20. Charlie
Chapter 20
Charlie
“Hey, mama!”
“Charlie! Oh, honey. It’s so good to hear from you. Your father and I have been worried sick.” My mother’s voice cut out slightly from the poor reception that the snowstorm likely contributed to.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, the cell service has been terrible here. It’s so good to hear your voice. Is Dad around?”
“Yes, let me grab him.” There was rustling in the background and then I heard her call my dad’s name. A few more seconds later and then, “Okay, honey. We’re both here on speaker phone.”
“Hi, Daddy!”
My father’s low voice broke through. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s the cabin holding up for you in that weather? Do you have enough food? Are you warm enough? How’s Casper doing? ”
I laughed at the rapid-fire questions. My father always worried about his little girl and even though he knew I was independent and could handle things on my own, he still liked to check up on me.
“Everything’s fine. Although it was a little touch and go there for a second.”
“What do you mean?” They both asked in unison. That was my parents. Always in sync with one another since before I could remember. I loved that about them. They were predictable and given everything that was transpiring between Deacon and I, I needed a little bit of predictability. Especially since the snowstorm had quieted and it looked like it was starting to melt some.
Bundling the blanket around my shoulders, I watched my warm breath fog in front of me as I took in the white landscape on Deacon’s front porch. I told my parents about the bird’s nest in the chimney and how the entire cabin filled with smoke. That part frightened them given the fire from years ago, but I assured them everything was fine.
“When the storm started to come through, the pipes in the cabin froze over and busted. There was water everywhere. I felt so bad for my landlord because everything was going wrong.”
“Oh my gosh, honey. That sounds like quite a series of bad events. Did he manage to get the pipes fixed for you?”
I paused. Not quite sure how to tell them that I was staying with a man I barely knew who had also been the person to save my life…and that I was falling for him. Hard.
In the end, I knew I would tell them everything. We’d always been that way, and it felt wrong to start lying now even though I knew they would be concerned. Everything I’d done with Deacon…it wasn’t like me to move so quickly with anyone. I was more of a slow burn kinda gal.
Clearing my throat, I peered up at the porch ceiling and braced myself. “Actually, he wasn’t able to get them fixed before the snow came. I’ve been staying in his house for the time being.”
Silence echoed loudly through the phone. I could see it now, my parents looking at one another with worry in their eyes as they tried not to be too overbearing with all the questions they wanted to ask.
“Are you safe, Charlie? Do you need us to come and get you?” my dad asked. I rolled my eyes and smiled.
“Yes, Dad. I’m perfectly safe. I, um, actually knew him from before I moved here.”
“What do you mean?” my mother chimed in.
Biting my lip I sucked in a deep breath. Here we go. “My landlord is Deacon Calhoun. The guy who saved me from the apartment fire.”
There was a gasp from my mother. They mumbled something to one another and my heart raced as I waited for their response.
It was my father who spoke first. “This certainly seems like divine intervention, sweetheart. I mean to have ended up in the same small town almost seven years after the fire…wow!! ”
“Divine intervention or not, all I care about is if he’s treating our daughter right.”
My parents had always been deeply feeling, spiritual people. They saw signs in everything, and this situation was no different. I felt it too. The day of the fire, I knew there was something special between Deacon and me. Not that I told anyone that—including my parents. But my ending up here wasn’t something they would simply chalk up to chance.
Part of me wanted to be wrong about my connection with Deacon because if I was honest with myself, it was a huge disappointment that he hadn’t come to see me in the hospital or at least tried to contact me at some point. My information had been shared all over the news. It was well known who I was given the status of my parents and how well involved they were in the Charlotte community.
Back then, I had to hide how I felt about him. It was ridiculous thinking that you could feel a connection to someone after meeting them only for a few minutes. So, I attributed it to the adrenaline and tried to stomp out all thoughts of him from that day. But now…I understood without a shadow of a doubt that I had been right. There was something indescribable between Deacon and I. Something that had brought us together again.
“He’s not my boyfriend, mama.” Even though I really wanted him to be. Drops of water fell from the snow on the roof. It would all melt soon and we would have to figure out what we were doing. What everything that had happened between us meant.
“I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend. Right now, you’re living together, and I just hope he’s treating you right.”
“Of course he is. You really think I would put up with a man not treating me well?”
They were both quiet and I sighed. “Okay, maybe I’ve made some mistakes with men in the past. But I’ve learned my value and if he wasn’t treating me well then, I’d make sure he did.”
“We just don’t want to see you struggle, Charlie. You’re too nice sometimes. I’d hate to see you let anyone else walk all over you again.”
It was a part of myself that I was equally proud of and resentful toward. My parents were right. I was too nice sometimes and I’d had to learn the hard way that not everyone gave as much of themselves as I did. I just wanted to see the good in people. The idea that others would just take and not give in return seemed awful to me. I couldn’t comprehend it.
The aftermath from the fire had opened my eyes though. And I hadn’t exactly had the best string of relationships before that. I’d dated several guys who seemed great at the beginning, but wound up cheating on me or taking advantage of how much money my artwork brought in.
“I promise he’s not like that and Casper loves him.”
“Really?” my mother asked, shocked. “That cat barely stands us being around. The only person he likes is you.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. “Until he met Deacon. They’re basically best friends now. ”
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad you’re having a good time despite the storm snowing you in.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I filled them in on my latest art piece before hanging up the phone and slipping it into my jeans pocket. Extending my open palm under the awning of the porch, I caught a droplet of water, watching it splash across my skin. Tinier drops scattered, leaving a cool zap in their wake.
When the door opened behind me, I turned around to find Deacon standing with his hands in his pockets. My breath caught just from the sight of him. It had only been twenty minutes, and my heart already missed his presence.
“How’re your parents holding up?” He strode toward me, took my hands in his and blew hot air against them to warm them up. I blushed from his touch remembering how he’d kept me up all night last night.
“They’re doing okay. Worried about me.”
“Did you tell them you were staying here?” His voice was gruff.
“I did.”
And , his raised eyebrows seemed to ask.
I blew out a breath. There was no way I was going to tell him how my father thought our second meeting was divine intervention and that maybe we were meant to be. Deacon was already easily startled. I didn’t need my families woo-wooness scaring him off.
“My mama said that she’d beat you up if you mistreated me. ”
He smiled widely. “She sounds like a badass.”
“Tiny but fierce,” I added.
“Just like her daughter.” He brought his hand to the back of my hair and brought me closer, kissing my forehead.
“The snow is starting to melt.”
Deacon pulled back and looked over the top of my head at his property sprawled out behind me. “Seems so.”
“What will happen once it does, and we’re no longer trapped here?”
“I’d hardly say my time with you has made me feel trapped.” His gaze darted between my eyes like he was assessing if that was how I’d felt—trapped.
When I didn’t answer he ran his fingers down the long locks of my hair, playing with the ends. “I’m not sure what will happen. This is new territory for me, Sunshine. I do know one thing for sure though.” His fingers moved to the bottom of my chin as he gently tilted my head back, so I was looking at him fully. “I don’t want this to end.”
I was floating and his grasp on my chin was the only thing grounding me because he’d just said what I’d only hoped to hear him say. He didn’t want things between us to end. He wanted to try.
It was all I could ask for and he was willing to give it to me.
“I don’t want things to end either.”
DEACON
“You’re almost done with this one.” It was more of a question than a statement. I rubbed my palms over Charlie’s shoulders as she made tiny little strokes of white over the river water. The painting seemed done to me a few days ago. I thought it had been perfect then, but now that she was adding even finer details, it all seemed even more real. Like I could walk into the image and feel the mist from the river on my face.
“Just a few more things to fix, then yes.” Tilting her head back, she looked up at me. The pale blue of her eyes matched some of the wisps of paint along the river scene. I ran my hand over her decolletage and up the delicate column of her throat as I brought my lips to hers.
“It’s stunning,” I whispered across her mouth. Then, I felt her smile against me and my heart skipped a beat. The things she could get me to do with that smile. The list was endless.
When she lifted her head to get back to work, I moved to her left and leaned against the windowsill to watch her paint.
“How did you get started with art?” I asked, watching the small muscles of her forearm flex and shift as she moved the brush along the canvas.
A giggle had the balls of her cheeks blooming light pink. “As my parents tell it, they caught me drawing on everything in the house. If there was some kind of marker or crayon available, I would find it and use it to make everything around me prettier. ”
Thinking back to her asking to paint murals in the tiny cabin, the story made a lot of sense. Her long locks of hair shimmied across her back when she turned her head to look at me.
“One time—I think I was about eight—my parents walked into my bedroom and every single wall was covered in flowers I’d drawn with some markers I’d snuck home from a friend’s birthday party. Most parents would have been furious, but mine just put me into art classes and art summer camps. I think they knew from that point forward; it was my passion. They’ve always been really great at supporting my dreams.”
“You’re lucky in that way.”
Her eyes softened. “I know.” The wood of her paintbrush tinged against the glass mason jar filled with murky water as she swirled it around. “What about you? Have you ever been into anything creative?”
“I can show you.”
Her brows popped up. “Really?”
Extending my hand for hers, I said, “Come on.”
When she slipped her hand into mine, I gave it a tender squeeze. I loved holding her hand. Everything of hers was so tiny compared to me, but I knew she was strong. Charlie had the kind of quiet strength that only came with conviction in her truth and the confidence that she knew what she wanted from this life. There weren’t many people in the world like her.
Heading for the garage, I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. I’d never shown anyone my woodwork before. Not outside of my parents. It was the one thing I’d always kept for myself. But I wanted her to see it. Wanted to share every part of myself with her.
“Ready?”
Even though the hallway was dark, there was a brightness to her eyes. Excitement. It made my heart hammer against my ribcage.
“Yes!”
I opened the door, and we stepped into the garage-turned-woodshop. Sawdust littered the floor and after a few weeks of not being in here, a fine layer of dust covered most of my works in progress.
“Oh my gosh. Deacon!” Charlie moved through the space with her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide in awe. “This is incredible.”
I watched as she stopped at the mid-sized grandfather clock I’d been working on before her arrival. Her fingertips moved over the etched birds above where the glass clock would display. “Those little guys took me forever to get right.”
“I can imagine,” she breathed. “They’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
As she wiped the wood dust from her fingertips, she looked back at me. “How long have you been doing this?”
Rubbing my chin with my hand, I thought back to the first time my dad bought me whittling tools for Christmas. “I was pretty young. Probably around the same age you started going to art classes. My father always gifted my mother and I wood pieces for Christmas. He’d make jewelry boxes for her and wooden toys for me. When I got a little older, we’d work together in his shop. I mostly started with whittling.”
Reaching for the small frog on the shelf behind her, I handed the tiny trinket to her. She moved it over in her hands, assessing my work. I grasped the back of my neck, suddenly feeling nervous. “This was the first thing I ever made. The proportions are pretty awful, and his eyes are way too big, but I was proud of it back then.”
“As you should have been. Deacon, you have an incredible gift.”
She held my gaze for a moment before giving me the frog back and continuing to make her way around the larger pieces. Stopping at each one, I felt a sense of anxiety take hold wondering what she thought about them all. Her opinion mattered to me.
I cleared my throat. “When I got older, my dad showed me how to make furniture. That’s when I became obsessed. Most of the wooden pieces in my house I made.”
“The dining table?” she asked, voice excited.
“Yup.”
“The headboard in your room?”
“Mmhmm.”
“What about the rose side tables in the living room?”
“Those too.”
“Have you ever sold your work?”
I laughed at her incessant questioning. It was so her . “It’s not really something I’d ever thought about before. I’ve always just done it for myself.”
She ran her teeth over her bottom lip as she thought about what I’d said. “I get that. But if you ever wanted to consider selling some of your work, let me know. I can help you with the business side of things.” The words came out of her mouth in a rushed excitement. Her enthusiasm for my work hit me like a damn freight train. Aside from my parents, I’d never had anyone tell me my work was good because I’d hidden it away. Just like everything else.
Hearing a compliment from Charlie’s lips made me stand a little taller.
“I’ll consider that.”
She shot me a wink that made my heart stutter before she went back to observing my work. “Whoa!” Charlie knelt in front of the half-finished bench I’d started last year and couldn’t find the inspiration to finish.
“This is amazing.” She brushed her hands over the back of the bench where half of it was carved with vines and bloomed orchids.
“Where were you planning on putting this one?” She beamed up at me with curious eyes.
“I was thinking about the front porch, but I don’t know. I’m not sure.” Halfway through working on the bench, I realized I’d made it too big for just myself. It was a piece that was meant for two people to share and since I didn’t have anyone else in my life, it didn’t make sense for me to finish it.
Until now.
“I know the perfect place.” She rose to stand in front of me and dug her hands into the front pockets of my jeans.
Snaking my arm around her waist, I pulled her closer. “Is that right?”
“Mmhmm.” The reddish orange curls of her hair dipped into her face as she nodded. “You should put it on your front porch so we can drink our hot chocolate on it together.”
My stomach did a weird flip-flop at the thought of having her sit on this bench with me. The piece I’d unconsciously made for two people to share. Maybe some part of me always knew she’d come back into my life one day. A thread of hope that despite all my shortcomings, she might actually want to stay.
I brushed the hair from her face and placed a kiss on each one of her freckled cheeks. “I think I can do that.”
Her body close to mine, she moved her hands from my front pockets to the back ones. I fucking loved it when she claimed my body with such ease. Like it was second nature for her.
“And if you’re really nice, you might even let me paint it.”
I inhaled deeply and tilted my head back and forth like I was thinking about it. Even though the thought of her touching one of my pieces with her gift was a fucking honor.
“I think we might be able to arrange a deal.”
Her rosy lips spread wide, showing her bright white teeth. It stole the breath from my lungs.
“Good.” She gave me a curt nod. “Because I think you and I could make something really special together.”
Me too, Sunshine , was what I wanted to say and almost did. But the words got caught in my throat.
Charlie spun out of my arms and spent the next few hours asking me endless questions about my work and how I grew in the craft. I didn’t stop smiling the entire time.