Chapter 16
A n hour and a half later, Charlie and I are on our way to his cousin Maya’s beach yoga class. As soon as she catches sight of us walking toward her, her eyes light up, and she reaches out to give me a hug.
“It’s so great to meet you, Jenna,” she says in a lovely English accent that I wasn’t expecting.
Charlie and I were busy engaging in flirtatious banter on the way to the beach, so I didn’t get a chance to ask him about his cousin.
But now that I see her, I’m even more curious about Charlie’s background.
While there’s a hint of family resemblance in the shapes of their eyes and noses, their coloring couldn’t be more different.
Where Charlie looks like a bronze statue, all golden and sun-kissed, with chestnut hair and rich brown eyes, Maya is fair-skinned and freckly, with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes.
She’s beautiful—good looks obviously run in the family.
But she looks like she’d sunburn easily, so I’m relieved she’s wearing a white linen shirt over her tank top and leggings .
“I’m so happy to meet you, too,” I tell her. “And I’m excited for class. I haven’t done yoga on the beach in ages.”
Maya grins. “When my cousin said he was bringing you, I was thrilled. And, just between us,” she stage-whispers, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite so smitten.”
My heart flutters, and even more so when Charlie wraps his arm around my waist. I glance up at him, and there’s no hint of embarrassment in his eyes. Only that same sparkle I see every time he looks at me. He is smitten.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” I tell Maya as I’m smiling at Charlie. In response, he kisses the top of my head.
Maya’s freckled hands float to her heart, and she lets out a happy sigh. “Alright, lovebirds, feel free to grab a spot anywhere, and we’ll get started in just a few.”
Charlie and I stay up front, as a small crowd behind us begins to get settled. The beginning of class is delightful, with a heavenly breeze coming off the lake. It’s a perfect seventy-five degrees and sunny.
But halfway through the hour, it starts getting steamy.
I’m used to practicing yoga in a heated studio, so it doesn’t bother me at all.
What I’m not used to, however, is seeing Charlie without a shirt on.
We’re standing in the Warrior II position, front knees bent and arms outstretched, when he hits his limit and lifts off his white tee.
He’s facing away from me, but the view is still spectacular.
Broad, muscular shoulders and arms, and?—
Oh god, he’s turning around.
We’re supposed to face the opposite direction now, but I’m moving in slow motion, unable to tear my eyes away from what I see.
Charlie’s chest is a literal masterpiece.
The man is so impressively sculpted, I have to resist the urge to cry.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m moved by his beauty—the way I’m moved when I see a stunning piece of art—or if I’m just sad, because I want to touch him so badly, and I can’t.
Probably the latter.
I feel a little better when my eyes work their way up to Charlie’s face, and he’s checking me out, too. When our gazes meet, I smile, and he winks at me.
Begrudgingly, I turn to face the other way in Warrior II, but my heartrate has picked up, and my skin is glistening—and it’s not because of the heat index.
Somehow, I make it through class, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend the entire time in Savasana, our final resting pose, fantasizing about Charlie’s hard body pressed against my soft curves.
“What’d you think of class?” Maya asks us afterward. “Hot, wasn’t it?”
“Very,” I say, trying not to watch Charlie wipe down his muscles with a towel. “But it was such a great flow. You’re a fantastic teacher! I can’t believe you just got certified.”
“Agreed, you’re incredible, Maya. Congrats,” Charlie says, looking proud.
“We’re planning to get breakfast in the neighborhood,” I tell her. “Would you like to join us?”
Maya smiles. “I’d love to, but I have a coffee date of my own this morning.”
Charlie’s face lights up. “No way! Maya, that’s awesome.”
Her freckled cheeks turn red. “Thanks, cousin.” Then she faces me. “I just came out at the ripe old age of twenty-five, and your beau is the first person I felt comfortable telling in our family,” she continues, beaming at Charlie.
He smiles, but waves his hand dismissively. “I’m your only family in Chicago. Who else were you going to tell?”
Maya laughs. “No, really, Jenna. This guy, here, has a heart of gold. The best of the best. He sat right next to me when I Facetimed my mum last week to share the news. It was a shit conversation…but having him by my side made me feel so supported. And safe.”
Now Maya’s eyes are shiny, and mine are stinging as well. I’ve been wondering how I can feel so comfortable with someone I haven’t known very long—but I guess that’s just the kind of guy Charlie is. A guy with a heart of gold, like his cousin said.
The guy I’ve been waiting for my whole life.
I glance at Charlie, whose cheeks are a deeper shade of pink now, too. Could he really be this perfect? What’s the catch?
Just as I’m asking myself that question, Charlie pulls his cousin into a hug and says, “I’m here for you. Whatever you need,” and my heart melts.
Well, if there is a catch, I guess I’ll have to deal with it—because I’m completely head over heels for this man.
“I’m sorry the talk with your mom didn’t go well,” I tell Maya, when she and Charlie pull apart.
She gives me an appreciative nod. “Being a Sutton isn’t always easy.”
I take my gaze from Maya to Charlie. He’s looking down at the sand, his jaw clenched in silent agreement .
“Sorry, Jenna, I didn’t mean to unload my life story on you after a relaxing yoga class,” Maya continues with a laugh. “You just have one of those faces I feel like I can trust. And if my cousin likes you, that means you’re a good egg.”
“You can talk to me anytime, Maya,” I tell her, which puts a smile on her face and Charlie’s. “So, who is this lucky lady you’re meeting for coffee?” I ask, giving her a playful nudge.
“She’s a med student called Elle. She’s lovely, and smart, and—god, I hope she likes me,” she goes on with a worried sigh.
“She will, if she’s as smart as you say,” I reply with a grin. “Well, we don’t want to make you late for your date, so?—”
“Right, I’d better dash,” Maya says, blowing kisses at me and Charlie as she starts to trek through the sand. “Enjoy your brekkie!”
“Brekkie,” I echo, turning to Charlie. “I love that.”
“My dad and his sister were born and raised in London. Maya grew up there, too, hence the accent,” he explains with a smile.
“I had no idea that Sutton’s had an English owner,” I say as we start walking south to a nearby strip of eateries. “But now that you mention it, you guys do have an amazing tea selection.”
“My dad does pride himself on that.” Although he says it with a chuckle, there’s a hint of longing in his eyes—I imagine for the relationship he wishes he had with his father. I don’t mention it, of course. Instead, I use the opportunity to ask Charlie about his family tree.
“So that makes you half English,” I begin, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks for me. I’m dying to know what combination of genes resulted in this beautiful man .
Luckily, he takes the bait. “I’m a mix of a handful of things. Sometimes I make people guess, because it’s fun to hear their answers. But I’m not going to put you on the spot like that.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” I say, relieved that I don’t have to.
He laughs again. “Well, my dad is English on his father’s side, and Moroccan on his mom’s. I know you’ve noticed Sutton’s tea selection, but have you ever tried our tagine?”
My eyes go wide. “Charlie, are you kidding? I love it! I have at least four boxes in my freezer at all times.”
“That’s my grandmother’s recipe,” he says with a wistful smile. “She lived with us for several years when I was young, before she passed away. And she taught me how to cook. So I can make you the real thing sometime, from scratch.”
“I would love that,” I say, adding cooking to my mental list of Charlie’s perfect qualities.
“Great,” he replies with an easy grin. “So, that’s my dad’s side of the family. And on my mom’s side, I’m a quarter Black and a quarter Danish.”
As we approach Michigan Avenue, busy with tourists and shoppers, I grab his arm to turn him toward me. “Charlie, you will never, ever guess what I’m about to tell you,” I deadpan.
“You’re Danish, too,” he says with a knowing smile.
“Dammit,” I joke. “Was it the blonde hair that tipped you off, or the name Andersen?”
“Any relation to Hans Christian?” he quips back as we cross the street.
I giggle. “No. But, when I was in grade school, I used to tell kids he was my uncle.”
Charlie throws his head back, laughing. “A nineteenth-century author of fairy tales? You didn’t.”
I nod. “I thought it would win them over.”
Now his smile fades. “Why did you need to win them over?”
“I was diagnosed with dyslexia in second grade. And, you know how kids can be. I got teased,” I say matter-of-factly.
Charlie frowns and takes my hand as we continue to stroll. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“I’m okay now,” I say.
And it’s true. Maybe it’s the comfort level I feel with Charlie, or the confidence I’m gaining from my therapy sessions with Esther—or both—but my cheeks don’t flush when I talk about my dyslexia this time.
As we wait to cross the street again, Charlie plants a kiss on the top of my head. “How do you feel about the Pancake House? I’ve never been.”
I smile. “It’s my favorite place for breakfast.”
“Well, then we’re definitely going.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re seated on their patio with chilled glasses of orange juice, giant mugs of coffee, and Swedish pancakes so thin and buttery, they melt in your mouth.
“These are incredible,” Charlie says, spooning a heap of lingonberry jam onto his plate.