Chapter 34 Charlie
Chapter thirty-four
Charlie
I wake gradually, my body feeling heavy and my mind foggy.
The familiar ceiling of my bedroom comes into focus as I blink away the last traces of medication-induced sleep.
My throat still feels slightly raw, but the terrifying tightness is completely gone.
I stretch experimentally, relieved to find my limbs responding without the tingling numbness that had overtaken them during the reaction.
The bathroom door opens and steam billows out, carrying the clean scent of my soap. Bash emerges, his hair damp and tousled, a white towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets cling to his broad shoulders and chest, catching the low light filtering through the curtains.
When he notices my open eyes, a smile breaks across his face.
"Evenin', Shortcake," he says, voice warm and low. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
I push myself up against the pillows. "Evening? What time is it?"
He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. "5:36."
"PM?" I bolt upright, then immediately regret the sudden movement as my head spins slightly. "You're kidding. I slept the entire day? Why didn't you wake me up?"
He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Doctor's orders. Rest and fluids." His expression softens. "You needed it, Charlie. Last night was... that was scary."
"So you just sat here watching me sleep all day?" I tease, trying to lighten the lingering concern in his eyes.
"Not the whole time." He grins. "But I did periodically stick my finger under your nose to make sure you were still breathing."
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its normalcy after everything that happened. "A very scientific approach."
"I considered the mirror-under-the-nose test, but I couldn't find a small enough mirror."
My eyes drift over his body—the defined muscles of his back, the strong shoulders, the scar on his knee that's now visible without his usual jeans covering it. A pleasant warmth begins to replace the lingering medicinal fog in my brain.
Bash catches me looking and raises an eyebrow. "Are you ogling me, Shortcake?"
"One thousand percent, I am," I admit without hesitation. "It's the best view I've had all day."
He laughs, but then his expression shifts, becoming more serious. He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"Charlie, I..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "Last night, when you couldn't breathe, when I was running back here for your EpiPen, all I could think was that I might lose you without ever really having you in the first place."
The raw emotion in his voice strips away any remnants of our pretense. I scoot closer to him, tucking my legs underneath me.
"I'm sorry about everything," he tries to continue.
"No," I interrupt, squeezing his hand. "I'm the one who should apologize. I overreacted to what was happening between us. I compared you to Ethan in my mind, which was unfair." I look down at our intertwined fingers. "I was just... scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of this." I gesture between us. "Of how real it feels. How fast I'm feeling it."
He lifts my chin with his finger until I meet his eyes. "I'm scared too. But not as scared as I was watching you struggle to breathe."
We look at each other for a long moment, the air between us charged with everything we've been dancing around since this trip began.
"Can we start over?" I ask softly. "Not completely—I don't want to lose what we've found here. But can we just... be honest with each other from now on? No more pretending?"
His smile returns, slow and genuine. "I'd like that Shortcake."
I tilt my head, curiosity finally getting the better of me. "Why do you call me that? Where did that even come from?"
He leans forward, pressing a swift, tender kiss to my lips before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. He inhales deeply, as if breathing me in.
"Because you smell like strawberries," he murmurs.
"What? Strawberries?"
"Yes, ma'am." His eyes dance with amusement and something warmer.
"The night we met, when we were dancing and you had your back and that perfect ass of yours pressed against me.
.." He raises an eyebrow. "I leaned down and caught this scent from your hair.
I thought it was your perfume at first but now I know it's your strawberry shampoo and conditioner.
" He grins. "Hence the nickname—Strawberry Shortcake. "
The memory washes over me. The club, the music, the heat of his body against mine on the dance floor.
"All this time, you've been nicknaming me after my drugstore shampoo?" I laugh, but there's something incredibly endearing about it. About him.
"It suits you," he says simply. "Sweet but with a little tang."
The words hang between us, and I can't help myself anymore. I lean in, capturing his lips with mine. What starts as a gentle kiss quickly deepens as he responds, one hand sliding into my hair while the other curls around my waist.
I shift closer, climbing into his lap without breaking the kiss. His skin is warm and still slightly damp from the shower, and I can feel his heart racing beneath my palm as I place it on his chest. His hands tighten on my hips as I press myself against him.
My fingers find the edge of the towel, tugging at it experimentally, but he catches my wrist, breaking the kiss with a reluctant groan.
"No, no, no," he says, his voice husky. "Doctor said no strenuous activities."
I pull back slightly, my bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. "I'm feeling much better though."
"Charlie." His tone is warning, but his eyes are laughing.
"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "I'll behave."
He leans forward, pressing a kiss to my lips. Then another. And a third, lingering one that threatens to weaken his resolve as much as mine.
"Come on," he says, finally pulling away. "We need to get you fed, and we have cookies to decorate."
"They haven't decorated the cookies yet?"
"Of course not," Bash says, standing up. "Emily refused to do it without you. Said it's a sister tradition or something. She's been pacing around downstairs, like it’s already Christmas morning, all day asking when you'd wake up."
I smile at the thought of my sister's impatience. Even as adults, Emily takes our holiday traditions seriously—especially the competitive ones.
"I'll get dressed and let everyone know you're up and feeling better," he says, moving toward his suitcase.
He gives me another quick kiss and I scootch off of his lap as he gets up, and then—without warning—he drops his towel completely, revealing him in all his glory.
"Fuck meeeee," I groan and fall back onto the pillows, covering my eyes with my hand while simultaneously peeking through my fingers. The man is unfairly gorgeous, all lean muscle and perfect proportions.
"I wish I could," he laughs, his voice dropping an octave. "But you're under strict doctor's orders."
I let my hand fall away, not bothering to hide my appreciation now. "Doctor's orders, huh? Did the doctor specifically mention 'no sex' on the discharge papers? Because I don't recall that part."
"It was implied in the 'rest and take it easy' section." He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, then reaches for his jeans. "Besides, you’ve been passed out for the last twelve hours."
"And now I'm wide awake." I sit back up, crossing my legs beneath me. "And extremely bored of this bed."
He shoots me a skeptical look while pulling a navy sweater over his head. "Charlie, you had a serious allergic reaction. Your throat closed up. You could've—"
"I know," I say, softening my voice. "But I'm okay now. Just a little tired, that's all." I push off the bed and stand slowly, testing my balance. My head spins slightly, but not enough to make me sit back down. "See? Vertical and everything."
He watches me carefully, ready to step in if I wobble. "How about a compromise? You come downstairs, we eat the soup your mom made and we decorate cookies with the family, and then we reassess the situation later?"
"Fine," I sigh, heading toward the dresser. "But I'm putting this on the record as medical discrimination."
"Duly noted, counselor."
I pull out my most comfortable leggings and an oversized cream cotton sweater that slips off one shoulder. My reflection in the mirror makes me wince—my hair is a tangled mess, and there are still faint traces of hives around my neck.
"I look like I've been hit by a truck," I mutter, trying to smooth down my hair.
Bash appears behind me in the mirror, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You look beautiful," he says, pressing a kiss to my exposed shoulder. "Beautiful and alive, which is all that matters to me."
Our eyes meet in the reflection, and a heaviness, that certainly wasn’t there a moment ago— in the air between us. I turn in his arms, facing him.
"Bash, about what happened with the lasagna—"
"We don't need to talk about that right now," he says, his jaw tightening slightly.
"I just wanted to say thank you," I continue. "For getting my EpiPen, for staying with me at the hospital... for everything."
He gives me a lopsided smirk. "You've already thanked me multiple times, Shortcake."
"I have? Okay well I'm thanking you again." I place my palm against his cheek. "Nobody's ever taken care of me like that before."
"Get used to it," he says simply, picking up my hand to kiss my palm.
The weight of his words settles around us like a blanket. Get used to it. Not just for the trip, not just for show—but beyond, into whatever comes next.
"I'll try," I whisper.
His phone chimes with a text. He checks it without letting me go. "Emily's threatening to come up here if we don't appear in the next five minutes."
"She would, too," I laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace to finish getting ready.