Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
CHARLIE
I’m on my best behavior, and I stay that way…at least at first.
After the stunt I pulled in the guest room—getting that close while flirting that hard—I’m determined to be a saint. I’ve turned over a new leaf, a chaste leaf, and I’m ready to devote my life to a higher cause: helping Alice not feel miserable while she’s in town. And I’m off to a pretty great start.
While she waits at our table, happily outlining her fake-Jason short story on her phone, I borrow a sheet of paper and a pen from the guy who runs this place, determined to make Alice’s stay here unforgettable. It’s way before the dinner rush at Terry’s Bistro. We have the restaurant to ourselves, but when I return, Alice’s gaze darts around the room like the Victorian could be anywhere.
“Are you sure it’s safe to talk about this here?”
“Completely. Terry would rather chew off his own arm than spread gossip.”
He never even ratted me out for egging this place on a dare when I was thirteen. He just made me clean it up, told me I needed better friends, and never mentioned it again. He’s a real class act that way.
I down a few more bites of my burger, then I get to work. This is my chance to give Alice what she needs, a nice friendly to-do list of all the things she should see before she leaves town. A list full of good, clean fun that doesn’t involve any fake dating, no matter what those Old Birds say.
As she finishes brainstorming, I scrawl a title across the top of our paper— Alice and Charlie’s Ponderosa Fun List —and those words work instantly. The corners of her mouth tilt as she reads it, her smile faint but genuine. The kind of look that instantly lets a guy know when he’s on the right track.
1. Pet a raccoon (very carefully)
The first item on our list makes Alice giggle, and it’s more proof I’m doing this right. That she wants real fun while she’s in town, not fake dating. It’s a pretty great sound too, that laugh. Maybe my new favorite sound.
“Not possible,” she says. “Petting a raccoon would be amazing—a dream come true—but not possible.”
Look at me. Making dreams come true on a Wednesday.
“Totally possible. My mom helped her husband rescue some raccoon kits this week. If we play our cards right, they might even let us feed them. Do you think you’re ready for that much cute?”
She grins. “I was born ready.”
My new plan is ticking all the boxes. Alice’s smile right now is everything. So I keep going.
2. Tame the dragon
This time, I leave it vague. Carrots shoots me a curious glance, but I don’t explain. It’s too fun making her wonder. With a nonchalant shrug, I keep writing, and her smile grows even wider. I’m definitely on the right track.
She watches intently as I finish our list. By the time I’m done, I’ve added three more items, five altogether, and not a single one is “kiss Charlie to make your ex jealous.” Even if I’ve been thinking it the entire time.
“Will we be able to finish everything before I leave next Wednesday?”
“Easily. We could probably fit in a few more things, if you want.”
Alice bites her lip. “Do you have anything in mind?”
Several things.
Instantly.
And all of them are Very Fun but Not Allowed.
I rein myself in. This is a rescue mission. I saw how upset Carrots was earlier, and she’s counting on me.
I shrug like I need to mull it over, but Alice already has a few ideas of her own. She pulls our list toward her and slides the pen out of my hand before tacking on her own little to-do list at the end of mine. A very different list.
1. Infiltrate the Old Birds
2. Unmask the Victorian
Treachery. Sheer out-of-towner treachery. I quirk my eyebrow at the formerly sweet redhead across the table. I didn’t think she had it in her.
“Alice Kilpatrick, what kind of a to-do list is that? Aren’t you supposed to be the good one? Have I corrupted you already?”
She suppresses a smile, but something lingers in her eyes. It’s an intensity I’m not used to, a little bit of anger laced with a whole lot of hurt. As if that newest scandal sheet upset her even more than I thought.
Alice can tell I’ve noticed the shift in her mood, but she tries to play it off. In big bold letters, she scribbles a breezy subheading above my portion of our list, Nice List , before adding a different title above her own. Naughty List.
My pulse skips. It shouldn’t—Alice doesn’t mean anything by it. The way she’s using them, those are holiday-song words. The kind you sing about Santa Claus in your elementary school auditorium while wearing fake reindeer antlers. They aren’t half as indecent as they sound.
Yet my entire body hums with electricity, as if Alice has placed a live wire under my skin. She doesn’t realize how those words sound until she sets down her pen, a hot-pink blush flooding her cheeks. She hesitates before looking up at me, and no one has ever glanced away faster or looked more guilty than Alice “Naughty List” Kilpatrick.
Which means I should probably let her off the hook like a gentleman.
Probably…