Chapter 46
46
Charlie brings Nan takeout from the Tavern for dinner. He tells her our plans for the evening as he piles her plate high with braised red cabbage, mashed potatoes, and pork schnitzel. According to him, he’s teaching me how to make his mom’s pierogi. Nan and I exchange doubtful looks.
“We’re cooking?” I say on the way to his house.
“Oh, we’re cooking.” He flashes me his sex eyes, and I snort.
I’m wearing my slinky green dress and have packed nothing but a toothbrush and tomorrow’s clothes. I didn’t even bring my camera. I’ve been waiting all afternoon to get my hands back on Charlie. For all his talk about bedroom moves, I doubt I can wait to get upstairs. But then he leads me inside, straight to the kitchen. There’s a five-pound bag of potatoes and a sack of flour on the counter.
I glance at him. He’s wearing jeans on his bottom half, a T-shirt on the top. His lips are still a little swollen and his face is a lot smug.
“We’re actually making pierogi?”
“Like I said.” His gaze tours the length of my body, and when it returns to my face, it’s dark with promise. “Though I didn’t tell your grandmother my other plans.”
“Which are?”
“Eat. Swim. Et cetera.”
“I thought you needed to wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming.”
He stalks across the room toward me. “I didn’t say what I was eating.”
I pull a face despite a singular throb of desire between my legs. “You’re terrible.”
“You have no idea.” Charlie kisses me once, quick, his thumb skimming over my bottom lip before he moves around the counter. “You peel the potatoes.”
My hands tremble as I work. Charlie is kneading dough, his forearms flexing in a way that would make me think of naughty things if I weren’t so tightly wound. I can’t keep pretending. I need to tell him how I feel. It’s not fear that’s making me antsy. I’ve seen how Charlie looks at me. I’m nervous, but I’m also excited.
“We’re going to end up with a restaurant’s supply of pierogi,” Charlie says as he covers the dough. “Maybe we can freeze some for you to take back to the city.”
I hum. We’re cooking together, talking about freezing leftovers. We’re friends, but we’re already so much more.
Charlie has music playing over the speaker on the counter—his dock rock mix. Classics that my friends might play ironically but that Charlie embraces. He doesn’t like anything ironically. He’s singing out of tune, and I realize that this is something else I admire about him. He’s unapologetically him. He catches me staring and winks.
“Forever Young” begins to play, and I laugh. Until the end of time, I will associate Rod Stewart with this summer, with this night.
I’m finishing the potatoes when I feel Charlie at my back. He kisses my neck, slips the strap of my dress down my shoulder. His lips follow. A hand coasts over my waist. Lower. I prod him with an elbow.
“We’re cooking, remember?”
“Sorry,” he says, though I can hear him smiling. “I love this dress. And I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Same.” I turn my cheek to look at him. “I wanted to call you. I wanted to talk to someone about how great it was.”
His eyes soften. His smile is golden. It’s the look from the photo. The one I’ve failed to recognize until today.
“You could have,” he says. “I’m happy to talk about my sexual prowess any time. Angles, depth, speed, favorite positions.”
I laugh and elbow him again, and he spins me around, kissing me so deeply, I drop the vegetable peeler on the floor. Charlie groans into my mouth. It sounds like relief and longing and hunger. Usually our kisses grow more and more frenzied, until we’re clamoring for each other, but this one moves the opposite direction. Charlie holds my face between his hands. I open my eyes to find him staring at me in the way no one has before.
Only him.
He taps my hip, smiling. “Back to work, slacker.”
We set about boiling the potatoes and frying the onions in butter, their fragrance filling the kitchen with something that smells a lot like home. When the dough is ready, Charlie rolls it out until it’s a thin, smooth sheet. Charlie looks at me, watching him with my mouth hanging slightly open.
He chuckles. “Impressive, right?”
“I want to say no, because the last thing your ego needs is further stroking. But yeah, impressive.”
“Sometimes I helped my mom with them if she was short on time. Rolling out the dough was her least favorite part of the process.” He shrugs. “I didn’t mind it, and I liked being in the kitchen at the Tavern. It made me feel closer to…” Charlie stops speaking, and I put my hand on his arm.
“Your dad.”
He nods. “We didn’t talk about him at home after he died. But at the restaurant, I could feel him there. When my mom wasn’t in earshot, Julien would tell stories about him, mostly trash talk. And it felt normal, I guess. Sam never really liked working in the kitchen. Couldn’t wash a dish to save his life. But for me, that place, the people there—it was my family.”
He’s quiet as he cuts the dough into circles. I add a spoon of potato-onion mixture and then he shows me how to pinch the dough closed, making a crescent with folded edges. It takes me half a dozen tries to get it right, Charlie working three times faster than I do.
I glance at him after I’ve done one properly, but he’s staring at my hands, his jaw tight.
“Charlie? Are you okay?”
He gives me a weak smile. “Yeah. Just went back in time for a sec.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“It’s nothing,” he says. He inspects the dumplings in front of me. “You’ve got the hang of it.”
“Not bad, right?”
“No,” he says, kissing my temple. “Not bad at all.”
We go for a boat ride before we eat. The sun has sunk below the hillside, leaving the horizon streaked in blush and blue. And even though the sight of Charlie on this picture-book evening is one I want to remember forever, I don’t itch for my camera. I’m in the moment, at the center of the action.
I release my hair from its elastic, and Charlie grins, then presses the throttle down. We soar across the lake, and I try to soak in every last detail. The rumble of the motor, a sound I can distinguish from all the other boats on the lake. My hair lashing against my cheeks. The softness of Charlie’s pullover against my skin. The goose bumps on my legs. The cool wind on my face and the fresh air in my lungs. The reflection of the sunset on the lake, like we’re sailing through the sky.
And Charlie.
I never want it to end.
But eventually, my teeth begin to chatter. Charlie takes off the jacket he’s wearing and throws it over my legs, and we head home. I tackle him as soon as we’re on the dock, braiding my arms around his neck. He stumbles back. “Caught you,” I sing.
Charlie lifts an eyebrow, then picks me up off my feet and throws me over his shoulder.
“Caught you ,” he says, and carries me up the hill.
“Turbulent ride, but I like this view.” I pat his butt.
He plants a kiss on my hip, not setting me down until we’re in the kitchen.
I put my hands on his chest. “Show me your room?”
“Trouble,” Charlie says, but he takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
“I can’t believe I haven’t been up here before.”
Charlie points to a door. “Sam’s old room.” I stick my head inside. Other than a crib, it looks like a teenage boy’s bedroom. A bookshelf is stuffed with comics, Tolkiens, and textbooks, and there are two posters on the wall. One for the movie Creature from the Black Lagoon and another of an anatomical heart.
“Sam and Percy stay down there,” he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. “And this”—he nods to the room on the other side of the hallway—“is my room.”
I step inside. It is very much not a childhood bedroom. There’s a large bed with a low headboard that’s upholstered in black fabric. I run my hand over it. Velvet. From the art on the walls to the sleek desk, everything is sumptuous and new and expensive-looking.
I walk to one of the two large windows that look over the water.
“You can see John’s cottage from here,” I say.
“I can.” Charlie stands behind me. I keep my gaze on the lake as he shifts my hair and kisses my neck.
“It’s a good view,” I murmur.
“It is.” One of his hands sneaks under the sweatshirt, sliding over the silk of my dress. I lose the sweatshirt, and I feel his smile against my skin, right between my shoulder blades. “Although I prefer this one.”
I pull the dress over my head and hear him hum in approval. A finger runs down the center of my back, and I shudder. Charlie reaches around me, resting his hands on the window frame, caging me in. He brings his lips to my ear. “Is this how you want it, Alice? Up against the glass?”
I make a noncommittal sound, though I’m almost vibrating at his words, at the feel of his clothing against my bare skin.
“I don’t think so.” I turn to face him, lips parting at the need in his gaze, the flush of his cheeks. I sneak my hands under his shirt, laying them against his stomach. “I seem to recall you talking a big game about a bed.”
Charlie’s dimples flare, and then he picks me up and lays me across the mattress. “Fair enough.”
It’s after midnight when Charlie fixes us each a plate of pierogi. I watch him cook in only his underwear, and I eat sitting on the kitchen counter. I’ve barely chewed my last bite before we’re kissing again. The moon is full—its glow envelops us like an ethereal blanket, until we eventually fall asleep, Charlie’s body curled around mine.
I dream of waking in my Toronto bedroom and finding Charlie sleeping beside me. His lips are pursed, his forehead slightly creased. It’s so vivid, I can smell him. I can feel his stubble when I skim my palm over his jaw. His eyelids flutter, his lashes catching the first of the morning sun that slips through my window. Charlie stretches an arm over his head and then wraps it around me, hugging me close. His eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m still sleeping.” But then he rolls me on top of him, and I stare into a pair of remarkable green eyes. I kiss him, slow and decadent. “As much as I’d like to lie here,” I say, “we did agree to host my entire family for lunch today, and there are pierogi to be made.” He sweeps the hair back from my face. “Let’s stay in bed for a little while longer.” His hand travels to my shoulder. And even though I’m vaguely aware that I’m dreaming, I feel his touch, back and forth, along my arm, and I moan.
“Good morning, Alice,” I hear real-life Charlie say.
I blink awake.
I’m in his bedroom. Bright light pours through the windows. The reflection from the water shimmers on the ceiling. Charlie’s body is curved around mine, his fingers trailing the length of my arm.
“Good morning,” I whisper, smiling. “I just had a very good dream.”
“Oh?”
I turn in his arms, and Charlie pulls me against his chest.
“Me and you in my bed in Toronto.”
“Sounds hot.”
“It was. But it was also…” I shift so that I’m propped on my elbow. Sunlight kisses his cheeks and eyelashes, casting him in gold. “It was nice.”
He gives me a sleepy smile. Waking up next to him like this is even better than in my dream.
“Charlie?” I say, tracing his jaw.
“Alice?” His eyes are incandescent.
I know exactly what I want. And the time has come to tell him.
“When we go back to the city,” I say, running my finger over a dimple, “I think we should do this for real. You and me—I’d like to try.”
Charlie squints like he’s not sure what I’ve said. “Try?”
“Yeah, see where it goes,” I say. “I know it’s not what we originally planned, but we’re so good together. It’s weird how much we make sense.”
I pause, because Charlie has gone eerily still. Suddenly, he sits up, and I hurry to do the same.
“Alice.” I’m not sure how he can put so much weight into a name, how he can fill two syllables with so much frustration and sorrow. His eyes plead with me. Everything I’ve wanted to say turns to ash on my tongue.
Charlie runs a hand over his head. “I need coffee.” He practically leaps out of the bed. “What would you like for breakfast?”
I pull the sheet around myself as he throws on a pair of track pants. He peers at me over his shoulder and pauses. “I’m useless before I’ve had coffee.”
“Sure.” I sound deflated.
Charlie sits on the bed beside me. “Please, Alice. Can we just go downstairs and wait to have this talk until we’ve both woken up?”
I stare at him. “It’s a pretty straightforward conversation.”
“Please,” he says again.
So I wait while Charlie fixes the coffee and cooks me scrambled eggs with toast that I can’t force down my throat. I set my fork on the plate, and Charlie winces into his mug. I wait for him to take his last sip, and then I tell him the truth.
“I have feelings for you,” I say.
Charlie opens his mouth, but I plow ahead. “And I can’t pretend that’s not the case. I won’t.”
“Alice.” He’s shaking his head, his eyes cast downward. “Alice, I can’t.”
My frustration rises.
“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can. We have the best time together. We fit. I want more nights like last night. I want more of everything. Would you please look at me?”
It takes him a moment before he raises his eyes. I can see the apology in them before he speaks. “I told you I’m not in a place where I can get involved.”
“We’re already involved, Charlie. What we’ve been doing this summer…that’s a relationship. And you’re good at it.”
“I can’t do this in the long term.” He looks away. “It wouldn’t work.”
“How can you possibly know that?” My voice breaks.
Charlie rises, coming around the table and crouching in front of me. He wipes the tears away from my face. “Please don’t cry. I care about you. I care about you so much.” He’s almost as upset as I am. “I’m just not built for a relationship.”
“You are built for ME.”
“Alice.” His voice is pure anguish.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t agree or that you don’t have feelings for me. I’ve seen it, Charlie. I know you.”
We stare at each other for seconds, and then his face goes blank.
He stands, giving me his back. “This was a great summer,” he says slowly. “I wish it could stay like this, that I’d stay interested longer than a couple of months. But I’m me and you’re you. We’re too different. It would never work. I’d get bored.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. But now I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve deluded myself, just like I did all those years ago with Oz. “Look at me, Charlie.”
When he faces me, I’ve never seen him so closed off, so impenetrable. His eyes are cold, his jaw tight. His voice sounds like it’s being scraped over shards of glass. “I’m doing you a favor, Alice. One day you’ll see that.”
I stand, forcing the tears back, and look him straight in the eye. “You know what I think? I think you’re a fucking coward. I think one day you’re going to realize that for all the shit you say you’ve done, this is your biggest mistake.”
Hurt flashes in Charlie’s gaze. I give him one more moment, but his eyes drop to the floor.
“I thought you were better than this,” I tell him. And then I go.
I don’t let myself cry again until I see the cottage, and my sobs come in loud, painful gasps. I double over, not sure I can take another step. But then Nan opens the door and holds out her arms.