Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Bash
I've searched nearly every room in this house looking for Charlie. Bedrooms, the game room, kitchen, den, even poked my head in all the bathrooms. No sign of her. This place is massive—practically a small hotel with rooms I haven't even discovered yet.
I push open a door near the end of the hall, expecting another bedroom, but instead find myself in what appears to be a home office.
Dark wood shelves line the walls, filled with books that look more decorative than well-read.
There's a large mahogany desk positioned to face the window with its mountain view, though a fine layer of dust on the surface suggests it hasn't been used this trip.
Everything is meticulously arranged—pens in a holder, a few framed family photos, a small globe.
I'm about to back out when I hear footsteps in the hallway and nearly collide with Emily as I turn.
"Whoa! Easy there, Sasquatch," she laughs, steadying herself.
"Sorry," I mutter, glancing over her shoulder. "Have you seen Charlie? I can't find her anywhere."
Her smile fades slightly, replaced by something more measured. "She went for a walk Said she needed to think."
That knot in my stomach tightens. "Think about what?"
She gives me a look that suggests I should already know the answer. "Look, I'm not getting in the middle of whatever's going on between you two. All I know is she asked me to cover for her while she went for a walk."
"Which way did she go?"
She points toward the back of the house. "The hiking trails behind the property. But maybe give her a minute? She seemed like she wanted some space."
I'm already heading toward the stairs before she finishes her sentence. "Thanks, Emily."
"Don't say I didn't warn you!" She calls after me.
I grab my coat from the hook by the door and step outside. The cold air hits me immediately. All I can think about is Charlie's face when Sarah was leaving—something was off. That guardedness I thought we'd moved past had crept back in.
Fresh footprints in the snow lead away from the house toward a trail that disappears into the woods.
I follow them, my breath coming out in white puffs as I pick up my pace.
The path narrows as it winds through towering pines, their branches heavy with snow.
It's eerily quiet out here, every sound muffled by the snow-covered landscape.
About a quarter mile down the trail, I find her perched on a fallen log, gaze fixed on the distant mountains.
Her arms wrap tightly around herself against the biting cold, her expression distant and pensive.
My heart stutters in my chest, that familiar skip I can't control anymore whenever she comes into view. The winter gear she’s wearing engulfs her small frame, cheeks flushed from the cold, wisps of auburn hair escaping her toboggan, yet something about the sight of her there, vulnerable against the vast landscape, steals my breath more than any mountain vista ever could.
"Planning your escape?" I call out, keeping my tone light.
She startles, turning to face me with wide eyes. "Jesus, Bash! You scared me."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you." I gesture to the log. "Mind if I join you?"
She hesitates just long enough for me to notice before nodding. I brush some snow off the log and sit beside her, leaving a small gap between us.
"Emily said you needed to think," I say after a moment of silence. "About what?"
She sighs, her breath visible in the cold air. "Us. Whatever we're doing here."
"I thought we were having a good time. Was I wrong?"
"That's the problem." She turns to face me, her hazel eyes conflicted. "We're having too good a time."
I frown. "I'm not following."
"This was supposed to be pretend, remember? A convenient arrangement. But now..." She trails off, looking away.
"Now what?"
"Now I don't know what's real anymore." Her voice has an edge to it, frustration seeping through. "We sleep together, we laugh together, your sister and niece come to visit, we tell each other things..."
"And that's... bad?"
"It's complicated and confusing. That’s what it is." She stands suddenly, pacing in front of me. "What happens when we go home, Bash? When there's no audience to perform for? When we're just two coworkers who have to see each other every day?"
I stand too, trying to catch her gaze. "Who says we have to stop? Why can't this just be what it is?"
"Because it started as a lie!" She throws her hands up. "How am I supposed to trust what's happening between us when the foundation is completely fake?"
"The foundation might have been fake, but everything since then has been real. At least for me." I stand and take a step toward her. "I don't give a damn about our original agreement anymore, Charlie. I care about you."
She shakes her head, taking a step back. "How can I believe that? You've been playing the perfect boyfriend for days. For all I know, this is just another performance."
The accusation stings more than I expected. "Is that what you think? That I've been acting this whole time?"
"I don't know what to think!" Her voice rises slightly. "You're the one who ghosted me after our hook up."
I open my mouth to start saying that I've apologized for that numerous times and that I thought we were past it, but she puts her hand up and cuts me off.
"I know, I know, you're sorry and honestly it was a one-night stand and I shouldn't feel the way I feel about it but then you show up at my job, in my space, and suddenly we're in this elaborate charade. And now you're making me feel things I'm not ready to feel."
"So you're punishing me for the mistake I made before? I've apologized for leaving that morning. I've tried to show you I'm not that guy."
"It's not about punishment." Her voice softens slightly. "It's about trust. How do I know you won't disappear again the minute things get real? The minute we're back in the real world and not in this holiday fantasy?"
I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "You're looking for guarantees I can't give you, Charlie. Nobody can. Relationships are always a risk."
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who got left behind."
"Actually, I am." The words come out sharper than intended.
"My entire career disappeared overnight when I blew out my knee.
Everyone who claimed to care about me when I was on top?
Gone. The sponsors, the so-called friends, even the girl I was seeing at the time, all vanished once I wasn't valuable to them anymore. "
Her expression softens, but she shakes her head. "That's different."
"Is it? Because it taught me the same lesson you learned from Ethan, that people leave.
That some things don't last." I step closer, relieved when she doesn't back away this time.
"The difference is, I'm willing to try anyway.
You're so scared of getting hurt again that you're sabotaging us before we’ve even had a chance. "
"I'm not sabotaging anything," she protests, but there's less conviction in her voice. "I'm trying to be realistic."
"No, you're being paranoid. You're so focused on how this might end that you're missing what's happening right now." I reach for her hand, half-expecting her to pull away. She doesn't. "I'm right here, Charlie. I'm not going anywhere."
Her fingers are cold in mine, but they curl around my hand instinctively. "You can't promise that."
"You're right. I can't promise forever. Nobody can. But I can promise you that what I feel for you is real." I tug her slightly closer. "And I think what you feel for me is real too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be out here freaking out about it."
"I'm not freaking out." She pouts.
"You literally ran into the woods to escape your feelings. I'd call that freaking out."
"I needed to think."
"Think or overthink?" I brush a strand of hair from her face. "Look, I get it. This whole thing started backwards. Fake relationship first, real feelings second. But does it really matter how we got here if where we ended up is good?"
She's quiet for a moment, searching my face. "What about when we go back? When we're working together again?"
"Then we figure it out, day by day, like any other couple." I step closer until there's barely a breath between us. "I don't need an audience to want to be with you, Shortcake. I just need you."
She closes her eyes briefly, and I can almost see her mind racing, weighing options, calculating risks.
"I'm scared," she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know. Me too." I lift her chin with my finger. "But I'm more scared of walking away from this—from you—than I am of trying and failing."
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the soft sound of our breathing and the distant call of a bird. Snow begins to fall gently around us, tiny flakes landing in her hairlike stars.
"So," I finally say, "are you done overthinking this yet? Because it's freezing out here, and I can think of much warmer ways to spend the afternoon."
That gets me a genuine laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners the way I love. "You're impossible."
"I prefer persistent.'"
She shakes her head, but she's smiling now. "Fine. I'll try to stop sabotaging us. But I make no promises about overthinking."
"I'll take it." I pull her into my arms, feeling her relax against me. "One day at a time, Shortcake. That's all I'm asking for."
She looks up at me, snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes. "One day at a time," she agrees softly.