Chapter 7 #2
This has to be so much harder for her than it is for me.
Not only is she carrying our baby but she’s also dealing with the physical toll of pregnancy on top of her diabetes, which is already complicated enough.
My job is to lighten her load and show her how good things could be if she gave us a chance.
I stare at the crooked sign hanging above Timeless Threads. My fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel as I debate whether to go inside. If I do, it’s a toss-up whether Charlie will tell me to fuck off or give me a chance to explain why I’m here.
The flowers on the dashboard seem to be mocking me for even thinking this was a good idea. The alternative is accepting Charlie’s rejection, but I’ve never been the type to walk away when something matters this much.
I take a deep breath and get out of the truck before I change my mind. With my peace offerings in hand, I go inside, hoping this plan doesn’t backfire.
The bell above the door chimes, and I take in the cramped space—antique furniture, glass display cases filled with trinkets, and clothing racks spilling into the narrow walkway. It makes me uneasy knowing Charlie moves and rearranges all of this by herself on a regular basis.
Just last month, she had to call the damn fire department after getting stuck under a dresser she tried to move by herself. It’s worse now that I know she was pregnant, and I shudder to think of anything happening to her or the baby.
I bite back a groan when I spot Ethel Knox rummaging through a stack of old magazines on a nearby table.
Dammit—she’s the last person I wanted to run into today.
She’s been the housekeeper for the cabins at Silver Saddle for over twenty years, and she also happens to be the undisputed queen of town gossip. I can already predict this impromptu visit of mine is going to spread like wildfire before I even make it back to my truck.
Her lips curl into a knowing smile when she sees me. “Howdy there, boss. Didn’t expect to see you round these parts.”
I school my features, swallowing my irritation. “I was in town picking up supplies, and Briar asked me to stop by and bring Charlie coffee.”
Ethel arches a brow, her gaze dropping to the flowers in my other hand. “Funny. I’ve never known you to make special deliveries to your sister’s friends.”
I clear my throat. “Charlie’s particular about her coffee, and I didn’t want to risk someone else getting her order wrong.”
Christ, I sound like Walker—fixating on a woman who’s friend-zoned me. At least he ended up marrying his obsession. Charlie can barely stand to be in the same room as me, and she’s far too stubborn to accept my help, even if it’s for her own good.
Ethel presses her lips together, fighting a grin. “How thoughtful. Let me guess, the flowers were another request from Briar?”
“Uh…”
I’m saved from answering when Charlie comes out of the storage room with an armful of colorful old hat boxes.
Confusion flickers across her face when she sees me. “Heath, what are you doing here?”
I’m momentarily distracted, noting that she’s a fucking vision in black skinny jeans with ripped knees and a graphic tee featuring a cartoon dumpster fire engulfed in flames. Guess there’s no need to ask how she’s feeling—her shirt says it all.
She drops the boxes by the register and plants her hands on her hips. “This better not be how our conversations go moving forward.”
I join her behind the counter, hoping to keep this conversation private. God knows Ethel would sell a kidney to listen in.
“And how is that?”
“I ask a question, and you stare at me like I’m speaking gibberish. If I wanted to have a one-sided conversation, I have four perfectly good walls I can chat with,” Charlie quips, motioning around the room.
“It’s not my fault it’s impossible to get a word in edgewise,” I grumble.
She moves closer, tapping a manicured nail against my chest. “I wouldn’t have to do all the talking if you’d give me a proper hello.”
“Oh?” I ask, dragging a hand over my stubbled jaw. “And what exactly qualifies as a proper hello?”
“You could start with, ‘Hi, Charlie, I wanted to stop in and see how you’re doing,’” she replies, her tone sweet as syrup.
I notice Ethel has drifted to a nearby rack of clothes, so I subtly step closer to Charlie.
“What about a bribe as a peace offering?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Her eyes light up. “Depends. What did you bring?”
I extend the coffee cup in her direction. “A red velvet latte with extra whipped cream from Lasso & Latte.”
She eyes it suspiciously. “Sugar-free?”
I shake my head. “Even I’m not that mean.”
It’s no secret she can’t stand sugar-free lattes or that her friends push them on her because of her diabetes.
They mean well, but I’m of the mind that everything is okay in moderation, and if she likes her coffee sweet, she should have it.
I’m also counting on it to win me a few brownie points today.
“That was really thoughtful, thanks,” she says brightly, eagerly taking the cup.
Her eyelids flutter shut as she takes a long sip, a quiet groan of approval slipping out that goes straight to my dick.
Fucking hell.
Figures Charlie would have a similar reaction to her favorite drink as she does when she’s having an orgasm. Those throaty sounds have plagued me for months, stirring up memories of her spine bowing off the bed, nails raking down my shoulders while she shattered around my cock.
I discreetly adjust myself, dropping my hand to my side seconds before she opens her eyes.
I shoot her a smirk. “That good, huh?”
“Shut up,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to her words. “The girls brought me the sugar-free version yesterday, but it doesn’t hit the same as this.”
“I figured you would adjust your insulin or correct if you ran high,” I say.
She rocks back on her heels. “Oh, you an expert on diabetes now?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “I’ve been around you enough to pick up a thing or two.”
Wrong.
I started researching diabetes the night after I saw Charlie dancing on that bar top. Since then, I’ve learned everything from recognizing symptoms to performing emergency interventions, determined never to be caught unprepared.
That’s how I know that diabetes can complicate a pregnancy, making it higher risk and requiring additional monitoring. She deserves someone who will show up for her through every appointment, every challenge, and every milestone, and I intend to do just that.
“So what’s the occasion?” she asks, eyeing the bouquet in my other hand. “This level of effort always comes with a catch.”
I shift closer, dropping my voice. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”
“The answer is still no,” she states flatly, not even bothering to look up.
“Charlie, I get your hesitation, but I’d really like to—”
I stop mid-sentence as my gaze lands on the stack of bills behind the register, nearly all of them stamped with red “OVERDUE” and “FINAL NOTICE” warnings.
My stomach drops when it hits me that Charlie must be struggling financially—unless those bills are her grandma’s. But even then, with her in a retirement home, Charlie is most likely paying them.
I feel like an even bigger asshole than before. I spent years pushing her away when she needed support the most. She’s far too proud to ask for help, and I doubt her friends have the slightest clue what’s going on, or they would have intervened already.