Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte sat at her desk, staring blankly at the computer screen.
It had been weeks since Grant had shown up at her apartment, hours late and drunk.
Many days since he’d sent her flowers. And yet still, some part of her couldn’t let go.
She still thought about him. Still wanted to learn about his past, to learn who he really was.
She knew a few investigative journalists who would be more than happy to take on the task, but it was too personal; she couldn’t open herself up like that.
Short of following him, she wasn’t sure where to continue, since her online search hadn’t provided a single hit.
No social media. No LinkedIn account, not even a Twitter account.
Didn’t most professionals have social media to promote their businesses?
She had an Instagram account, but it was maintained by the magazine.
It was professional and touted her work throughout her career.
Odd that Grant didn’t have social media.
Maybe he was just old-fashioned and didn’t want to put his work out for the public to see. Either way, she thought it strange.
Charlotte knew she should just forget about him. True, she thought they had a special connection, but apparently, she had been wrong. He was no different than any other guy out there. So why were her thoughts constantly circling back to him?
Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing.
“Hello?” Charlotte answered, cautiously.
“Hi, Charlotte. It’s Grant,” came the familiar voice from the other end of the line.
“Grant,” she repeated, surprised and unsure of what to say next.
“I was hoping we could talk. Are you free today? Maybe we could have lunch,” he ventured.
Charlotte knew she should just hang up on him, but a part of her resisted. Would it be wrong to give him a chance to explain? Maybe meeting with him would give her some closure and allow her to forget him for good.
“Okay, sure,” she agreed.
“Great. How about Chez Pierre near Union Square? Maybe around one o’clock, if that works for you,” Grant said, with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Yeah, that works. I’ll see you there.”
When Charlotte arrived at the restaurant, Grant was already waiting by the host’s desk. He looked dashing in a navy suit and white dress shirt with French cuffs. Perhaps this would be easier if he wasn’t so handsome, Charlotte thought.
They only had time for an awkward greeting before they were seated. A waiter promptly appeared and took their order for Wagyu burgers, pommes frites, and two Cokes. Charlotte was pleased that he hadn’t ordered a cocktail. Could she be wrong about him having a drinking problem?
As they waited for their food, Charlotte began to feel nervous. Was he going to try to win her back with loving words and empty promises? Was he going to confess that he had a problem and beg her forgiveness? Or did he just want to try to preserve his reputation?
“Thanks for coming,” Grant said, breaking the silence.
“Of course,” Charlotte replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“Listen, Charlotte, I know our dinner date didn’t go as planned a few weeks ago, but I want to make it up to you. Like I said, I met up with my buddy and acted like we were still in college. It was stupid,” he explained, his eyes full of remorse.
Charlotte sat across the table, her eyes fixed on the water glass in front of her.
She watched a bead of condensation slowly make its way down the side of the glass.
At first she said nothing, the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of the other diners’ conversations somehow making the silence between them more pronounced.
“I think we can both agree that the dinner date was a disaster,” Charlotte said, her voice flat.
Grant hung his head. He looked so defeated and somehow smaller. He looked up again, and his eyes were full of tears. “I know I really messed up,” Grant admitted, looking apologetic. “I never acted that way on a date before … not that I’ve had any since Angelina.”
Charlotte felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge him.
“So, what? We just start over as if nothing happened? Pretend that you didn’t stand me up for dinner, didn’t call or text, and then showed up at my apartment completely drunk in the middle of the night?” she asked.
Grant let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping farther. “I’m so, so sorry. I had all these plans, but everything just went wrong. I am sorry and so ashamed.”
“What were your plans?” Charlotte asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.
“I was going to invite you to join me for a trip, someplace warm for a couple of days. I try to get away from the city right before the holidays.”
No way was she going on any trip with him, not after what he did.
Then why did she say: I’ve been all over; there are many beautiful places to discover, but most need more than a few days.
With time changes and flight delays, it’s not worth it, unless you plan to stay at least a week?
She shouldn’t have said that. But a couple of days on a sandy beach does sound good. What was she doing?
Before she had time to question her choices, an enormous explosion inside the restaurant momentarily shocked the diners.
Then pandemonium broke loose, with crowds rushing towards the exit as smoke began to fill the restaurant.
The waitstaff tried to maintain some order, imploring patrons to stay calm and exit the building in an orderly fashion, but everyone was in a panic.
Charlotte’s heart raced as chaos erupted around her, with people screaming and overturning tables in their scramble to escape.
“What’s happening?” Charlotte gasped, gripping the edge of the table for support.
Grant was already on his feet, pulling Charlotte up with him. “Looks like a gas explosion in the kitchen,” he shouted over the noise. “We need to get out of here!”
With Grant leading the way, Charlotte stumbled after him as they weaved through overturned chairs and spilled wineglasses.
She clung to his hand tightly, trusting him to guide her to safety in the mayhem.
The smoke was getting thicker, making it difficult to see or breathe.
But with Grant by her side, she felt safer somehow.
His arm was wrapped firmly around her shoulders, offering protection and reassurance as they navigated through the confusion.
Outside, the once elegant restaurant was now a scene of disarray. Diners were huddled together in shock, some crying while others frantically called loved ones. The manager appeared, his usually slick hair now messy and unkempt.
“Everyone please clear out!” he shouted above the commotion. “The fire department is on their way. There has been an explosion in the kitchen, but it’s under control.”
Despite his words, Charlotte couldn’t shake off her fear until they were several blocks away. She leaned against a building and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down while Grant kept a protective arm around her.
She took advantage of their proximity to study Grant more closely. She saw genuine concern in his eyes but admired how he was able to maintain control in a crisis.
“Are you all right?” Grant asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of injury or distress.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, still reeling from the harrowing ordeal. “Thanks to you.”
As her senses came back to her, she began to wonder about something. “Grant,” Charlotte murmured, “how did you know it was a gas explosion so quickly?”
“I used to be a volunteer firefighter many moons ago,” Grant admitted. “Gas explosions are unfortunately more common than you would think. I can recognize the smell easily.”
“Really?” she questioned, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. Could this handsome stranger be hiding such a heroic past? Or was it just another lie?
“Really,” Grant confirmed, offering a small smile that did little to assuage her growing doubts. She wanted to ask him about his lack of social media presence but would hold off until the timing was right.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Grant asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Grant, can I ask you something?” Charlotte ventured hesitantly.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?” He looked genuinely curious, his eyes searching hers for any hint of her thoughts.
“Is this just … one big coincidence? That we’re together in a crisis like this?”
He paused, thoughtful, then replied, “I think it’s a test of our resilience, how we handle adversity. And so far, I’d say we make a pretty good team.”
“Really?” Charlotte asked, unconsciously seeking reassurance from him.
“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “In fact, I think it’s made me realize how much I care about your wellbeing. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Thank you, Grant,” Charlotte said. She believed his concern was sincere, but the nagging doubts still lingered. “But there’s so much we don’t know about each other.”
“That’s why we go on dates, to get to know one another,” Grant said, his tone light and teasing even after all they’d been through.
As they strolled along the bustling city streets, Charlotte realized she did want to start over with Grant, despite his drunken behavior on that awful night. She wanted to know everything about him.
“We can go to my apartment if you’d like,” she offered, hoping to mend their strained relationship. “I may not be able to whip up those fancy burgers we left behind, but I’ll come up with something.”
“That would be great,” Grant exclaimed eagerly. “And anything you make will be perfect.” He paused, looking straight into her eyes. “Charlotte, let’s start fresh, okay?”
Charlotte felt her heart flutter at the prospect of giving Grant another chance. Their strong attraction remained, and she was willing to try again. “Okay,” she replied with a forgiving smile. “Let’s see what happens.” That was as much as she could commit to at the moment.
When they got to her building, Charlotte led the way upstairs.
Unlocking her apartment door, she ushered him inside, telling him, “Make yourself at home.” She slipped off her shoes and made her way towards the kitchen.
Golden hues of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting the room in a warm glow.
Grant settled himself onto the plush cushions of her sofa. Charlotte could feel his eyes following her movements as she took bread and cheese from the refrigerator. She retrieved the butter bell and spread the cream butter across four slices of bread in smooth arcs.
Another pat of butter went into a pan that she heated up on the stovetop.
The sizzle of the bread hitting the pan was gratifying.
She topped the bread with cheese and placed the remaining two slices on top, completing the sandwich.
A flip, another sizzle, and the air was soon thick with the rich, comforting scent of melting cheddar.
While the grilled cheese sandwiches turned a perfect shade of golden brown, Charlotte reached for a can of tomato soup. Pouring the thick red liquid into a saucepan, she heated the soup—a perfect companion for the sandwiches. It was a simple meal, but there were few things as comforting.
She stirred some cream into the soup, giving it a bit of extra richness.
The warm, tangy aroma pulled her back to days spent wrapped in laughter and the softness of worn quilts, when Rhonda would be sprawled on her couch, and they’d share stories as easily as they shared meals.
Tomato soup and grilled cheese—it was comfort food, a culinary hug that somehow always made the world seem kinder.
“Almost ready,” Charlotte called over her shoulder, but her voice held a note of nostalgia.
She ladled the now gently bubbling soup into two bowls, the steam curling up in a silent dance. She plated the sandwiches with a precise cut down the middle, revealing the gooey heart within.
“Let’s eat,” she said, bringing the meal over to the coffee table.
Together, they sat on the couch side by side, sharing food and forging a connection between past and present, and between each other.
They ate in comfortable silence, letting the warmth from the meal suffuse them.
In the quiet clink of spoons against bowls and with the satisfying crunch of toasted bread, Charlotte found a new memory being etched into the canvas of her life.
Crumb-speckled plates rested on the coffee table. Satiated, Charlotte folded her legs beneath her. She brushed a stray crumb from her lips as she turned to face Grant, her eyes alight with a quiet intensity.
The softness of the couch seemed to enfold them, an intimate cocoon away from the world’s sharp edges.
He reached out tentatively, his hand grazing her cheek, a silent question hanging in the air between them.
Charlotte’s breath hitched at the contact, the simple touch igniting a flame that had been carefully banked during their meal.
It was as if the food had not only nourished their bodies but had also warmed the hidden corners of their souls, inviting something more profound to awaken.
With courage bolstered by the day’s intimacy, Charlotte leaned into his caress, her hand moving to cover his.
The connection sparked an electric current that couldn’t be seen but was palpable in its intensity.
Her heart beat faster as she looked into his eyes.
A mere whisper apart, they paused, the anticipation thickening the air, every inhalation laced with the promise of what was to come.
And then, as naturally as the sun succumbs to the horizon, their lips met in a kiss that spoke of yearning and discovery.
It was a slow melding of mouths, of breaths, an exploration that was both tender and insistent.
Charlotte felt herself being drawn up, her body pressing against his as they stood in unison, hands roaming with growing boldness.
There was no rush—only the deep pull of desire that led them step by step toward her bedroom.
There, in this sanctum of softly draped linens and the dim glow of bedside lamps, they found each other.
Charlotte’s skin hummed under his touch.
Words were unnecessary; their bodies conversed in a language older than time, each brush of his fingertips writing new verses on her flesh.
With every glance, every caress, every sigh, they wove together a tapestry of passion.
Entwined in the tangled sheets, they moved with a synchronicity that belied the newness of their union. Love claimed them, body and soul, a silent oath whispered in the moon’s pale light that streamed through the window to bear witness to their communion.