Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

CHARLIE

“This is a stupid idea,” I say, glaring at Brad. We’re walking down Main Street in the biggest town in Dundy County. My parents’ party is only four weeks away, and I’m trying not to panic at all the things we still need to finalize.

“It was your idea, sweetheart.”

I dart in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Don’t call me that.”

His cheeks are red. Is that from the cold or something else? “It slipped out,” he says. “Won’t happen again.”

I nod. The wind blows my hair in my face, and I push it back. “I agreed to taste-testing some of the catering places. But this is dinner.”

His eyes crinkle, and damn, why do I want to trace each one of those lines with my lips? This is why it’s such a bad idea. “Don’t worry, Chas. This isn’t me trying to trick you into a date.”

“No?” I lift a brow.

His fingers brush my hair out of my face, and I barely stop myself from sighing. My body heats at his gentle, almost teasing, touch. “I wouldn’t rely on tricks,” he says softly, tucking a strand behind my ear. “If I wanted a date, I’d just ask.”

“Oh.” We’re standing so close I can feel his breath on my face. I can still feel the heat from his fingers, even though he’s no longer touching me. I bite my lip, and his eyes zero in on my mouth. Why is this a bad idea again? We’re both adults. But then he blinks and side nods at the building next to us.

“We’re here.”

The inside of Mae’s Diner is decorated with a farmhouse theme. Which is perfect for my parents. But the food is what matters.

They’ve prepared a variety of options specifically for Valentine’s Day. The pizza roses are good but messy, and I lick the sauce off my lips.

Brad groans and hands me a napkin. “Stop teasing me.”

Oh gosh. Is that what he thinks? “I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists with a grin. “Just not intentionally.”

My face heats, but I don’t apologize.

“Try the fried buffalo artichoke hearts.” He holds a piece up close. Does he want me to eat it from his fingers?

I shouldn’t. But I take a bite, and it’s good. The tangy buffalo sauce bursts on my tongue, and I moan. His fingers are right there. His eyes darken. “Charlie.”

I pull back, shaking my head as I swallow the bite. “You did that to yourself.”

“I did.”

But he doesn’t look sorry at all.

“So, you’re still the shop teacher and wrestling coach?” I ask because if he’s talking, he’s not staring at me like he wants me for dessert instead of the tiramisu truffles.

“Yes. I love working with the kids. And building things. Oh, I have something for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

Brad flattens it and turns it so I can see. It’s a drawing of a heart bench with Minni and Chuck and their wedding date engraved on it.

“Did you design this?”

“I thought I could make it for their garden. What do you think?”

“It’s amazing.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “You might want to wait until it’s finished to say that.”

Why am I continually surprised by this man?

Things are easier after that. We talk about Harper. She’s living with him right now. But she’s one of the reasons Brad signed up to help renovate homes. “I just want to help people like Harper who can’t seem to catch a break.”

“I’m glad you signed up.”

“Are you?” But I can tell he’s teasing.

Brad asks about my life in Kansas City. It wasn’t that exciting, but as I talk, he listens with zero judgment. Well, except when I tell him about my short stay with the nuns. That head shake has plenty of judgment attached.

“You never cease to amaze me, Charlie.”

I could easily get addicted to the fondness in his eyes.

After we’re done, he drops me off at home with nothing more than a friendly squeeze of my shoulder. I prepare for the next day, so I’m not late and get that look from Raja. Then I snuggle in my warm, comfy bed, still surrounded by mountains of boxes.

I try to sleep, but my mind tortures me by replaying Brad’s every smile. Every touch. Leaving me aching and wondering.

What would it be like to kiss Brad Rathborn?

And is his cock really that big?

My parents throw a welcome home dinner for me that Friday. I’ve been back almost two weeks, but between Mom’s commitments and work, it’s been difficult to schedule.

Mom’s made my favorite, pot roast and potatoes, and it’s as good as I remember. But it’s difficult to enjoy my food with everything so awkward.

My parents share looks like they’re plotting something. But the most confusing thing of all is Brad.

Of course he’s here. And Harper. As Dad points out, they’re family. Which doesn’t sit right in my gut. Brad’s eyes meet mine across the table, but the playful teasing from a few days ago is gone.

“Are you all moved in?” Dad asks, although I’m sure he knows the answer.

“Everything’s in the apartment. Unpacked? Not so much.”

I glance at Brad. He’s poking the potatoes like they personally did something to him. Normally, he’d make some crack about me not unpacking my boxes. It was a joke when I moved to college and then back home.

What’s his problem? But I know the answer. It’s fine to flirt with me, touch my hair, and feed me food as long as no one sees. Especially not my parents.

And I get it. But it frustrates me so much that I want to grab his fork and stab him with it. Every now and then, I catch him looking at me. And then pretending he isn’t.

I ignore Brad and his moods and focus on my parents. “I put my bed together, so that’s a huge accomplishment.” I laugh. “When I moved to KC, I slept on a mattress on the floor for a week. And the first place I lived had mice, so I made quite a few friends before I moved into an apartment building that had more people than rodents. Oh, sorry, Harper.” Stop rambling, Charlie.

She waves her hand. “It’s fine.” Brad’s sister is not a fan of mice. Snakes? Sure. No problem. But no rodents.

“Boxes attract mice, so you should get those boxes unpacked,” Mom says. Her smile dims. “Unless you’re planning on moving again.” Something in her voice reminds me of a live wire you don’t want to accidentally touch.

I smile and squeeze her hand. “Not moving anytime soon, Mom. No worries about that.” When I glance away, I notice Brad staring at me. And for some reason, he looks relieved.

And that irks me. One minute, he wants nothing to do with me, and the next, he’s—ugh. I can’t think about that. About Brad being sweet. Instead, I wait for the perfect opportunity.

Brad needs to answer for this torture he’s putting me through.

But first, I need to ask the question.