Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
CHARLIE
“I told you to keep this professional.”
Those are the first words out of Carl’s mouth when we reach the staff break room, and I hold up both hands like the cops showed up. “I didn’t make a single move. That girl isn’t crying because of me.”
My brother doesn’t say anything, and I keep going.
“I didn’t kiss her once—I didn’t even flirt. I barely smiled.”
Carl still doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, unblinking. I think he might be dead.
“We took one road-trip selfie in the car. That’s it. Everything else was completely boring and by the book.”
“Charlie—” My brother hesitates, kneading his temples. “That’s not what I meant when I said to keep things professional.”
Of course that’s what he meant. There are no other definitions for that phrase. None. And he had a good reason for saying it too. Does my brother have amnesia?
“I screwed up, remember? I was being too flirty at the ticket counter, and it made her uncomfortable. That’s why you told me to keep things professional.”
Carl sighs. “You weren’t being too flirty—you panicked. A stranger was being nice to you, so you shut it down by acting weird. That’s the opposite of flirting. You’re not a bad guy, Charlie. Compliments just make you uncomfortable.”
I’m not a bad guy? Now I’m the one who isn’t blinking.
“Compliments don’t make me uncomfortable,” I protest. Yet even as I say that, a sensation itches under my skin. One that can only be described as discomfort.
Carl ignores me. “When I told you to keep it professional, I meant don’t adopt her. Drive her to the resort, find her boyfriend, and leave. The last thing you need is another stray.”
Another stray?
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my brother sighs again. “You collect sad tourists. It’s your new favorite hobby. You bring home strays, and you keep them forever.”
“No I don’t.”
“Two other people live at your house. And you barely know them.”
Tyler and Lydia? Is that what this is about? “The Sharp twins are my roommates. We’re friends.”
“They don’t pay rent. That’s not a roommate—or a friend.”
Things with Tyler and his sister are more complicated than that. He and I actually go way back, even if I’ve been sworn to secrecy about how we met. But I’m still not sure what brought this on, why Carl is going all parental on me right now about my roommates. Tyler and Lydia have been living with me for months, and Carl hasn’t had a single problem with them until today. What changed?
“I like them fine,” Carl reassures me. “Tyler and Lydia are great—unless you collect more of them. You don’t need another wayward stranger in your life. You’ve got your own problems. You can’t solve everyone else’s.”
That’s actually pretty sweet and protective of him to say. But also infuriating. I get ready to dig in and stick up for myself (and the Sharp twins), but a slew of familiar noises echo through the bus station. The squeal of the heavy side door, the rattle of keys, and the thump of footsteps.
Our boss.
Two Roscoes have never panicked so fast. I lunge for the break room door, but Carl grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me behind him. He leads the way all slow and calm like everything’s under control. Which is probably better than the running and flailing I was going to do.
When we make it out front, Alice is drying her eyes with a tissue while our boss, Mr. Walters, studies her warily. “I don’t understand,” he says. “We’re closed—the doors are locked. How did you get in here, and why are you in here alone?”
Busted.
Leave it to Mr. Walters to identify a punishable offense within ten seconds of entering the building. That man can smell an infraction a mile away. Carl and I are officially in trouble, and Alice can tell.
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffles. “It’s my fault. I was in the bathroom…and I fell asleep.”
I have to work really hard to hide my smile. That’s one of the worst lies I’ve ever heard, and it was delivered in the worst possible way. Her voice lifted at the end and everything, like it was a question. As if Alice herself wasn’t sure if those words were true.
What would that even look like, someone falling asleep in a public bathroom? I can’t picture it, and our boss is having a pretty hard time with that too. “You fell asleep sitting up? In one of the stalls?”
That’s all he says, then Mr. Walters glances at me like he knows this is my fault. And technically, he’s not wrong. Alice is only back at the bus station because of me. This fiasco has my name spray-painted all over it.
His eyes bore into me like termites. “You didn’t check the bathrooms? Isn’t that part of your job?”
Actually, I clocked out a long time ago. My shift ended at four fifteen. Checking the bathrooms for Alice Van Winkle would’ve been Carl’s job, but there’s no way I’m going to let him take the fall. My brother is a model employee, and he’s covered for me plenty.
“I did check, Mr. Walters. Maybe she had her feet pulled up.”
Now I’m the one telling terrible lies. Falling asleep in a bathroom stall is bad enough. Alice also having her feet pulled up at the same time sounds physically impossible—and mildly dangerous. So, of course, she nods enthusiastically. That woman has never met a bad lie she didn’t like.
I try to keep a straight face. Then I notice the fresh tearstains on her cheeks, and my smile fades for good. When Carl ushered me to the break room, Alice had calmed down. Did something new upset her while we were gone?
Alice catches my eye and exhales a shaky breath. There’s something she needs to tell me, Walters or no Walters.
“When I woke up…in the bathroom, I realized I’d missed my Old Western bus in Denver.” Alice flips her phone to show me she’s been digging around on their website. “And they don’t have any more buses leaving until tomorrow afternoon. There aren’t any Greyhounds either.”
She’s stuck here overnight. Even if I drive her to Denver, Alice doesn’t have anywhere to go. And if she didn’t like the idea of buying a new bus ticket, she’s going to hate paying for a hotel room.
I can feel Carl staring me down. No more strays, Charlie. This is not your problem.
But it kind of is. I’m the one who brought Alice back here. I inserted myself into her breakup and acted like I had a plan. If I pawn her off on someone else now or abandon her altogether, I’d just worry. Nothing will feel right again until I help her board a bus home.
Tomorrow.
Before I can figure out what to do next, what to say, my phone buzzes with a message.
Lydia: Running late at work. Can you pick up the cupcakes for tonight?
Tonight . Our plans had totally slipped my mind, and I text her back that it’s not a problem. I can get the cupcakes on my way. Then I hesitate.
Lydia Sharp is one of the most responsible people I know; she’s like Carl, but sweeter. Her brother and I joke that she’s our walking moral compass because she always knows the right thing to do. So I pitch her my idea.
Charlie: Is it okay if I bring home a temporary girl roommate for the night? She’s stranded in town until tomorrow.
Lydia’s response is instant. And I take that as a very good sign.
Lydia: The more the merrier. It’ll be nice to not be drowning in testosterone.
That settles it. Maybe Carl won’t be thrilled, but if Lydia’s on board, my idea can’t be all bad. I put my phone away and glance at Alice, ignoring my brother and Mr. Walters. Especially Mr. Walters.
That man is practically humming with villain energy today. He’s wanted to fire me since the day his aunt Edna made him hire me, and he’s probably dying to call the cops on Alice too. He’s just that kind of guy.
Which means I have to move fast. Before either of those dreams become a reality.
“Ma’am, try not to fall asleep in any more bathrooms,” I tell Alice, and she gives me a solemn nod.
“I’ll do my best.”
Her response almost breaks me, the sheer adorableness of it. I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling as I toss my brother his car keys and grab my skateboard from behind the counter. Carl tries to catch my eye as I reach for Alice’s arm, but I glance away.
I hate disappointing my older brother, but a Charlie’s got to do what a Charlie’s got to do. And this Charlie has to help Alice.
Mr. Walters pulls out his phone. He probably has the cops on speed dial, and I whisk Carrots toward the door. “Let me walk you out—I can give you directions on the way. I’m late for book club.”