Chapter 25 Char
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAR
Several days later, I’m at Elliot’s Hot Chicken perched on my usual stool at the bar while Ellie hunches over her winter menu like it’s a final exam. She’s muttering to herself, scribbling notes in the margins, then erasing half of them two seconds later.
It’s comforting, this normalcy. Something in my chaotic world that hasn’t been set on fire yet. But I have to admit, it makes me sad for the state of To Dye For.
I swirl the straw in my sweet tea, trying not to drown in my own thoughts. I still can’t believe how quickly I just… left. Packed a single suitcase, grabbed what I could, and peeled out of Candy Cane Key like the devil was on my tail.
Because he was.
I left everything behind. The salon. My clients. Norma Jean, Liz, and Margaret. God, all of the money I’ve sunk into the place. Years of savings and sweat poured into those four walls. And I simply walked away. But safety seemed like the only thing that mattered at the time.
I glance at Ellie, watching her bite down on her lower lip in concentration as she scribbles down items like buttermilk-brined wings and lemon loaf with cranberry chutney.
She’s glowing, her belly rounding beautifully under that soft pink sweater, her hand absently resting over where her twins are nesting.
And suddenly, guilt squeezes my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe. What was I thinking, coming here? Is it fair to risk bringing any harm to her or that perfect little family? I’ll have to figure out where I can go once the babies arrive. I can’t keep putting them in danger.
I take a long sip from my tea, the ice clinking against the glass. Maybe I should’ve trusted the police in Candy Cane Key. But that ragtag group of keystone cops couldn’t solve a crime without posting for help on Snapchat. Finding that letter was the only sign I needed to get the hell out of there.
I knew I couldn’t depend on anyone else. The witness protection program probably wrote me off years ago, and I wasn’t about to test whether their promises still held water.
“Hey, babe.” Matt’s deep voice pulls me out of my spiral. He strides over, wraps Ellie in his arms, and kisses the top of her head. She melts against him like she’s been waiting all day for that moment.
My heart cracks a little. Don’t get me wrong.
I’m so happy for her. Truly. Ellie deserves everything about this life she’s growing with Matt.
But watching my best friend’s dreams come true in technicolor is like continuing to accidentally press on a bruise.
A constant reminder of all the things I’ll never have.
What I’d give to take a chance with the right guy. Someone I could trust. A man who could look at me and not see all the broken pieces I’ve been hiding.
As if the universe is feeling particularly cruel today, the door swings open. And in walks Dave.
Tall, steady, ruggedly attractive in a way that makes my pulse skip every single time I see him. His hair’s a little longer now, the beard too. His big brown eyes scan the room until, of course, they find me.
I look away first, pretending to study the menu like I’m deeply invested in the difference between “mild” and “medium hot.” But it’s short lived.
My eyes seem to gravitate in his direction whenever he’s around.
The spark he ignited all of those months ago is still alive and well.
My pulse is thrumming in my ears. I’m not sure I have the strength to keep pushing away a man like this.
There’s a flicker in his narrowed gaze. Something unclear I can’t put my finger on. And before I can even strategize my exit plan, he’s making his way toward me.
Great. My anxiety had just come down from existential crisis level after unpacking my bags, now this. Thanks for the push, universe.
“Char.” It’s only my name. But his voice has this low rumble that hits me square in the ovaries.
I force what I hope is a friendly grin. “Dave.” I turn on my stool so I’m facing him, hoping I can come up with a way to cut this ever present tension I’ve created between us. “What brings you to the land of finger-licking spicy southern chicken and napkin shortages?”
His mouth quirks up as what appears to resemble relief washes over his face. “Was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d grab lunch.” He glances toward Ellie and Matt. “Didn’t realize I’d be crashing the executive menu committee.”
Ellie beams, unaware of the tension knotting up my insides. “Sit! What can I get you? How about some chicken pot pie?”
His boyishly handsome face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “Sold!”
Fantastic. Exactly what I was hoping for. Prolonged eye contact with the man who makes my self-control do the electric slide.
He takes the stool beside me. He’s too close.
The kind of close where I can smell that clean, warm scent of his cologne, and my treacherous brain immediately supplies a memory I’ve been trying to bury.
I have to rub my thighs together as visions of him wearing only that scent return.
My eyes close recalling the feel of his arms around me.
The way I’d melted against him like cold butter nestled into one of Ellie’s fresh-baked biscuits.
“So,” he says, his elbow brushing mine like it’s an accident. “You decided if you’re going to stick around for a while?”
I stab a fried pickle. “I don’t know. I’m taking things one spicy chicken sandwich at a time,” I tease playfully.
He huffs out a laugh, and I swear I can feel the sound vibrate all the way down to my toes.
Ellie’s humming to herself, blissfully oblivious, flipping pages in her notebook. I envy her for that. For the simplicity of her world right now. Husband, babies, her business... no stalkers in the shadows. No fear of what’s lurking in the dark.
Dave leans in slightly. “You okay?”
Startled, my eyes hold his. The question hits harder than it should. I could deflect. Say something flippant like, Define okay. But the genuine concern in his eyes… well, it’s disarming.
So, instead I go with, “Yeah,” my voice cracking under the weight of his stare.
He studies me, like he knows there’s a whole story beneath that single word.
And for a heartbeat, I think maybe he’ll push.
Demand to know what I’m not saying. Why I’ve been such a royal bitch to him after having the most incredible night of my life at that wedding months ago. But instead, he nods and looks away.
Dave reaches for his plate, but not before his hand grazes mine. It’s barely a touch, yet my pulse spikes like I’ve sprinted a mile.
Gah. This man.
Dave
Of course, the moment I walk through the door, I see her. And for a second, it’s like somebody’s sucker punched me right in the lungs. But had I been secretly hoping I’d find her here? Yes, of course. What’s the point in pretending?
She’s all I fucking think about.
Char’s sitting at the bar, the late afternoon sunlight catching in her hair, her laugh soft and unguarded. She’s leaning over Ellie’s notebook, probably giving her grief about portion sizes or a lack of enough honey on each table for dipping.
God, she’s beautiful.
Every single time I see her, and one glimpse knocks the wind from my sails. I think about turning around. Order to-go so I can avoid the slow torture of being near her. Smelling her sweet scent. Wanting her but pretending I don’t. But the pull is unrelenting. I can’t not go to her.
My boots feel heavier with each step. I clear my throat. “Char.”
She turns, her face expressionless, minus the fake grin she’s plastered on. “Dave.” She straightens. “What brings you to the land of finger-licking spicy southern chicken and napkin shortages?”
The corner of my mouth twitches. The relief I feel at her witty banter is instant and intense. “Was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d grab lunch.” I shrug, trying to play this interaction off as if it’s no big deal. But it’s the first hint of the girl I met that I’ve seen in months.
I sit too close. I can practically feel her body heat radiating against my thigh. She doesn’t shrink away, though. And that tiny act of acceptance? It’s pathetic how much hope it lights within me.
Her voice is lighter than I remember. But I can still hear the edge of something underneath. Is she still trying to keep some distance? Or is it fear?
“So,” I ask before I can stop myself, “you decided if you’re going to stick around for a while?”
She stabs a fried pickle, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “I don’t know. Taking it one spicy chicken sandwich at a time.” She crunches down on her food theatrically.
I chuckle.
God, I’ve missed her mouth. Both the sassy words spilling from it, and the perfect way it felt under mine. My eyes fall to her plump red lips. Her taste of bourbon and cherries still lingers on my tongue.
Ellie’s distracted, buried in her notebook, humming as she writes.
It gives me a chance to watch Char quietly.
She’s wearing her dark hair loose today, waves brushing over her shoulders.
I become fascinated by the tiny crease between her brows when she’s concentrating.
I have to fight to avoid reaching over to smooth it with my thumb. And then I realize I’m staring, again.
Pull it together, man.
The words are out before I can think better of them. “Go out with me.”
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“I said—” I clear my throat, feeling the heat rise to my neck, “go out with me. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
What the hell am I doing? How much rejection can one man endure before he just learns to walk away with a shred of dignity?
Char blinks at me, caught between surprise and uncertainty. But it’s not the same guarded, dismissive tone she’s used lately. She’s hesitating. But something softer is just beneath the surface of those deep green eyes.
“I don’t know, Dave.” She lowers her voice, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m feeling a bit… overwhelmed. Between Ellie’s friends and all their questions.” Her eyes dart toward a corner table.
I follow her gaze to Janet. The town’s self-appointed ambassador of chaos.
Char leans closer, whispering, “Ellie says that girl will ruin your life, spreading all your business, whether it’s true or not. Then throw out a Bible verse right after.”
“Ha. Yeah. I’ve learned it’s the southern way. Kind of like when one of them says ‘Bless your heart.’ I’m from New Jersey. I assumed they were being cordial. Turns out it’s anything but.”
Her hand covers her mouth as she giggles. The sound is like water after a long drought. “The way to call someone an idiot, without calling them an idiot.” Her cheeks glow from her laughter in a way I’ve missed more than I can put words to.
As if scripted by fate, Janet slaps the table while guffawing loudly with her girlfriend.
We’ve obviously missed the first part of the conversation, but there’s no mistaking when she says, “I’m not one to gossip, but I am one to forward a mugshot.
” They cackle like a coven of witches standing around a bubbling cauldron.
I can’t help it. I laugh. Hard.
Char’s eyes roll, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
And just like that, it happens. That shift. That small, unguarded moment between us where everything feels like we’re back there at that wedding reception again.
My mind goes into overdrive. There aren’t many places we could go without prying eyes.
Not in this town. Not with Janet sitting there like an entertainment reporter about to share the next Taylor Swift sighting.
I guess we could venture to the next town over.
But after my conversation with Max, I tend to think she wouldn’t be interested in leaving the safety of Sycamore Mountain. Then it hits me.
“Come to my place,” I blurt. “I’ll make you dinner.”
Jesus. What the hell are you doing, man?