned up dinner together. Emily popped the popcorn and put it into a giant bowl, while Charlie poured them each some wine. Then, they went into the living room where Gram still had the small television and DVD player.
“I’ll just get Flash a treat and grab a blanket,” Emily said, setting the large bowl onto the coffee table. She had to hold Flash’s collar to keep him from diving into it. Charlie put in the DVD and turned on the TV.
As the screen came to life and Charlie sat down, Emily covered them both with one of Gram’s quilts, the bowl of popcorn now between them. Flash was finally settled on the rug with his treat.
“Why are we covering up? It’s scorching outside?” Charlie said.
“I always cover up when I watch a movie. That’s why I’ve got the paddle fan on,” she said, “Get comfortable.” She wriggled herself closer to him, getting into a cozy position, the popcorn tipping precariously.
He caught it and set it upright.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, hitting pause on the remote. The image froze on the screen, and he looked at her. “Forgive me if this sounds rude because I don’t mean it to be. I’m just curious.”
His head tilted just slightly to the side as he waited for her question, curiosity all over his face. He looked so handsome and vulnerable right then that she wanted to put her hands on his face and kiss him. She shook the thought from her mind and continued with her question.
“You work a desk job and live in an apartment.”
Charlie turned completely so that he was facing her, the popcorn tipping again. He caught it.
“So, how did you get so good at building things?”
A small smile emerged. “It was a talent I stumbled upon,” he said. “When I bought my apartment, the one thing I really hated about it was this half-wall separating the kitchen and the living area. It looked so out of place that I wondered if the resident before me had had it built and it hadn’t been part of the original plan. It didn’t belong there at all. I decided—since I had just ordered new flooring anyway—to knock it down. I got out my hammer and started hitting it. By the end of the night, it was gone. The floor crew put new hardwoods right over it. After that, I started doing small projects whenever I had time—which wasn’t much. I realized that I really enjoyed it, so I read about different projects I wanted to do, and I could always just do them.”
“So restoring Papa’s boat relaxes you.”
“Yes. I don’t ever just sit. Doing things is my way of relaxing.”
She really hadn’t ever seen him just sitting still. “Then why did you buy a movie tonight?” They could’ve easily painted the boat instead.
He smiled at her. “Because I thought you might like it.”
“And since when have you decided to be so concerned about what I might like?” she teased.
He stared at her, so many unsaid words on his lips. It was as if he were deliberating, what he wanted to say clearly right there ready to be said, but he didn’t know if he should say it. Then, finally, he said, “Since the moment I decided that I wanted to kiss you.”
She sat still, her eyes on him, feeling the impact of his words in her chest. “And when was that?” she asked slowly.
“At your grandfather’s pier, when we got the crabs. You were barefoot, your hair blowing in the wind, that adorably concerned look that you always have on your face, your perfect lips pressed together except when you talked. Then.”
“It wouldn’t be very professional of you,” she said cautiously, the thought of his lips on hers making her dizzy.
“No.”
“The owner of a company doesn’t go around kissing his employees…”
“Certainly not,” he said, setting the popcorn on the side table beside him and turning back toward her.
Flash got up and positioned himself on the floor next to the table with the bowl, but Emily barely noticed.
“It could make working together quite difficult in the future.”
“Yes,” he said, leaning toward her, his hands on either side of her, their faces only inches apart, his blue eyes so intense that it almost took her breath away.
She wasn’t pulling back. That was because she welcomed his advances. In that moment, she didn’t plan ahead, she didn’t think about what would happen tomorrow when they faced each other at work, she didn’t think about the loss of Oyster Bay. None of it mattered because of one important factor: she wanted to kiss him.
It made no sense at all, but she reached out and put her hands on his face. Before she could process the feeling of his skin against her fingers, the masculinity of his jaw, the day’s growth in his beard, his lips were on hers, moving effortlessly, eagerly, and then softly, making her lightheaded. She moved her fingers around his neck to his hairline, grabbing on lightly for support as he continued to kiss her. Their kiss had so much built-up energy, so much passion, that she didn’t know if it would ever end, which was fine with her.
Charlie’s hands found her back as he leaned her onto the decorative pillows that sat in the corners of the sofa. His lips moved from hers, to her cheek, and then to her neck, his breath causing the hair on her arms to stand up. He found her lips again and she couldn’t get enough of him. She let her hands move along his back, onto his sides, as she gripped his shirt in her fists. For the first time in her life, she understood what Gram meant by living. She’d never felt more alive than she did right now, in this moment. And she was happier than she had been in years.
When his kisses lightened, the energy dissipating to a more regular level, he pulled back and looked at her, his grin filling his entire face and causing the little creases at his eyes. “Wow,” he said, running his finger along her neck where his lips had been. Neither of them moved. They were both right there in that moment.
“You said you don’t like to sit still. You’re not moving and you look relaxed now,” she teased.
“Well, I don’t always have to move.” He grinned. “And staying still on this sofa is a lot easier since I don’t have the stress of wondering how in the world I’m going to get you to kiss me anymore.”
She laughed quietly, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her still. “I think it was the oysters.”
He laughed, making her stomach flip. “Want to turn on the movie now?” he asked.
“Okay.”
Charlie hit play on the remote and then dropped it down onto the floor beside him, just as his lips found hers again.
Seventeen
An unfamiliar beeping sound swam through Emily’s head, as she lay under the warm blanket, more comfortable than she could remember being in a very long time. She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to register the source of the beeping. To her confusion, she realized that she was looking at the alarm clock from her bedroom, but it was on the end table and she was still on the sofa. Beside it was a piece of paper. She sat up and opened the note. It read:
I woke up before the sun was up. I checked on Flash to let him outside for you. Go out to the boat. I left you a surprise. See you at work. Charlie.
Emily pus
hed the blanket off her legs and stood up. She padded across the house and went out the back door in her bare feet. She could hardly wait to see what Charlie had done. As she approached it, the boat was in the same spot as before, but its beautiful new coat of paint made it look as if it had been pulled right out of her memory, only better. The blue was so pretty. She walked around it, admiring his work.
Flash came running up from the sand, his fur all wet from swimming, his tail thumping the sawhorse. “Hey there,” she said, patting his side, as she continued to look at the boat. Then she saw something and a smile spread across her face. On the wooden seat inside the boat, Charlie’s artistic talent overwhelmed her. He had painted a perfect picture of Papa’s fishing-tackle box, open with all his pretty glistening hooks, lures, and spools of line. Papa always sat it in that exact spot when he was fishing. As Emily looked down at the painting, still marveling at it, she couldn’t imagine a better surprise. She peered into the shed. The photos that had been left strewn across the floor were in a nice neat stack with the one of Papa back on top. Charlie must have picked them all up for her.
There was another note taped to the sawhorse. She reached over and pulled it off. It said:
Careful, it’s probably still wet. I sanded and painted it by hand. Hope you like it. Charlie.
Charlie had not been at the inn all day, which had been good for Emily, as it meant she could focus mostly on work. She had spent a large part of the day booking events and doing inventory for the inn, the whole time smiling—she couldn’t stop smiling.
She checked in at the hospital to see how Gram was doing. Then she called Rachel while she sat outside on the inn’s patio, telling her both about last night and the fact that, on her lunch break, she’d secured herself a condo. Getting a place had been easy—only three phone calls and she’d found one. It wasn’t permanent—a sublease for the summer—but it was dog-friendly, fully furnished, and near the water, so she accepted. She’d be able to move in next week, as it was currently vacant to allow summer renters.