Free

Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

Nick

Having Charlie in the bleachers feels like having a secret weapon. Every time I glance her way, she’s there, radiating warmth with that easy, sunlit smile of hers. Her hair is pulled back into one of those messy buns that women somehow manage to make look effortlessly beautiful, a few strands framing her face in just the right way. The sun catches the freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, and my chest tightens in that bittersweet, too-good-to-be-true kind of way. She’s holding my phone steady, filming practice, but her eyes—those deep, soulful brown eyes—follow me as much as the camera does.

It’s distracting in the best way possible.

Practice wraps up, and the girls are flushed and sweaty, their laughter ringing across the field. They swarm around me, chattering about who scored the most goals in the scrimmage, who tripped who (by accident, they swear), and who’s going to win the next game. Their energy is contagious.

As the last girl jogs off toward her mom, I turn back to Charlie. She’s standing now, brushing crumbs of something off her floral shorts. Her tank top clings to her in the humidity, and her hair is starting to escape its bun, little curls sticking to her temples. She looks…

God, she looks like every dream I’ve ever dared to have.

“You’re good with them,” she says as I approach, her voice soft but brimming with admiration. “It’s like you were made for this.”

I huff a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Right. All that time in boot camp, the Marine Corps, and college ROTC… all building up to the moment I could coach a bunch of preteens in shin guards.”

Charlie rolls her eyes and punches my arm, light and playful, but the jolt of her touch sends a current through my skin. “You know what I mean. Not everyone’s built to lead, Nick. You are. Those girls look at you like you hung the moon.”

I glance down at her, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. She’s so close, so effortlessly radiant. The scent of her shampoo—something citrusy with a hint of lavender—floats up, grounding me and intoxicating me all at once.

Her gaze locks onto mine, and I feel like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

“See, this is the point where I’d normally ask you to dinner,” she says, breaking the moment, her tone light and teasing. “You cooked for me on our first date, and I’d like to return the favor. But considering I don’t actually have a place of my own yet, and as much as I love Angela, Garrett, and Elise, a double date with them isn’t high on my list.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Too many naughty things I want to do to you.”

My brain short-circuits. “Like what?” I counter, my voice low.

Before she can answer, one of the moms makes her way over, and I straighten reflexively, biting back the grin threatening to split my face. Charlie gives me a look that promises I’ll get my answer later.

“Thank you for what you said to the girls,” the mom says, her voice tinged with nervousness. “Flora’s really blossomed since you started coaching. And not just on the field. She did so well on her science project, quoting your advice the whole way, that she’s been asked to enter it into the district science fair.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, warmth creeping up my cheeks. “She’s a smart kid. You’ve done well with her,” I say, and Flora’s mom blushes, stammers a thank you, and hurries off to collect her daughter.

Charlie waits until she’s out of earshot before nudging me with her elbow. “See? You make a difference.”

“About tonight,” I say, steering us back to the moment. “I’ll happily take you up on your offer.”

“Which one?” She looks confused. “The one where I invite you to the place I don’t have to cook for you in my imaginary kitchen? Or the one where we have an awkward double date with my brother, your cousin, and a baby with a vendetta against sleep?”

“I was thinking more like the one where we go shopping for ingredients, cook together at my house, and then you can tell me all about the naughty things you want to do to me… and then… you know… we do them.”

Charlie looks up at me with those damn eyes and something inside me just melts. “You have yourself a deal.”

I pause again, searching the moment for discomfort and there just isn’t any. Charlie is easy. And wonderful.

She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

I never thought pushing a cart down the grocery aisle could feel this intimate. But here we are, leaning over my phone, scrolling through recipes like it’s a secret mission. Charlie’s back presses against my chest as I hold her close, one arm draped around her waist.

“Green onions, garlic, soy sauce, sesame oil…” she reads off the ingredient list for Crispy Garlic Chicken, a meal that had both of us bobbing our heads in agreement.

“Probably need to pick up lemon juice too,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I don’t know,” she says, tilting her head to grin up at me. “Are you sure you’re ready to handle something that zesty?”

“Careful, Wildrose,” I say, loving the way the nickname feels on my tongue. “You’re dangerously close to earning yourself a kitchen punishment.”

Her laugh is light and melodic, and she spins in my arms, pressing a quick kiss to my chin. “Let’s see who ends up with more cornstarch on their face and then talk about punishment.”

The kitchen is a disaster—cornstarch clings to everything, the counters, the floors, Sunshine’s back. And, oddly enough, in the shape of my hand on Charlie’s ass.

Wonder how that got there?

She’s giggling, flour streaked across her cheek, as we attempt to salvage the recipe.

“I think it’s safe to say this is chaos,” she says, gesturing to the countertop.

“Controlled chaos,” I correct, pinning her against the counter and brushing my thumb over her flour-dusted cheek. “We’re making memories. And chicken. Mostly chicken.”

Dinner turns out better than expected, crispy and golden with just the right amount of tang from the lemon. But it’s not the food that makes the meal.

It’s Charlie.

“You’ve been working with your family at The Hut, right?” she asks, her voice curious as she picks at the last of her meal.

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “Ever since I was well enough to sit at a desk.”

“You don’t seem thrilled.”

I hesitate, setting down my fork. “It’s not bad, just… slow. Compared to what I’m used to, it’s hard to feel like I matter.”

Charlie’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s not what you do that makes you matter?”

I chew on the statement for a minute. It sounds a lot like the unwaveringly positive message her mom likes to spout.

“Isn’t what we do part of who we are?” I ask, careful not to scowl.

“Yes. Definitely. But I guess what I’m saying is, you mattered to me when you were out saving the world every day, and you still matter to me now that you’re sitting behind a desk. Changing your job didn’t change how I feel about you.”

I flip my hand to claim hers and bring it to my lips, gently kissing each finger. “It changed the way I feel about me. Contributing is important.”

“And what you did on the field today? That wasn’t contributing?”

“It’s—”

Charlie leans forward. “And what about the way you made Flora’s mom feel? Or the way you make me feel? Given what happened to me at my almost wedding, I should be a total wreck. I’m not. And that’s because of you. That isn’t contributing?”

I stand and pull her into my arms. “I don’t want to talk about me anymore.”

“Why? Because I’m making too good of a point?”

I nuzzle her neck. “No. Because I’m ready to move on to the naughty part of the evening.”