Chapter 18
18
CHARLIE
I’m an idiot.
A giant, stupid, ridiculous idiot.
I knew it couldn’t last.
I knew I was swimming out of my depth, thinking I could have this one thing.
But I had hope. Hope that I could cling to the possibility of keeping this…this impossibility. I know I don’t deserve it, but that’s the thing about hope, isn’t it? You can’t reason with that little balloon in your chest.
“I think you’re being a little dramatic about the cupcakes, bud.” Caleb takes a bite of the cupcake in question. The last cinnamon apple streusel cupcake in the bakeshop. “The display case is half full. I’m sure you can find something else in there that you’d like.”
I don’t want anything else. “I wanted that cupcake.”
Caleb shrugs, not a care in the world. “Well. That’s too bad for you, isn’t it?” He takes another bite, and I fight the urge to slap the entire thing out of his hand. “Maybe you should have gotten here earlier.”
I meant to get here earlier, but I spent an hour and a half on the phone with my father, bickering about what he should and should not be doing. It was a long list. Basically everything he is doing, he should not be doing. He did not agree. We had an unproductive and frustrating conversation about it.
I wanted a cupcake to make me feel better.
A specific cupcake.
The one Caleb is holding the remnants of.
I drag my hand over the back of my head. Sure, Layla has other cupcakes in the display case, but I wanted this one. It’s the one I woke up thinking about this morning. It’s the one I’ve been thinking about all day. It’s my favorite cupcake, and now all I’m going to be able to focus on is the fact that there’s no more of that cupcake left for me to enjoy.
It’s entirely possible I’m projecting.
I left Nova’s house this morning before dawn, a thick cover of clouds blanketing everything gray. I woke up with her sprawled across my bare chest, her hair in my face and her legs tangled with mine. I tried to extricate myself without waking her, but every time I moved, she’d dig her cold toes between my thighs and grumble. A tiny, aggressive barnacle. When I finally managed to tumble out of the bed, she muttered something about biscuits, slapped my ass, and rolled to her side. She took all the blankets with her too, curled over her shoulder in a lump in the middle of her mattress.
This thing with Nova is unexpected. I’ve spent every day this week at her house or at her studio, enjoying the fuck out of business casual. I know I’m playing with borrowed time, and I know it’s temporary, but I can’t help the way I keep tumbling back into bed with her. I tried to limit myself, and all I managed to do was frustrate the both of us. So now I’m indulging. Over and over again. For as long as I’m here.
Caleb pops the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and I frown at him. Between this and the tres leches incident, he’s on thin fucking ice. He’s lucky his fiancée is in the back kitchen, probably playing with knives. I’m too scared of her to slap him around.
Caleb grins at me with his cheeks bulging like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I meant to ask,” he says around a mouthful of food. “Where were you the other night?”
“The other night?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to watch the game with me and Alex. He tried calling you, but it went right to voice mail. Everything all right?”
It went right to voice mail because my phone was somewhere under Nova’s bed and Nova was in my lap, my hands braced on her hips and my mouth busy with tracing every inch of ink I could find. I didn’t realize my phone was missing until the morning.
That’s how it goes with Nova. Every time I’m with her, it’s like a vacuum of time and space until there’s nothing but her smoky laugh and her dark blond hair. Careful touches and wicked grins. She reduces me to ash with the flick of her finger.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I pull it out. Nova’s name flashes across the screen. I glance up at Caleb, but he’s busy staring dreamily into the display case, probably trying to figure out what to stuff his face with next.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and then clear it again. “Yeah, you know. Work stuff.”
I swipe open the message.
NOVA: You left your shirt at my place.
CHARLIE: Did I?
It must have been the button-down she ripped off me the second I was in her bedroom. I slipped my sweater over my T-shirt when I left her house this morning, too tired to go hunting for it in the dark of her room.
NOVA: You did.
A picture comes through half a second later. Nova standing in front of that damn mirror in the corner of her room, my shirt dwarfing her small frame, a strip of skin visible from the hollow of her throat down to the lace underwear she has on. The rose between her tits framed perfectly. I bite the inside of my cheek.
Caleb gives me a critical look. “You’re working too much.”
I tilt my phone closer to my chest just in case he gets curious. “Yeah,” I grunt. “Work.”
Another picture appears below that one. The shirt is slipping down one shoulder, the swell of her breast a tease. Half an inch more and I’d see everything.
I type out a quick response.
CHARLIE: It looks better on you than me.
NOVA: Even better on the floor.
Another picture. Nova with her arm banded over her bare breasts in the mirror, my shirt crumpled at her feet. One leg crossed in front of the other, bruises in the shape of fingerprints on the curve of her hip. A sly smile, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Caleb looks concerned now. “You all right?”
I tuck my phone in my back pocket and try to calm the hell down. If Caleb thinks I’m getting hard over Layla’s croissants, he might dropkick me in the nuts. The promise of violence is enough to settle the blood rushing through my veins. I’m going to have the image of Nova in nothing but lace burned into my retinas for the rest of my life. When I’m lying on my deathbed, I’m going to request that exact picture projected on the ceiling above my head.
Maybe that’s the tattoo I should ask for.
“M’fine,” I mumble.
Caleb is dubious. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine,” I say again, doing my best to firm my tone. “I’d be even better if you didn’t eat the cupcake I wanted.”
He ignores me. “I don’t understand how you’re working two jobs.”
I shrug and busy myself with a container filled with paper straws. I rearrange them until they’re all at the same height. “Is it considered work if it’s what you love?”
Caleb scoffs. “Do you love investment banking?”
No. In fact, I’m starting to think I hate it. But it’s too late for me to pick a different path. I’ve firmly built my life around my career and everything I’ve accomplished in New York. These trips I make to Inglewild and Lovelight are a chance for me to catch my breath. Happiness distributed in increments. I’m afraid if I get too greedy for something more, it’ll all go up in a cloud of smoke. Best to take what I can get.
“I love my paycheck.” I reach over the counter and pluck a honey glazed bear claw out from the display case. I shove half of it in my mouth. “I love money, Caleb.”
“See, I think that’s something you like to tell yourself so you don’t have to think too hard about it.” Caleb crosses his arms over his chest and rests his hip against the front counter. “Look at you. You’re not even wearing your watch.”
Heat curls around the base of my spine and tugs. I’m not wearing my watch because Nova managed to unravel me in the space of two minutes. She won that thing fair and square, and I loved every second of it.
Layla elbows her way out of the kitchen, a pink scarf twisted around her ponytail, little strawberries printed all over it. She’s holding a tray of mini pies that is bigger than she is. Caleb slips around the counter and grabs it before she can ask.
Layla gives him a grateful smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “Who is missing their watch?”
Caleb is busy gazing at the tiny pumpkin pies like they’re the answer to his salvation. “Charlie is,” he says without looking up.
Layla glances at my bare wrist, then up to my face. Her eyes narrow and her head cocks to the side.
“Is it a silver watch? Black face?”
I take another bite of bear claw and nod. “Yeah.”
“Hmm,” she says, mouth twisted to the side. A creeping feeling of unease pinches at the back of my neck. It’s the same look she gave Beckett that day she walked into the office and realized she was ambushed. She’s sizing me up, trying to figure me out. I swallow the rest of my pastry and try not to fidget under her attention.
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she says airily, but her face is telling a different story. Layla looks like she wants to take that scarf out of her hair and strangle me with it.
Her eyes dart to Caleb and hold, watching him place the pies in the display case exactly the way she likes. She chews on her lip. “I’m just wondering if I should make another thing of coffee or not,” she says slowly, sounding stiff. She glances at me and hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “Help me with the machine in the kitchen.”
It does not sound like a request. It sounds like an order. I know for a fact that she does not need help with the machine in the kitchen. I watched her make a three-tier cake two days ago with edible leaves that she placed with special tweezers. The coffee pot requires about an eighth of that attention and dedication.
I think she wants to get me in the back kitchen so there are no witnesses.
We stare at each other across the counter. Her eyes narrow, her head tips to the side, and…I know she knows. She knows what I’ve been doing with Nova. I have no idea how, but that devious little mind of hers has figured it out.
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion. Help me with the coffee machine.”
“I have a meeting, actually. That I should get going for.”
“You can leave for your meeting after you help me with the coffee machine,” she says between clenched teeth. I think she’s trying to fake a smile. She’s not successful.
Caleb finishes up with the pies and sets the tray on the back counter. “I can help you with the coffee machine,” he offers.
She turns to look at him and some of the severity slips from her face. “Charlie can help me. You have that study group before homeroom this morning, remember?”
He glances at the clock on the wall behind the counter. “Ah, shit. You’re right.” He reaches down and collects his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He cups her chin with one hand and presses a quick kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you later?”
“You absolutely will,” she says, smiling. He lets his hand trail over her ponytail and the silky pink scarf twisted in her hair, tugging lightly. Her smile melts into something soft, and she clutches the front of his shirt in her fist, tugging him closer. I look away, fiddling with the straws again. Layla glued little cardboard pumpkins to some of them. I pick one up and twirl it between my fingers.
Caleb claps me on the shoulder as he rounds the counter. “You owe me a six pack,” he calls, heading for the door.
“And you owe me an explanation,” Layla says, a thin thread of warning in her tone. The door slams behind Caleb, and it’s just the two of us, the morning rush over and the front of the small bakehouse mostly empty. There’s no one to save me except Pete, sitting in the corner with a danish and a cup of coffee, reading the paper and minding his own business. Layla points to the door behind the counter. “Come help me with the coffee machine.”
“I told Pete I’d sit with him and do the crossword.”
“That’s all right, young man,” calls Pete, suddenly developing stellar hearing for the first time in his very long life. “I’m almost done.”
Fuck. “Even eighteen across?”
“Even eighteen across.”
Layla is still pointing at the door. “Coffee machine.”
I swallow hard. “I really don’t want to help you with the coffee machine,” I whisper.
“Don’t make me come around this counter.”
“Fine. Okay. Fine.” I move around the display case, careful to give her a wide berth, and push through the back door. It smells like cinnamon back here. Pumpkin and buttery, flaky pie crust. There’s still some filling in the mixer on the corner of the long metal work desk. A collection of various silicone spatulas and a cooling rack, empty and waiting.
Layla starts collecting dirty items and stacking them in her arms. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
Nova and I haven’t discussed it, but I’m pretty sure telling people about our situation falls outside the lines of business casual. It doesn’t feel right to lie to Layla, but I don’t want to break Nova’s trust either. It’s our business. No one else’s.
“The bear claws were good today,” I say, trying my best to infuse my voice with as much enthusiasm as possible. “Did you use sea salt again?”
“Yeah, I used sea salt. It’s a new recipe I’m trying where I put it in the glaze.” She dumps her armful of dirty dishes into the sink with a clatter. “But I was referring to what you think you’re doing with Nova.”
I shrug and try to keep my face from doing anything weird. “Nova?”
Layla gives me a look. “Yes. Nova. This tall.” She holds up her hand in front of her. “Blond hair. Pretty tattoos.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek against my smile. Her tattoos are so pretty.
Layla widens her eyes. “You know. Beckett’s youngest sister.”
“I know who Nova is, Layla. What are you asking?”
She turns on the water and grabs for the bottle of soap. “Why is Nova wearing your watch around town?”
This time I can’t help my smile. It tugs at my mouth until I’m beaming at Layla across the small kitchen, a deep satisfaction settling in my bones. I didn’t realize she was wearing it out of the house. She likes to taunt me with it when we’re both naked, the watch and only the watch on her wrist. I think she likes to remind me of how easy it was for her to bring me to my knees.
But I like to remind her that I certainly make it worth her while when I’m down there.
“She won a bet,” I tell Layla, rubbing my fist against my mouth, trying to scrub my smile away.
Layla arches a single eyebrow. “You bet your ten-thousand-dollar watch?”
No. I bet something, and that is the something that Nova said she wanted. She won the bet. She got the watch. I would have given her anything she asked for.
“It wasn’t ten thousand dollars,” I shrug. “And I have other watches.”
“Interesting.”
“Is it?”
Layla runs her soapy fingers beneath the water. “Very.”
“How so?”
“That stupid smile on your face, for one.” She shuts off the water and grabs a dish towel in the shape of a Christmas tree, drying her hands as she considers me, her mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that.”
“What? Stupid?”
“No,” she says. “Happy.”
I feel it like a hand pressed flat to the middle of my chest, shoving me back. “I am happy,” I manage around a throat that feels too tight. I don’t know why that word bothers me so much. “I’m usually a happy guy, Layla.”
I’m having fun with Nova. That’s all this is. A release for the both of us. It’s not what Layla is implying.
Layla hums, watching me as she dries her hands. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
She shrugs and tosses the towel to the side. She pulls out a flat silver tray from the cabinet behind her and places it on the work table. She grabs a mixing bowl and drops it in front of me. “Okay. Just okay. You had a bet. She’s wearing your watch. We’ll leave it at that. Do you want to help me make some scones or do you need to go to your fake meeting?”
I take the bowl she hands me. Then the spoon. She reaches under the counter and sifts through some drawers before she emerges with a pale pink apron, ruffles at the edges. She tugs it over my head and then ties it at the small of my back. I still haven’t moved an inch.
“It wasn’t a fake meeting,” I say.
It was absolutely a fake meeting.
“Sure.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you being so nice?”
She reaches across the counter for the flour and drags it closer. It leaves a little streak of white across the tabletop. “I’m usually nice, Charlie,” she tells me with no shortage of snark, echoing my earlier statement. But then she looks at me and her face softens. “Just…be careful, all right?”
I know what she thinks. It’s written all over her face. She thinks what everyone else always thinks about me. She thinks I’m fucking around. That I’m using Nova to have a good time before I go back to my reality. But it’s not true. I like Nova. If I won the watch bet, I was going to ask for another Katharine Hepburn movie night. Pizza on her lap and my legs on the coffee table.
Nova’s making all the calls. She’s setting the boundaries.
“It’s not like that,” I say quietly.
“Like what?”
I adjust one of the apron ruffles so it lays flat against my chest. “There’s nothing going on.”
Nothing that will last, anyway. There’s no point getting all twisted up about it when we’ll both be moving on in a couple of weeks. We’ll have our fun, and that’s that.
Layla smirks at me. “Oh, Charlie. Sweet, sweet Charlie. I was once as oblivious as you.” She hands me a measuring cup, then a bag of sugar. “Now sift that into there. And find me some blueberries.”