Chapter 8
T he following morning, I jump out of bed as soon as my eyes blink open. I shower, get dressed, and make myself some eggs with multigrain toast. And coffee, of course.
I wait until ten on the dot, then toss my phone and keys into my purse so I can go out into the hall and knock on Charlie’s door.
He doesn’t know I’m coming, and I have no idea if he’ll be there.
He may even have a woman over, for all I know. It’s a Saturday morning, after all. What if he met someone last night and brought her home? It’s entirely possible.
But now that Vanessa’s helped me put my longing for Charlie in perspective, I’m so eager to spend more time with him that I’m apparently willing to risk total humiliation. It’s been six agonizing days since I saw him last Sunday, and I can’t wait another minute.
When I swing open my door, though, it’s like a scene from one of my favorite movies. Because guess who’s standing there?
That’s right. Charlie .
He’s a foot away from me, his arm raised, about to knock.
“Oh,” I say with a giant smile. “Charlie…hi.”
“Hey, Jenna,” he says, giving a relieved grin as he slides his hands into his pockets.
I laugh. “Would you believe it if I told you I was on my way to knock on your door?”
“Really?” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he does nothing to hide the joy on his face.
It melts me. Charlie Sutton wears his heart on his sleeve, and I love that about him.
No—I lust that about him.
That’s all this is. Lust.
“I wanted to apologize for having to rush off last Sunday,” I say. “I was going to stop by your place earlier in the week, but then?—”
“You became famous?” he says with a chuckle.
“You saw the video?” I wonder if he read the frat boys’ comments too.
“I follow Lola Piper on Twitter.” He runs a thumb over his chin. “And yes, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to admit I’m a fan.”
God help me . I’m trying to see Charlie as less than perfect, but he isn’t making this easy.
“That’s why I stopped by,” he continues. “To make sure you’re okay with all the attention. I’m not sure I would be. I mean, I don’t even have a Facebook account, because it feels invasive to me.”
“So, that explains why I couldn’t find you. I was going to send you a friend request,” I admit with a coy smile .
“Well, consider it accepted.” Charlie’s cheeks get rosier. “Yeah, I prefer to keep my life offline…but I’m a pretty private person, so maybe I’m in the minority. Still, I imagine it’s not easy knowing the entire Internet is talking about you, no matter what they’re saying.”
I guess he did read the comments. The good, the cringey, and everything in between.
I nod. “Thanks. It’s been overwhelming, to say the least.” And then I take a step closer to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him.
He pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds me, his palms warming my skin through the thin fabric of my t-shirt.
I take a deep breath and let myself relax into the space over his heart that feels like it was made just for me.
To lust over.
When we pull apart, Charlie looks down at his shoes before his gaze lands on mine. “There’s a photography exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art that’s been getting a lot of buzz. I was on my way to see it. Would you, um, like to join me?—?”
“Yes,” I say, the happiest I’ve been all week. “I would love that.”
Charlie and I walk around the museum for hours.
We stroll through the photography exhibit, stopping for minutes at a time to admire the artwork, and he tells me everything he knows about light, and color balance, and composition.
He learned some basics from a class he took as an elective at Dartmouth years ago, but most of it he picked up on his own, from books, or blogs, or experimenting with his camera.
I hang on his every word—not only because there are parallels to painting I find really interesting, but because the passionate way he talks about art is so unbelievably sexy, I can hardly take my eyes off him.
After we’ve seen every photo on display, we tour the other exhibits, and I tell him what I know about painting.
We talk about how the artwork makes us feel, and it reminds me of the day I spent at the Cleveland Museum of Art with Mrs. Swanson.
A day that solidified my love of art, and quite possibly changed the course of my life.
Will today be a day like that, too?
Every time Charlie and I find a piece that’s so abstract we have no idea what we’re looking at, we take turns making up wild theories about it.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can remember.
There’s one painting in particular that has us laughing so hard, one of the guards shushes us. Twice.
Careful not to get us kicked out of the museum, Charlie whispers his final interpretation in my ear. “Maybe it’s a man locked out of his apartment…and the incredible woman who rescues him.”
When I turn to him and smile, he winks at me, then moves on to the next wall full of artwork.
I hang back for a few seconds to take one last look at the minimalist painting.
A few minutes ago, all I saw were two circles—one dark brown, one olive green—and a scribble of what looks like black permanent marker between them.
But now I can see us there, too. Brown-eyed Charlie, green-eyed Jenna, and the spark between us drawn in with a Sharpie .
Finally, after hours on our feet, Charlie and I sit in the Commons, a beautiful community space on the second floor, and we continue our conversation. There’s never a lull, never an awkward silence.
Until his dad texts him.
Charlie still hasn’t changed his ringtone, but I’ve heard the thunderclap enough times that it doesn’t startle me anymore. As he reads the message, his forehead creases, and when he’s done, he pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Everything okay?”
“Not really…to be honest.” He runs a hand over his hair, then looks at me like he’s debating whether or not to pour his heart out. It doesn’t take him long to decide.
“You know the reason I wanted to work for Sutton’s?
” he says. “It’s because my dad was always so busy when I was a kid, I figured the only way I’d ever spend time with the man was if I worked for him.
So after getting my MBA, I moved back to Denver, where Sutton’s is headquartered, and my dad made me the regional VP.
I rented an apartment about a mile away from where my parents live, and I figured I’d buy my own home there, eventually. ”
He lets out a wry laugh. “But I did so well that, the next year, my dad moved me to Atlanta to train their regional VP. Then he sent me to Houston, and—I guess you see where this is going. Working for Sutton’s was never my dream, but I thought the sacrifice would be worth it if it brought me and my dad closer.
But I haven’t lived in Denver in nine years, and I hardly ever see him.
All I get are these damn texts every hour.
And I’m so tired of him moving me around the country on a whim, like I’m a pawn on his chessboard. ”
I feel awful for Charlie. From the way his eyes are glistening, it’s clear how much he’s hurting.
“I’m so sorry,” I say with a frown. “Are you thinking of quitting?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “A buddy of mine from college is a travel journalist, and he’s writing a guide for Italy.
He remembered my dream of being a travel photographer, so he called me up last week and asked if there was any chance I’d take the job.
It won’t be until next summer, so I have some time to think about it…
but I have to admit, I’m tempted. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend an entire summer touring Italy and taking pictures? ”
“Sounds like a dream,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. The art museums alone put it at the top of my list—and it’s a long list.”
“Is that right?”
“I’ve never been anywhere outside the country,” I explain.
“My dad is a high school dean, but the way he spends his salary, you’d think he’s a neurosurgeon, or something.
All so he doesn’t have to feel self-conscious when he’s playing golf with the Beachwood elite.
That’s why we never traveled much—there wasn’t enough left in the budget for it. I know I could always go now, but…”
“What?” Charlie asks when I hesitate.
I bite my lip. “It’s embarrassing.”
Charlie smiles and looks down at his shoes, then back at me. “I just told you about my daddy issues. If anyone should feel embarrassed, it’s me.”
I laugh. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about—and I guess I shouldn’t either. It’s just that, Europe seems like such a magical place…I’d rather experience it with someone special than go alone.”
Charlie takes my hand in his, and pauses for a moment. Then he says, “It is magical. And I hope I get to experience it with someone special someday, too.”
I watch as he rubs his thumb in circles over my skin, and I wonder if he notices when I inch closer to him on the bench.
I guess he does, because he puts his arm around me.
And before I know it, my head has gravitated toward his shoulder, and I feel nothing but calm and happy resting there.
It’s like we’re a couple who’s been together forever.
Sitting on our favorite bench at the art museum, like we do every Saturday morning.
“How would your dad take it if you quit?” I ask after a minute of comfortable silence. “Not well, I’m guessing?”
I’m still leaning on Charlie, but I feel him sigh beneath me. “I don’t know if he’d ever speak to me again.”
Now I turn to look up at him. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “My sisters think he’ll come around, eventually. They’re not close with him either, but all three of them are married with kids, and have their own families to worry about. Plus, I don’t think they ever cared about my dad’s approval the way I did. The way I do—I should say.”
When Charlie mentions his sisters, I find myself wondering if he wants kids. Now’s not the time to ask, of course. If we keep hanging out, though, I’ll have to tell him that I don’t. And after what happened with Hunter, I dread that conversation more than anything.
But that’s not important right now. “You’re his only son,” I say to Charlie. “It makes sense that you crave that closeness with your dad.”
He gives me a wistful smile and, for the first time in my life, I consider myself lucky that I gave up on my dad’s approval long ago. Like Charlie’s sisters did.
“Well, enough about my dad—for now, anyway,” he says with a chuckle. “How’s your painting going? Are you putting those art supplies to good use?”
I wince. “I haven’t started yet.”
“Well, it’s been a busy week for you.”
I smirk. “You can say that again. I want to paint, but I’ve been too distracted.”
“Maybe you’ll feel inspired today,” he says.
I know he’s referring to the perfect morning we spent admiring art—but it’s the way he looks at me like I’m the most interesting person in the room that inspires me.
“I already do.”
We stroll back home hand-in-hand. When the elevator opens to the twentieth floor, he walks me to my front door and turns to me.
Whichever part of my brain is responsible for racing thoughts has gone radio silent. There’s no pleading voice begging me to run away this time.
Charlie puts his hands on my waist. His eyes are asking me the same question they asked by the lake last Sunday. Can I kiss you ?
I don’t think—I just nod.
He cups my cheek with one warm palm as the other travels to the small of my back, pressing me closer to him. I place my hands on his broad shoulders, and he lowers his forehead to mine. A simple gesture that might go unnoticed by some—but not me.
It’s been forever since a man has touched me like this. So tenderly and sweetly.
I close my eyes, smiling, and when Charlie finally kisses me, I levitate off the ground. That’s what it feels like, at least. My body is light as a feather, and I float away from my heartbreak, to a place where my wishes come true. Where the sketches in my journal become real.
His pillowy lips are even softer than I imagined. I sigh a little into his mouth, and our tongues touch the slightest bit. He tastes like coffee and mint. It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. Something tells me I’ll never be the same.
Something tells me I’m in love with him.
But how can I be in love with someone I’ve known for a week, and have only been out with twice? Even with Hunter, it didn’t happen this fast.
And I was sure Hunter Reed was the love of my life.
The thought breaks whatever spell I was under, and my fairytale is over before it starts. The urge to run overtakes me again, like Cinderella fleeing the ball at midnight so Prince Charming can’t discover who she really is.
When I step back from Charlie, I’m so lightheaded, I have to brace myself against the doorframe. “Oh my gosh,” I say, lifting my fingers to my lips .
“I know,” Charlie says, sounding equally stunned.
Vanessa was wrong—I wasn’t projecting. I knew Charlie was special the moment I laid eyes on him. And I never should have agreed to another date. Now I’m in over my head.
“Charlie,” I begin. “I…I’m not, um…”
I’m not looking for anything serious.
I’ve said the words so many times, this should be second nature. But it’s like I’ve forgotten how to speak. So I stand there, trying not to cry.
Charlie steps toward me and takes my hand, looking at our intertwined fingers before his gaze meets mine again.
“Jenna, this can be whatever you need it to be,” he says, softly. “No pressure. I’ve jumped into relationships before I was ready, and I don’t want to make that same mistake again.”
It’s like he’s reading my mind. He can see right through me, as though I were made of glass—like Cinderella’s slipper. He knows I’m a flight risk.
I choke back a sob. “Really? Are you sure?”
He nods, his lips curved into an earnest smile. “I will take whatever you’re able to give, if it means I get to spend more time with you.”
I’m so relieved, I let out a little laugh through my tears.
Then, like a true prince, he kisses my hand and wishes me goodnight.