8. Chuck
8
CHUCK
“That almost ready? I’m starving.”
Dax is leaning on the counter behind me, peering at the food I’m in the process of cooking up for him and the rest of the house—just an easy potato curry, mostly made from everything in my garden that managed to dodge the chill of the snow. Now that I have fully stocked the pantry with spices and flavorings, there’s hardly anything I can’t make in a snap—even for my brothers’ picky palates.
“Soon,” I reply, shooting a look over my shoulder at him. “You want to grab the beer from the fridge? I could use one. Or two.”
He grins, hopping off the counter and pulling a couple of bottles from the fridge—we have our own mini-brewery, which might not be entirely legal, but damn, is the beer worth it. We start the brewing process over the summer, and by the time winter comes around, we’ve got some good, strong beer to go with whatever I’m cooking. Good way to keep the winter fat on, and more to the point, a fun way to blow off steam when the long nights and chilly days start getting a little too much for you.
As Dax cracks open the beers, the door swings open and Callum steps inside, carrying an armful of firewood.
“Not dry enough to use yet, but it will be in a few days,” he tells us as he kicks off his shoes and carries the firewood toward the hearth. “What are you cooking? Smells good.”
“Curry. Be ready in a few minutes. You guys go have a beer, I’ll be there in a second.”
“If I knew you liked looking after us so much,” Dax teases, “I would have put you to work a long time before we moved into this cabin…”
“Hey, watch it,” I fire back, laughing. “I might just lose all interest in it if you start taking it for granted.”
He holds his hands up in apology, and heads to the small dining table that’s pressed underneath the window that looks out on the woods. Callum, once he’s pulled off his outside gear, goes to join him, and I start ladling the curry into bowls for all of us.
And I realize as I do so that this is the first time I’ve truly felt relaxed in the last few days, since we moved the car and ran into that guy on the side of the road. It’s been on my mind almost nonstop—wondering what he was doing here, if he’s going to follow up on what he saw. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong here—for the most part, beer aside—just living off the grid in our own space, but Charli’s presence changes things.
I still don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s mostly been laid up in bed, healing from the accident—she’s in much better shape now, but she still mostly keeps herself to herself, like she’s worried that one wrong move might land her in more trouble than she can handle.
The only person she really speaks to is Callum—not that Dax has made much of an effort to reach out to her, that’s for sure, but still. If she’s going to be staying here for the foreseeable future, it’s my business to get to know her better. And if she trusts us, maybe she’ll be willing to tell us what the fuck is going on—and just how far into the shit we’ve managed to wade by getting involved.
I bring a couple of bowls over to the table where my brothers are sitting, and then I grab another—and head for the door to the bedroom she’s been staying in. At once, Callum is on his feet, stepping in front of me, his brow furrowed.
“What are you doing?”
I hold the bowl up. “I’m bringing her some dinner.”
He eyes me for a long moment, and I raise my eyebrows at him, daring him to argue with me on this. He’s the one who brought her in here. And I’m not going to just stand by and let her hide out here without trying to get to know her.
“Callum, I’ll be in the next room,” I remind him. “Stop worrying. Let me bring her some real food. She needs to eat if she’s going to heal.”
His jaw is still tense—I wonder if he’s really worried, or if it’s more to do with the fact that he doesn’t want me to be alone with her. He might think he’s slick enough to hide his real feelings from us, but he’s not. Whatever happened between them in the past, it’s clearly got a romantic edge to it, and the tension between them is palpable.
And then he steps out of the way.
“Fine. But don’t interrogate her. I know what you’re like.”
I don’t reply as I push the door open, making sure it falls shut behind me. She sits bolt-upright on the bed when I come in, and I can’t help but notice that she’s still wearing Callum’s clothes. It shouldn’t be a surprise, I guess, since she hasn’t got anything other than that wedding dress to wear, but she looks very comfortable in his stuff, that’s for sure.
“What is it?” she demands, voice taut, and I hold the bowl out in front of me as a peace offering.
“Thought you could use something to eat.”
She eyes it for a long moment, as though considering turning me down. But then her stomach grumbles loudly, giving her away, and she sighs.
“Fine.”
She holds her hands out, and I gently hand her the bowl. She peers down into it, inhaling deeply, and then looks back to me.
“Did you make this?”
“Of course I did.”
“Oh, I—I didn’t know you could cook…”
“You thought we were getting takeout, all the way out here?” I laugh. “I know the stereotype is that bachelors can’t look after themselves, but give us a little credit.”
She manages a small smile. Not much, but it’s the most I’ve gotten out of her so far. She takes a spoonful and lifts it to her mouth—and then lets out a long sigh as the flavor spreads over her tongue.
“Oh, wow, that’s amazing,” she breathes. “I haven’t had proper home-cooked food in so long…”
“You not much of a chef yourself?”
She shakes her head. “More into baking.”
“Oh, really?”
I spot a point of connection between us—it was in my training, when I was working comms, to find those details that I could draw on with the people I was talking to. If they felt like they knew you, they’d be more likely to believe they could trust you, and I needed her to trust me right now.
“Yeah, I was…” She trails off and shakes her head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I prompt her. “Were you going to work with food or something?”
She smiles slightly, as though a memory is rising to her mind.
“Yeah,” she admits, staring down at the bowl again. “I was…I was planning to work as a pastry chef, actually. Back when I first came out of high school.”
I let out a long whistle through my teeth. “Damn, better you than me,” I shoot back.
She turns to me, eyebrows raised. “What’s that meant to mean?”
“I could never deal with all that pastry chef shit,” I reply, waving a hand. “I think I’ve baked maybe twice in my life. Way too fiddly. Too demanding. And if you make a single mistake, everything falls apart, and you have to start over or give up entirely.”
She grins. “Yeah, but that’s what makes it so satisfying when it all works out like you wanted,” she points out. “Because you were super careful and followed everything to the letter, and then you get a delicious pastry or whatever at the end of it.”
“I’d rather do something with a bigger margin of error.”
“That’s the coward’s way out.”
“Hey,” I protest, chuckling. “I can take that curry back, if you’re going to talk about me like that?—”
“No, no, don’t, it’s so good,” she replies, clutching it to her chest as though protecting it from me. And just like that, some of the tension seems to have dissipated between us—her walls might not be entirely down, but she isn’t making it as hard as she once was to speak with her.
“I’m glad to see you eating,” I murmur to her as she tucks in.
“Don’t get me started,” she warns me. “I won’t be able to stop. I have a huge appetite, I could eat a house if you put enough frosting on it.”
I laugh again. She has a sharp, sparky sense of humor—whatever happened between her and Callum before, I can see why he liked her so much. Now that she’s beginning to get a little more energy, she’s opening up, and the side of her I’m getting to know is sincerely intriguing.
“Sorry, am I keeping you from dinner?” she asks me, peering past me toward the door.
I shake my head. “I have to eat with those assholes every night,” I chuckle. “It’s nice to have something different in the way of company for a change.”
“Well, glad I could be a help instead of a hindrance for a change…”
“What do you mean?”
She falls silent and then glances up at me, eyebrows raised. “You really think I don’t notice how much Dax hates having me around?”
I shift slightly. I wish I could tell her it’s not that serious, but Dax has been digging his heels in about this whole thing since she arrived. She’s not stupid, she knows when someone doesn’t like her, and he’s hardly trying to cover up his irritation at her presence here.
“Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s got his own shit going on.”
“Yeah, and it seems like I’m only adding to it,” she remarks, picking at a loose thread on the covers in front of her. The corners of her mouth have turned down, and it looks like she’s having a hard time containing her hurt.
I wonder, for a second, who has made it so that she’s so sensitive to the emotions of the people around her. The guy she’s running from, if I had to guess, but I don’t know anything about him. I have no clue what he put her through, how he treated her, but clearly she’s on edge knowing that someone in this house isn’t happy she’s here. I don’t know much about this girl, but I don’t want her to let Dax’s bullshit get under her skin, especially when I know he doesn’t really mean it.
“Yeah, sure, Dax has his issues,” I admit finally. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going to kick you out, Charli.”
She lifts her gaze, her eyes scanning mine as she tries to get a read on me. I feel a pang in my chest as she looks back at me. There’s fear in her eyes, a tension in her jaw, her shoulders hunched up protectively to her chin—whatever’s going through her head, it’s not exactly comforting.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispers to me.
I pause. Truth be told, aside from the fact that Callum has made it clear he’s not letting us kick her out, I’m not sure exactly what it is that’s keeping me onside with all of this.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I reply simply. “I know what happens when people don’t get the support they need. Our dad?—”
I cut myself off quickly. She doesn’t need to hear about that. Shit, it’s not as though we talk about it often—I don’t know why I felt like she might be willing to hear it.
I glance away from her, but I can feel her eyes on me, curious. She seems to sense that it’s not the time to push for more, though, and returns her attention to the bowl in front of her.
“This is really good,” she remarks as she takes another bite. “How do you get fresh vegetables out here? Not exactly like you can just head down to the store and grab them…”
“I grow them myself.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she lets out a slight laugh.
I furrow my brow at her. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” she assures me, shaking her head. “I just…I didn’t expect you to be out here gardening. Do you have a special hat for it? One of those straw boaters…?”
I chuckle.
“I don’t,” I concede. “But I can show you my garden, if you like, when the weather gets a little better. Callum and Dax don’t know what they’re doing there, so I could always use someone else who’s willing to help out.”
She smiles slightly, her teeth resting on her bottom lip for a moment.
“You know, I’d really like that.”
“Me too.”
For a moment we just sit there in the comfortable quiet—and I realize that, whatever it was that brought this girl to our door, I don’t want her to go anywhere anytime soon.