Chapter 6 #2
My stomach rumbles and an hour seems like ages.
Charlie: Any chance you could make that half an hour. My stomach’s about to eat itself
NYE Pete: Best I can do is 40 minutes. Does that work?
Charlie: Perfect
Pretty sure I have some biscuits left from yesterday. They’ll have to tide me over.
NYE Pete: Ok, I’ll see you in a bit. And Charlie?
Charlie: Yes?
The photo he sends through next makes my breath catch and my smile huge.
Payback is a delicious bitch.
“Are you really chopping wood in that photo?” I set down my ciabatta roll and wait. I’m tempted to open my phone and have another look, but that’d be weird, right?
Pete smirks. “Yes. I’m really chopping wood. Did the axe not give it away?”
“Hmm.” To be fair, he was only wearing a white T-shirt that clung to him in all the right places. I hardly noticed the axe. “Do you do that a lot?”
“Can’t you tell?” He flexes his biceps, the dark blue material of the long-sleeved T-shirt he’s wearing now hugging him lovingly. Then he laughs before I can answer. “I’m kidding, don’t answer that. My ego can’t take it. And no, I don’t do it a lot. Thank fuck, because it’s hard work.”
I bet.
And if he hadn’t interrupted, I was about to tell him that yes, I can absolutely tell. He must get those muscles from doing other stuff because he doesn’t strike me as someone who goes to a gym. Is there even one around here? “I bet you make it look easy.”
His blush deepens and he shrugs it off, but I catch his smile as he looks away.
We eat in a comfortable silence for a while until Pete sits back in his chair, mug of tea in hand. “So, can I ask about your books yet?”
I take my time chewing and swallowing the last bite of my food, still deciding if I want to go there or not.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me,” he adds quietly, eyes soft.
And maybe that’s what sways me. The fact is, I like talking about my books when I know the person asking is actually interested. And I think Pete is. “I write a mixture of horror and suspense stories. My latest series is also going to have a romantic element, I think.”
His eyes widen. “Are we talking Stephen King and James Herbert levels of horror?”
I shake my head. “I wish. But no, not that bad. Probably more scary suspense. I don’t want to terrify readers, but maybe get them to think twice before sleeping with the light off.”
“Can I read one?”
“Absolutely not.” I can’t imagine anything worse.
He frowns. “Really? Why not?”
Because I’m starting to really like you and I’d fucking hate it if you read my books and didn’t like them. Or worse, thought they were a pile of shit. I can’t say that though. “It’d be weird.”
“How? They’re out there now, aren’t they? For anyone to read.”
“Well yes, but . . .” He’s right, of course he is. Once I release my stories out into the world, I have no control over who reads them. The whole point of writing them is for people to read them. It’s just always felt strange when it’s people I know.
“Please?” His gaze meets mine and there’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes when he adds, “Even if it turns out not to be for me, I’ll always be respectful about something so personal.”
“I’ll think about it.” It’s the best I can do. Part of me still wants to say no, but there’s another part—getting bigger by the second—that wants to let him.
“What’s your last name?” he asks, pulling out his phone. “I promise not to download them or anything. I just want to have a look.”
“It’s Dunn.” I smirk. “But I don’t write under my own name.”
He huffs out a laugh and sets his phone down. “Of course you don’t.”
“What’s your last name. Since you know mine now.”
“Harbrook.”
Ooh, that’s an interesting name. I could use that in my book. Or maybe not, if I’m ever going to let Pete read them. But then this one’s not due for release until next year. I probably won’t even be in contact with him by then.
That’s an unpleasant thought.
It must show on my face because Pete’s foot nudges mine under the table. “You okay? I’m sorry if I’m being pushy about your books. I won’t mention it again.” He smiles that same soft smile and now I feel like an arse.
Time to suck it up, Dunn.
“You can read one.”
His eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning and I’ve given him the best present. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just promise to let me down gently if it’s not your thing.”
“Of course.” He nudges me again and holds his phone up. “You going to tell me your pen name now so I can order one?”
“You don’t have a Kindle?”
“I do, but I prefer to have a physical copy to read.”
I hesitate, wondering whether to tell him I have a copy with me that he can borrow. Will it make me come across as . . . Fuck, where are words when I want them? Pretentious? Is that right?
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I um . . . I have a copy of my first book back at the pub. You could borrow that if you want?”
“I’d love that. Only if you’re sure?” His expression softens. “I expect that copy’s pretty fucking special if you’ve brought it with you.”
It is.
I would never admit it out loud, but whenever I get overwhelmed and start to wonder what the hell I’m doing trying to write books, I take that one out to remind myself that I can do it. That I already have.
And the fact he’s realised that first book’s important to me softens some of my nerves. “I’m sure.” We’ve both finished our food and I know he has to get back to work. I do too. But I want to see him again.
As friends, obviously.
“If you wanted to meet up again, I could bring it with me?” Or he could just as easily get it when he drops me back at the pub in a minute. I don’t mention that, though, and neither does he.
“I’d like that.”
We arrive back at the pub and Pete pulls into one of the few parking spaces at the front. The majority are in a large car park at the back, and it’s busy, but we’re lucky enough to arrive as someone’s leaving.
The huge Christmas tree outside is still impressive, even in daylight. I know Pete brought that one and the one inside the bar, and my curiosity has me turning to face him. “You brought the trees over yesterday, right?”
I remember, a second after the words escape, what else happened yesterday, and I can’t stop my gaze from dropping to his chest.
Which was naked yesterday.
Gloriously, wonderfully naked.
Pete clears his throat, the teasing glint in his eyes revealing he knows exactly where my mind’s just gone. “Yep.” He pushes up his sleeves, revealing strong-looking forearms lightly dusted with dark hair.
I have to hold in a sigh.
Forearms.
“Is that what you do for a living?” I manage, glancing back outside at the tree. “Sell Christmas trees?”
Pete laughs. “Well, not all year round. I’d probably starve.”
I flush, and he reaches over, pressing a fist against my shoulder. “Sorry, but you left yourself wide open for that.”
“I guess I did.”
“Yes, me and my sister have a Christmas tree farm, but we also have a garden centre too.”
Yeah, I can see him doing that.
“Is that why you were chopping wood? For the garden centre?” I can’t believe I brought that up again, but honestly, it’s not a sight I’m going to forget any time soon.
“Nah, that was for Sadie. My sister.” Pete sits back in his seat and crosses his arms so that his muscles bulge. I grin at him because I know he did that on purpose.
The pub door opens, catching my attention as people spill out laughing and hugging each other. It breaks the tension that’s built between us, and Pete’s sigh signals our lunch date’s coming to an end.
“Sorry, I need to get back to work.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He taps the steering wheel, looking like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t.
“Thanks for lunch.”
“My pleasure.”
I want to ask to see him again, but I’m not sure I should. I’m about to tell him goodbye when he flashes that soft smile at me again. It slides under my defences every time.
“I know you don’t want to start anything. But I like you, Charlie. I like spending time with you. As friends,” he adds, when I open my mouth. “It’s not often I meet someone new living out here, and I’d like to see you again before you go back. If you’re up for it?”
No.
Warning signs flash in bright neon because this is the worst idea. I don’t want to get attached to him and then have to leave it all behind. Then I want to slap myself because I’ve met up with him twice. He’s offering friendship, nothing more. This is probably all in my head.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “I’m up for that.”
That soft smile widens until his blue eyes crinkle, and my traitorous heart stutters.
Oh Charlie.
What have you done?