by Vivian Wood
I ignore her, closing my eyes and tilting her head to give me more access to her neck. I bite her, gently.
“Ohhh,” she whispers. Her hands clutch my shirt for a moment. I take that as a good sign, so I bite her again. “Fuck! Charlie… we have to… Charlie, stop!”
Her voice has a ring of authority to it that makes me withdraw, searching her face.
“I’m sorry,” she says, straightening her dress. She looks up at me, imploring. “It’s just… you’re kind of buzzed, and we’re in a crowded bar. I don’t want to do anything that we’ll regret later.”
I scowl. “Fine by me.”
Turning, I head down the hallway, intending to get the hell out of this bar. I hear her right on my heels. “Charlie, wait!”
But I don’t wait. Ignoring her hand that lands on my wrist, I brush her off, moving into the crowd.
Yes, she’s probably right. I will have regrets. Hell, I’m already having them.
But I didn’t want to hear that. I just wanted to lose myself in that moment, in her gorgeous fucking body, in the sensations I felt back there.
Is that so wrong?
I weave in and out, avoiding people. I get to the door of the bar at last, and then I’m free. I walk into the darkness of the evening, shoving my hands in my pockets, and head home.
Chapter Twelve
Larkin
I take a big breath before I knock on Charlie’s door a few days later. I’m nervous, my palms sweating. I discreetly wipe them on my jeans.
I knew I had to give Charlie a few days to lie low after what happened between us at the bar. He was a maelstrom of emotions that night, and tipsy to boot.
But now that I’ve spent three days listening to the faint sounds of life through the wall, I had to come over here. I know I should leave him alone. I know it.
And honestly, if it were any other guy, I would be exasperated by now. But Charlie is the lion with a thorn in his paw, and I’m the mouse who only wants to help.
So here I am. Some might say I’m a glutton for punishment, and they would not be wrong.
I knock on the door, my heart beating a frenzied tattoo. I hear Charlie’s footsteps leading up to the door. He swings the door open, filling up the doorway.
“Hi,” I say, trying for a cheerful tone.
Charlie looks at me, his expression neutral. “Hey.”
“Do you mind if we talk in private for a second?”
He glances behind him, then steps out onto the porch, closing the door.
“Sure,” he says, sighing. I try to gauge his mood, but his expression is perfectly bland.
Great. I start, “I wanted to apologize—”
He cuts me off with a hand on my forearm. “Stop, stop. You were absolutely right. I was a little buzzed, and I just… I guess I needed to blow off some steam. I am really sorry, Larkin.”
My mouth forms a perfect O of surprise. “You’re not… like, mad or anything?”
He shakes his head. “No. You were right, I would’ve regretted it.”
Try as I might, I can’t help but be a little crushed by his words. Granted, I came here to convince him of exactly what he just said… but try telling that to my heart.
I squint, needing to cover up my emotions and shove them down inside. It gives me a few seconds to summon my fake smile. “Right! Well, I’m glad you feel that way.”
The words are like sand in my mouth. Charlie gives me a measured look. “Yeah?”
He sees the conflicted look that I try to hide. I take a breath, knowing that I need a topic change.
“Hey… I’m thinking of walking my dogs down to the park,” I blurt out. “Do you and Sarah want to come?”
He gives me a questioning look, but nods. “Yeah. I have been promising Sarah that we would get out and do something all day. I’ve just been staring at the computer screen, trying to figure out which companies my company should divest ourselves of.”
“Great!” I say, full of faux-cheer. “Let me get the dogs. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”
There are a few minutes of chaotic happiness in my house when I announce that we’re going on a walk. The two golden retrievers are always ready for a walk, their tails thumping excitedly. Sadie doesn’t entirely get it until I clip her harness on, then she’s excited enough to turn around in a circle several times.
I struggle to get them all leashed and out the door. They practically drag me down the porch steps, where I’m met by Charlie and Sarah. He’s holding Sarah in his arms, but as soon as she sees the dogs, she wriggles to be let down.
“Dogs!” she says.
I try to rein them in, but as soon as Charlie sets her down, Sarah is gleefully drowning in puppy kisses. She throws her arms around Sadie’s neck, patting Morris’s muzzle. I chuckle at Zack, who is sniffing her shoes.
“Ready to go for a walk?” I ask Sarah.
“Yeah!” she shouts. “We go.”
I had intended to walk the dogs in the park, but seeing as Sarah is here and apparently walking with the dogs, I opt for a couple of laps around the town square.
Charlie and Sarah and I start walking. We keep a slow pace, trying to by mindful of the fact that Sarah’s little legs are walking all of it.
Charlie and I are mostly silent for a while, until we start seeing a group of seniors walking across the square. It’s mostly women, with a few white-haired men in the mix. One of the men is wearing a long-sleeved Bill O’Reilly shirt tucked into his khakis.
“Ugh,” Charlie says, shaking his head. “Bill O’Reilly? How can anyone listen to the crap that comes out of that guy’s mouth?”
I look up at him. “I mean, I don’t think anyone takes him seriously anymore.”
“Apparently that guy does.” He makes a face. “I can’t stand these talking heads who have a million opinions about what the military is doing in the Middle East, but haven’t so much as served a single day in the Armed Forces. It drives me crazy.”
“So… you were in the military, then?” I ask.
“Yep. I was in the Army for years, and then I got recruited by the CIA.”
My eyebrows rise. “You worked for the CIA?”
“Yep.” He nods.
“Doing what?” When he slides me a glance, I laugh. “You can’t tell me what your job was?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Let’s just say that I’ve seen some shit. I’ve been over there, first in Afghanistan, then in Syria. And yet, some mealy-mouthed guy like O’Reilly gets to tell people a bunch of dumb crap. And they believe every word of it!”
He keeps shaking his head.
“If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t work for Fox News anymore. They fired him after the bajillionth sex scandal.”
“Hmm,” he says. “That just is one of those things that gets to me.”
I smirk. “What else gets on your nerves?”
“Any American who is able bodied and super patriotic, like flag-waving, gun-toting, bible thumping, has an opinion on every damn thing that the US military does. I’ve known a couple of guys like that. And yet, they never served. That winds me up.” He sees that Sarah has wandered over toward a gray metal power box, a little off the brick path. “Hey, Sarah? Come over here. Look, look at the doggie…”
I watch as he gently guides her back to safety. After she’s back on the path, he exhales. “What was I talking about?”
“What annoys you.” I stop for a second to itch my nose, awkwardly trying to scratch it with my shoulder.
“Here, give me one of them,” Charlie says, holding his hand out. I give him a distrustful glance, but pass Zack over to him. Once my nose is scratched, I look at him, but he seems content to hold Zack’s leash.
“I hate avocado toast,” he says. “Actually, I just hate any kind of fancy, pretentious food. So like… standing rib roasts, and edible foam.”
I grin. “So no molecular gastronomy for you, then?”
“Fuck no. You know what I love? Really, really good home cooked h
ummus and baba ganouj, maybe some makdus if I feel really fancy.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Makdus are stuffed eggplants. When I was over there, I just loved the food. I was one of the few soldiers that came home fatter than I went away.” His eyes twinkle. “But enough about me. What about you? I haven’t seen anything tick you off yet.”
“Well, you don’t want to. I’m super terrifying when I’m angry,” I jest.
“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, I’m too worried about everyone else to get mad, really.” I think about it for a second. “I do hate when I’m in a big group of people, and the conversation turns to politics. I learned that you never, ever talk about politics or money outside of your family.”
I shrug. Charlie glances at me. “That’s it?”
“Mmm… I mean, the rest is normal. I hate bullies. I hate the small town mindset…”
“What do you mean?”
“That feeling that if people are from the city, or live in the city for awhile, they’re the enemy? It runs rampant out here.” I wrinkle my nose.
He laughs, the deep timbre of his voice booming richly. I get goosebumps; I think this is the first time that he has actually laughed out loud. I turn a quizzical look on him.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s just… you are definitely unique,” he says, shaking his head with a grin. His smile dims a bit. “Britta always used to love debating politics. She just liked to argue, I guess.”
I suck in a breath. Am I being compared to the amazing Britta? If so, how do I hold up? Can I even hold a candle to that mysterious woman from Charlie’s past?
The conversation moves on, and I nod and smile. But I am still obsessing about what he said, and how I measure up to my competition.
You can’t really win, I think. You will always be second to her.
I don’t even realize that we’ve completed the circuit, and we’re approaching the house again. I take Zack’s leash back, mumbling a goodbye to Charlie and Sarah.
I’m mounting the steps, when I hear words I will have to try not to obsess over.
“I’ll see you later, right?” Charlie calls.
I turn around. My heart is galloping again. I smile.
“Sure,” I say. “Soon.”
“Alright, later.”
And then he’s gone, carrying Sarah back to his side of the house. Leaving me with the three dogs and a funny feeling in my chest.
Oh no… I might really, truly be falling for Charlie.
Well… shit.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlie
“Hey, Sarah,” I say to my daughter, who is walking across the town square with me. In her arms is her secondhand copy of The Little Prince, her first cherished book. “Where are we going? Are we going to see Larkin at work?”
Sarah thinks for a second. “Mmm… yeah!”
“And what are the rules for the library, where Larkin works?”
“Dunno.” She gets distracted by some kids walking across the green space. “Pway?”
“Yeah, those kids are going to play,” I say. “We’re going to the library though. It’s International Day.”
Sarah looks at me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes; talking to her like this feels kind of dumb, but Rosa says that it helps her brain to develop correctly.
“So Larkin invited us to come to the library a few days ago. I thought we would show up, sort of as a surprise. That’s not weird, right?” I pause, but Sarah just trudges on. “So you’re going to play with some kids your age. And you’re going to have to try to be quiet. Think you can do that?”
Sarah nods, her expression very serious. She got that from her mom, a hundred percent. Sometimes Britta would look just like that, sad and serious, even if we weren’t talking about anything serious.
I push the memory of Britta to the side. It’s not the time for that.
Sarah and I stroll up to the Pacific Pines library, taking in its’ light gold bricks and large windows. I point out the drawings of other kids, taped around the edges of the windows, and Sarah smiles.
I open the plate glass front door, and Sarah heads in. The library seems to have a blue and green colored theme going on; there is a circulation desk to my left that is green, and the carpets are blue and green. Even the shelves that begin to my right are blue.
“Lake!” Sarah says, running up to where Larkin stands at a table, facing away from us. Larkin’s at a table with about six other children, each doing his or her own crafts. Larkin turns a second before Sarah collides with her legs, hugging her.
Larkin is always pretty, but there is something about her today… she’s in a navy dress and an emerald cardigan, sort of matching the library. Her long blonde hair has been pulled into a braid, and it lays neatly on her shoulder.
My eyes scan over the only skin she’s showing, her legs. For some reason, I can’t help but imagine what kind of panties she’s wearing. I settle on something lacy and white, to match her bra. That seems like Larkin.
“Oh, hi!” Larkin says. She puts down the scissors she’s holding and kneels to embrace Sarah. Then she glances up at me. “You came.”
I nod. “We needed to get out of the house.”
“I’m glad you did. We’re making some newspaper strips right now, so that we can make paper mâché later.” She looks at Sarah. “Do you want to help.”
“Yes!” Sarah says, grinning.
I smile, happy to step back and let Larkin run the show.
“Alright. Let’s get you set up here…” Larkin leads Sarah over to a seat nearby, and gets her the materials. Some of the older kids are working with safety scissors, but Larkin shows Sarah how to tear the newspaper using her hands. Soon, Sarah is diligently ripping the paper to shreds.
I take a few minutes to wander around the library. I walk the aisles of towering shelves, picking up the occasional book and examining it before putting it back. By the time I’m done with my casual inspection, Larkin is back at the head of the table once more.
Sarah rips a piece of newspaper, then holds it up for the girl next to her to see. The other girl is probably just a year or two older, but she nods, entirely serious about their shared project.
Sarah seems satisfied with that. I look around the table, marveling at how well the kids are behaving.
“This is pretty calm and organized for a library paper mâché project,” I say, siding up to Larkin. “I kind of thought that we would be walking into a war zone.”
Larkin laughs. “I have done a few art projects by now. I think that as long as I am quiet and respectful of the library, the kids will be too. Also I promised them if they were well behaved, they would get a nice snack later.”
She winks. I chuckle. “So you bribed them?”
“Yes. But look at the results!” she says. “Totally worth it.”
I shake my head, but I agree. I realize that Larkin is good with kids. Not just Sarah, but all kids as far as I can tell.
“Very impressive,” I say. Another librarian comes up, an older brunette.
“Want to trade for a bit?” the other librarian asks. “I’ve done about as much reshelving as I can handle, just now.”
Larkin looks to Sarah, who is wholly involved with her work tearing newspaper. “Okay, Barb.”
She hands the reins over to Barb, looking at me apologetically.
“Sorry, I have to go hang out on the other side of the library for a while.”
“Maybe I can keep you company,” I say. “Let me ask Sarah.”
I walk around the table and squat next to Sarah. “Hey. I’m not leaving, but I’m going to be over there in the shelves. If you need me, that’s where you can find me. Okay?”
“Kay,” Sarah says, her brow furrowed at the big sheet of newspaper she’s ripping up. I’m not even a concern right now, apparently.
I rise and see that Larkin is already gone. I walk along the edge of the shelves, looking for her
in the stacks. I see a flash of emerald, and turn a corner to find her reshelving books. She wheels a cart of returned books around, then stops and finds the right spot for each book in turn.
“Hey,” I say. She turns to me with a soft smile. I try to joke, “What’s a beautiful lady like you doing in a place like this?”
Larkin turns red as a beet at my words, ducking her head. “You’re absolutely terrible, Charlie. I appreciate the fact that you tried to tell a joke, though. I haven’t heard you try to be funny before.”
I like that my words made her blush. A chuckle rumbles in my belly. “My sense of humor is a little rusty. I’ll give you that.”
“You’re trying. Baby steps.” She gives me a mischievous look, then turns away to look for a book’s place on a high shelf. Silence stretches for a minute.
I search for something to say.
“My employer called me this week. I’ve been offered a promotion,” is all I can come up with.
“Oh?” Larkin says.
“Yeah. I have a while before I have to decide. The pay bump is great. The downside would be that I have to move closer to New York, to be near the home base.”
She pauses with her hand on the bookshelf. “Really?”
“Yep. I don’t know, though… I mean, I just moved here so that Sarah can be close to her grandparents.” I shrug. “She’s gotten really attached to Rosa, my father’s wife.”
And you, I think, but I swallow that bit.
“I’d do it, if I had the chance. I’d jump at it,” she says slowly. She puts another book on the bookshelf.
“You would move to a big city?”
“I would move to New York. That’s my dream city. Also, it’s apparently where writers and editors live.”
I cock my head, leaning against one of the shelves. “Are you a writer?”
She blushes again. “No, not really. I want to be one, though.”
“What would you write about?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve been working on a novel for about a year.”
“About…?” I prompt.