Chapter 24
24
CHARLIE
What are you supposed to do after you’ve confessed to feelings you promised you wouldn’t catch? What is the morning-after protocol for that? I’m familiar with the fun and the fucking, but not this part.
I think I was high on adrenaline or endorphins or maybe just the way it always feels to have all of Nova’s attention on me. Like lying in a sunbeam or taking a shot of tequila. She finished the tattoo on my wrist, and everything came tumbling right out.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, so I’m making pancakes.
I’m making pancakes and staring at the batter sizzling in the pan like the crispness of the edges will determine the fate of the free world. Nova is somewhere behind me, lounging in an armchair I’m confident Stella stole from Luka’s mom’s house, peeling apart an orange and drumming her feet against the ottoman. I spin the spatula in my hand and watch her out of the corner of my eye, specifically the stretch of her bare legs where they peek out from beneath the hem of the shirt she confiscated, the crescent moon on her right thigh bracketed by an imprint of my teeth.
I took her home after the studio last night and backed her up against the floor-to-ceiling windows in the guesthouse, hands shaking, desperate to soothe the buzzing in my chest. I peeled her out of her clothes until it was just Nova in the moonlight, the flowers on her skin a match for the one she drew on mine. I wrapped her legs around my waist and fucked her against the window until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything but her. And then I carried her upstairs and tucked her in my bed, grabbing another blanket out of the closet because I knew she’d end up stealing all of mine.
And now I’m standing here wielding a spatula, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do.
Does she want to talk about it? Does she want to forget it ever happened? Did she say it because she meant it, or was she just trying to make the sad sack in front of her crying over a flower tattoo feel better about his emotional deterioration?
I’ve got no clue.
“Ready for the festival later?”
I startle so hard I almost send the pan flying from the edge of the stove. The batter goes tilting to the side, and the pancake I decided to make in the shape of Mickey Mouse loses an ear.
“What?” I yell the question, for some reason.
Her husky laugh drifts over my shoulders. I try to fix the ear with more batter, and the mess in the pan turns into a giant blob. The pancakes seemed like a reasonable way to channel my feelings, but they’re starting to manifest whatever is bumping around inside of my rib cage instead.
One big, messy blob.
“The festival,” she says. “The thing we’ve been planning. You’re gonna go, right?”
“Of course I’m gonna go. Someone has to make sure the floral arrangements are symmetrical.”
And that Gus and Montgomery don’t murder each other, or a random citizen, when trying to erect their pumpkin sculpture.
I’ve seen the drawings. The odds aren’t good.
Nova slips from her chair with a sigh. I hear the pad of her feet against hardwood and then a single finger traces up my bare spine. She commandeered my T-shirt as soon as she woke up this morning, muttering something about coffee and yanking the blankets over her head.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks. She curls her arm around my waist and rests her cheek against my bicep. A half hug. The palm of her hand rubs up and down my side. Right now, I’m thinking about how much I like her like this, soft and free with her affection. Wearing the shirt I’m supposed to be wearing, her warm skin pressed to mine. It feels like we’re in a bubble—in this house, in Inglewild, in the terms of the relationship we set for ourselves—and I’m afraid of what might happen when we step outside of it.
“I’m thinking about using whipped cream to make a face on this pancake.”
Her fingernails bite into my skin. I sigh and tilt my head, brushing a kiss against her messy hair.
“I’m thinking about how I have to leave in a couple of days,” I say instead, deciding to be honest.
“That’s better,” she hums. “Is that what has you mumbling under your breath over here?”
I flick off the burner and slide the sad mouse pancake onto a plate. I drop a strawberry on top for his nose and hand it to her. “I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, Nova.”
She stares at her plate. “I don’t know. This is a pretty good bear.”
I frown. “It’s supposed to be a mouse.”
A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “It’s a very excellent mouse, Charlie.”
I roll my eyes and grab the can of whipped cream, topping off my coffee with enough to send me into a sugar coma. I add sprinkles on top because I’m a grown adult man, then slap Nova on the ass, urging her over to the table.
She curls her legs beneath her in the chair and rests her chin in her hand, plucking the strawberry from the top of her pancake. “I don’t know what I’m doing either, if that makes you feel better,” she says quietly. She cuts off a square and pops it in her mouth. “Our business casual turned out to be not so casual, huh?”
I rub my hand over my jaw. I’m glad she brought it up. “I like you, Nova. I like what we’re doing.”
Her eyelashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks. She looks down at her pancake and then back up at me. “I like what we’re doing too.”
“But I’m heading out in a couple of days.”
She shrugs. “That doesn’t have to change anything.”
“It probably changes some things.”
She cuts off another perfect square, reaching forward and swiping it through some of the whipped cream on top of my coffee. I nudge my mug closer to her so she doesn’t have to stretch for it.
“It doesn’t have to.” She takes another bite and drags the fork slowly out of her mouth, thinking. A bit of whipped cream clings to the corner of her bottom lip. I want to lick it off. “Who says we need to label this thing between us?”
Thing feels too small of a word for the overwhelming sense of panic and adoration that sweeps over me every time Nova so much as looks in my direction, but sure.
“Yeah,” I agree slowly. “But this thing is going to change when I’m about three hundred miles up the coast.”
I won’t be able to drive over whenever I miss her. I won’t be able to print miscellaneous tax forms and bring them to her just so I have an excuse to see her smile. I’ll be caught up in my life, and she’ll be caught up in hers, and I don’t know how we’ll fall together once I step foot out of this town. If once I stop coming around, she’ll forget all the reasons she let me in to begin with.
She watches me from the other side of the table, her bare foot nudging at my knee. “Will you call me when you’re in New York?”
“If you want me to call.”
“I want you to call.” She stabs another piece of pancake with her fork. “And will you text me? With all the ridiculous thoughts that are in your head?”
That was happening before we started sleeping together. I probably couldn’t stop that if I wanted to.
“Of course I will.” Especially if she keeps sending me those pictures I love so much. The ones of her in front of her mirror in ink and lace and the ones of her sitting in the studio by herself, cross-eyed and fish-faced, her sketchbook in the background.
She pushes her chair back and stands, rounding the corner of the table and climbing into my lap. I rest my hands on her hips and tip my head back against the chair, watching her face. Everything feels easier when she’s touching me like this. Like the answer is simple enough.
Maybe it is.
“And when you come back to visit…” She drags her thumb along my jaw, scraping against my stubble. I swear I feel it in the pulse of my neck. In the healing tattoo on my wrist. In my half-hard cock. “Will you be in my bed?”
I curl my hand around the back of her neck and squeeze, angling her mouth to mine. “Good luck getting me out of it.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” she tells me.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. You don’t have to be lonely anymore. Not when you’ve got me.”
I drag her mouth to mine and brush my lips to hers, sticky syrup and sweet strawberries and coffee with too much cream. I kiss her until I settle, until all the doubts buzzing around in my brain are erased with her hands in my hair and her mouth on mine.
She pulls away and cups my cheeks, her forehead against mine.
“I never felt like I was missing anything before,” she says quietly, thumbs tracing the sides of my jaw, holding me close. “I never wanted to try with anyone, but I want to try with you.”
“That’s the thing, Nova.” I kiss the tip of her nose, the slope of her cheek, my favorite freckle under her eye. “With me, you don’t have to try at all.”
?The pumpkin art installation ends up looking okay.
Art is a loose word for it, and I’m pretty sure it’s held together by good thoughts and the will of the produce gods, but it’s…there. It’s…something. Vaguely horrifying and moderately festive, it’s a fine centerpiece to the rest of the harvest festival.
Cindy ends up serving her chili out of a stand like a reasonable human being, and someone was able to convince Beckett to sell pumpkins from Lovelight Farms in a makeshift pumpkin patch right next to the fountain. He lords over it like they’re his children and glares at anyone who says anything disparaging about their size or shape, but Evelyn smooths his edges with her sunny smile and her photo booth props. Sunglasses that look like gourds and a top hat with acorns along the rim.
It’s ridiculous and perfect and everything I love about this silly little town. I steal the acorn hat and wear it while sipping on cider out of a giant goblet shaped like a jack-o’-lantern. I flirt with Abuela while Caleb and Alex glare daggers at me, and I stuff my face with pecan pie and cider donuts and roasted pumpkin seeds. I try to soak up every bit of happiness this town gives me before I have to go back to my life in New York.
Which is how I end up dragging Nova into the same alley we kissed in before, slipping my hand under the back of her cropped sweater, splaying my fingers wide against her warm skin. I kiss her until we’re panting into each other’s mouths, my hand abandoning her sweater for the stretch of her thigh instead.
“Charlie,” she breathes, tearing her mouth from mine. I drag kisses down the line of her throat and tug her closer. I’ve been intentionally avoiding her all morning for exactly this reason. I’ve lost all semblance of restraint. I can’t keep my head on straight or my hands to myself when she’s around. There’s a ticking clock on our time together, and I want to hold her as much as I can for as long as I can.
We might have agreed to the tentative beginnings of a relationship, but I’m still leaving in a couple of days for New York.
“This alley is trouble for us.” Nova laughs with her head tipped back. I trace a meandering path down her neck to the hollow of her throat. I nose there lightly, and her hips tuck into mine. “We should probably stop.”
“Yeah, we probably should.” I flex my fingers on her thigh and drag my hand up to the waist of her jeans. I hook my thumb there and rub at her bare hip beneath. “That would be the responsible thing to do.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “And we are responsible people.”
We stare at each other. A smirk tugs at her kiss-bitten mouth.
“One more,” she mutters to herself. She presses up on her toes and catches my mouth again.
We decided before we left the house that we’d continue to keep this thing between us…between us. Nova has no interest in fielding small-town gossip, and I have no interest in bringing her to her senses. I’m still convinced that things might change for her once I’m gone. Not that I doubt what she’s told me, I just—I want to enjoy this while it lasts.
She pulls her mouth from mine abruptly and turns toward the entrance of the alley. The narrow passageway is partially blocked by a giant inflatable pumpkin that I may or may not have placed intentionally.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
“What?” I press a line of kisses down the column of her throat. “I didn’t hear anything.”
She pushes me away by my forehead. “I thought I heard someone calling your name.”
“Was it you? Because you like saying my name when you—”
“Be quiet.” She pinches my side. “I think someone is looking for you.”
“Who would be looking for me?”
“I don’t know, but—”
I hear it. It’s faint through the music and the laughter and the buzzing of the six-foot inflatable grinning pumpkin, but I hear it. It sounds like someone is screeching my name, and it sounds like it’s—
“Is that Stella?” Nova asks, slipping out of my arms and wandering to the edge of the alley. She crouches behind the pumpkin and peers around the edge of it.
“Stella isn’t supposed to be back for another four days.”
I follow her and search the crowd milling around the town square. Gus is making questionable adjustments to the sculpture in the fountain while Montgomery directs him from the top of a ladder. Alex is having what looks like a heated argument with Nova’s sister, brandishing a historical romance like he’s preaching on a street corner. And Beckett is cradling a pumpkin to his chest, shaking his head while Jeremy pleads his case about…something. I don’t see Stella anywhere.
I inch my way out of the alley.
“Maybe we were just imagining—holy shit!”
Stella appears without warning in front of me, practically tackling me to the ground with her arms around my neck. She hugs me so tight she cuts off my air supply, Luka huffing and puffing as he comes jogging up behind her.
“Hey,” he says, winded. Stella does not let go. “I tried to slow her down but she was determined to find you.”
I pat between her shoulder blades and shoot a bewildered glance at Nova. Nova who is no longer standing in the alley but beelining her way toward the pumpkin patch. The little coward.
“That was the best honeymoon of my entire life,” Stella says somewhere in the front of my sweater. I pat her head while simultaneously trying to push her away. “I had to tell you right away.”
“You mean the honeymoon you’re still supposed to be on?”
She finally releases me, swiping her fingers under her eyes. I suck in a much needed breath, spots at the edge of my vision.
“We had to come back early.”
“Why?” I glance at Luka over her shoulder for an explanation, but he just shrugs. “Is everything okay?”
Stella gives me a watery smile. “I couldn’t miss the harvest festival, could I?” She could have, but that’s fine. Cindy’s chili is good, but it’s not better than the kind of pasta they make in Florence. Stella looks over my shoulder at the alley I just popped out of and frowns. “What were you doing down there anyway? Did I see you with Nova Porter?”
I put both of my hands on her shoulders and steer her toward the cider stand. In the opposite direction of where Nova went. “I was helping her find an earring.”
“In the alley?”
“Yep.”
“Does she wear earrings?”
I have to think about that for a second. I’m not even sure her ears are pierced.
I sigh. “It’s really great to have you back, Stella.”