Chapter 18
Charlie
W hen I saw a girl in the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen walk up behind Blythe and extend her hand, I immediately went into protective mode. The girl looked harmless, but you can never be too sure. There are stalkers out there that do crazy shit.
I watched as a blush crept up Blythe’s cheeks, “Yes, that’s me.” The uncertainty was plastered all over her face, but she still offered a small smile.
“It’s so great to meet you! I’m Chelsea, and I follow you.” The girl with black curls introduced herself. “Gosh, that sounds so creepy. On Instagram…I follow you on Instagram. I shouldn’t have come over here.”
A look of realization spread across Blythe’s face. “Wait, you’re Chelsea? Weren’t we just talking the other day about that new thriller?”
Chelsea relaxed when she realized Blythe made the connection. “Yes! I was just popping in to see if they had it yet. I didn’t know you would be in town—how fun!”
Blythe laughed. Her smile lit up this damn bookstore. “I didn’t know either.” She turned towards me, “I’m sorry, Chelsea, this is my boyfriend Charlie. Charlie, this is Chelsea.”
I extended a hand and a smile to offset the unfriendly look I had on my face when she walked up to us. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise! You own The Coastal Cup, right?”
“I do. All of the success of the business is because of Blythe. She saved it.” No one ever asked about my side of the business. Blythe was the star of the show, and that’s how I liked it. I prefer to fly under the radar and remain anonymous in life. I am “Wren’s dad” or “Blythe’s boyfriend,” and that’s how I like it to be.
“That’s so cool that you both own a business and are dating. What a dream!” Chelsea gushed.
Blythe’s green eyes met mine, and we shared a look. A look of “how freakin’ blessed are we that we get to live this life together.”
“You’re one of the only people who say that. Everyone else assumes it’s hell on earth to live together and work together. I love it.” Blythe answered earnestly.
I nodded in agreement. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I saw a message from my mom.
Mother: Wren wants to talk to you.
“I need to step outside. Wren wants to talk with me.” I turned on my heel towards the door, “It was nice meetin’ you, Chelsea. Bee, I’ll be out front. Take your time.”
“Tell her I said hi!” Blythe beamed.
I made my way through the bookstore and outside before calling my mom.
As the phone rang, I couldn’t help but look through the window. Blythe and Chelsea were already deep in a discussion. Blythe’s hands were flying while she animatedly described something. Her hands immediately went up when she talked about something she was passionate about. If you were too close to her, there was a good chance you would accidentally get hit.
Three weeks ago was the perfect example. Wren and Blythe were sitting at the kitchen table talking about Christmas gifts when Blythe was describing the size of the Barbie Jeep she had as a kid. I had the unfortunate pleasure of walking next to her and got clocked in the chest.
“Charlie, are you there?” My mom’s voice pulled me out of my zoning out.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Wren wanted me to tell you she needed to talk to you. She didn’t say what it was about. She could only talk to you about it.” She paused, “I know you kids are just tryin’ to enjoy some quality time together.”
I cut her off, “Blythe ran into someone she knows at the bookstore, so it’s all good.”
“That’s lovely. Does she have any idea about…?” she trailed off.
My stomach lurched, “Not that I know of.”
“Where are you keepin’ it?”
“The box is in my backpack. I grabbed it right before we left the house, so I don’t think she noticed.”
“Charlie, were you sketchy about it? This girl probably thinks you’re going to murder her.”
“Mom…” I sighed. “I wasn’t sketchy. I’m 99.9% sure she has no idea. I just—don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Oh, you’re nervous. Really nervous.”
“No shit.”
“Language, Charles.”
“Sorry, mom.” I reverted to the eight-year-old me. “But yeah, I’m nervous.”
I turned to look into the window, and Blythe and Chelsea had made their way to the chairs; their conversation was still going. She looked so at peace and in her element. Seeing her like that made my heart happy.
“Don’t be.” She comforted me. “Hold on, Wren is here.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Wren’s sweet southern drawl echoed through the phone.
“Hi, Little Bird. What’s up?”
“I thought of something I want for Christmas.”
“Which is…?”
“I want a Barbie Jeep like Birdie’s.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know if they make those anymore.”
“Why?” I could hear her pout through the phone. I’d do anything for this kid, but I have no idea where I would even begin to find a Barbie Jeep like Blythe had nearly three decades ago.
“I don’t know. Let me see if I can find it.”
“Okay. Thank you. Bye!”
The call ended.