Chapter 4
KEZ
Charlotte Harrington is in my truck.
She’s tanner than I remember. Same big hazel eyes that always saw right through me.
The same bright smile that would steal hearts in every room.
Especially mine. She radiated confidence back then, but there’s something different now, a new glow of elegance and self-assuredness, like she finally figured out she was the sun and stopped waiting for permission to shine.
She’s been stranded on the side of the road for who knows how long, and somehow she still looks like a magazine cover model. I tighten my grip at ten and two, hoping my nerves settle. Precious cargo and all that.
Muscle memory serves me well. I don’t need GPS to tell me to continue straight for the next eleven miles.
There’s only one way direction from here so I continue north on Mistletoe Mountain.
Meanwhile, I search my brain for an appropriate topic of conversation when your ex is sitting eight inches from you.
How’s Eli? No. Have any children? No. Weather.
Talk about the weather. It’s supposed to snow, but then again, it’s hard to believe the reporter’s accuracy as of late.
I keep my eyes on the windshield, but I’m painfully aware of everything Charlotte does. The way her hands rests in her lap. The lull of her breathing. The empty space between us that feels like all the words I never said. And her effect on me even after ten years.
Thankfully, she speaks first. She tells me about traveling around the world, a woman named Rory whose life appears more entertaining than my favorite reality show, The Final Summit. Her photography business. No mention of Eli or if she’s dating anyone else currently. Not that it matters.
She tells me her street address. Obviously, her directions are wrong because it’s mine. Shit. Should I say something? No. Fifteen minutes in and this ride is already awkward. The last thing I want to do is embarrass her. She’ll figure it out soon enough.
“I got into a bidding war for my place,” I say when she brings up remodeling her new home. Might as well commiserate about the hellscape that is today’s housing market. “Some asshole kept jumping the price in increments that made no damn sense. Fucking ridiculous.”
“Hmm,” she responds, seemingly not interested in this topic. Charlotte’s voice softens, but she sounds almost defensive. “Maybe they really wanted it.”
“Or maybe—” I start, but stop myself. Did I say something wrong? I try again. “I’m just saying maybe they didn’t need to throw their entire bank account at it.” Like I did.
More silence. “Maybe that place was their dream and they wanted to send a message. It’s not a bidding battle, it’s a bidding war.”
I huff. “A message? More like someone out there is a pretentious asshole and sore loser.”
Her voice jumps half an octave. “What if they were tired of losing things? After losing so much already? Maybe she finally found the missing piece to her life’s work.” Her heavy breathing calms.
Okay. Sweat breaks across my palms and lower back.
I grip the wheel tighter. “Yeah, I guess…” I trail off, flipping my turn signal, then slow to a complete stop at the light.
“But damn, I’d love to meet the person who thought an absurdly high bid was necessary.
I’d give them a piece of my mind.” If I keep going, I’m going to get pissed all over again.
Silence. Great job, Langston. Made it weird.
“That would be…something,” she finally whispers toward the window. I glance over, eyeing her reflection in the glass. Her cheeks are flushed. She seems annoyed. Perhaps she’s warm? I rotate the heat knob lower.
“I won. So, it doesn't matter,” I add, unable to help myself. Where are my manners? “Congratulations on your new home as well.”
“You too.” Her words are almost too quiet to hear over the hum of the truck.
I switch on the radio and turn it on low, knowing I’ll be too distracted to care about music. Silence stretches between us for ten miles.
“I’m divorced,” she finally says. Her tone is neutral, like she’s commenting on the weather. “From Eli.”
I part my lips, unsure what to say, but glance to my right. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She’s still looking out the window. “It was always going to happen.”
What does that mean? I don’t ask. I forfeited my chance at Charlotte’s trust years ago.
A few minutes later, she gestures toward the silver handcuffs dangling from the rearview mirror. “That how you get all the women these days?” There’s a cute tease to her voice.
That makes me laugh. I appreciate the shift in the air between us. Though, I leave out the part of me being hopelessly single.
“Never know when you need to make a citizen’s arrest,” I say with a wink. “I’m actually a K-9 officer.”
“Okay, Officer.” She lifts a brow, a mischievous grin I know all too well spreads across her face. “I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior moving forward.”
A heatwave catches me off guard. “I highly doubt that.”
My shoulders relax when we share a smile that lingers. Is she really flirting with me?
I face the road again, attempting to steady the weird flutter in my chest. Things are looking up.
“Wait.” With a toothy grin, she twists in her seat, barely containing herself. “Is this adorable puppy your partner?”
And the moment is gone.
“Temporarily.” My tone comes out sharper than I prefer. “Kind of like dog sitting. For training purposes.”
Charlotte’s face scrunches in a pout. “I’d be sad to see her go. She’s precious.”
I huff a little laugh. “She sure is.”
“What’s she like on duty?” Charlotte asks.
“Ember’s a totally different dog when her K-9 vest is on.” I lie. “Don’t let the cuteness fool you.”
Charlotte’s not buying it. “If I was a criminal and saw Ember chasing me, I’d just turn myself in so I could get all the cuddles.”
She lets out a full belly laugh, petting Ember's head. Ember whines when she takes her hand away, so she puts it back.
“What does a K-9 officer say to a perp?” She continues. Ember barks from the backseat like she knows the answer. Charlotte sings out of tune, using her fist as a microphone. “Stop! In the name of aww.”
Another giggle fit roars from the passenger side. Now Ember’s howling too. I’m glad Charlotte’s enjoying the ride, at least. When she sees I’m not laughing, she tries to cover her mouth.
“You and Ember should take your show on the road.” I’m only half-joking.
“I’m sorry.” She waves a hand in resignation, choke-coughing. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a K-9 corgi before.”
“Because she’s the country’s first. Corgis have an elite sniffer,” I snap before I can stop myself for reasons unknown to me. “Which is actually ideal for detection work.”
Charlotte tries—and fails—to look serious. “Now that I think of it, Ember would fit into tight spaces. Under vehicles. Under train seats. Probably great for rescue. She’ll be an excellent police dog, Officer.”
“Whatever,” I mutter and compress my lips. Don’t try to clean it up now.
I can feel the weight of Charlotte’s apologetic puppy dog eyes. That used to always work on me. Not anymore.
I keep staring ahead, knowing she’s still looking at me. My lips curl upward anyway. Damnit.
The mountain road curves and finally, familiar log siding comes into view through the bare trees. I smile each time I see the big green sign. Mistletoe Mountain cabins. The place of most of my favorite childhood moments and now I live here every day.
Charlotte leans forward, her features light up in a way I haven’t seen today. “I’m obsessed.” She squeals with excitement.
“This you?” I can’t help but play along.
She nods like a bobblehead doll. “I took such a big risk buying this without looking at it. I got lucky with my real estate agent. She’s a bulldog and knows the area well.
I fell in love with the pictures, but this is…
this is perfect. It’s more like a cottage than a cabin, but semantics.
” The way she’s rubbernecking the property, you’d think she’d notice she’s at the wrong address.
“Hm.” is all I manage, gripping the wheel tighter. Only a fool would buy a house without at least touring it once. I keep that part to myself. Not everyone is fortunate enough to know the inner workings of the house they buy, as I did. Especially in this housing market.
I switch off my heated seat, which is no longer cozy, but irritatingly hot. “What’s your house number, again?” I take a sip from my water bottle to clear my dry throat. “I just want to confirm I’m going the right way.”
“I believe you did.” Her voice is chipper as she peers out the window in awe. She digs an envelope out of her purse and flips through a small stack of papers, rattling off the address written in the pen at the top. “This is the one.”
“Hm.” I glimpse her handwriting—chicken scratch. Her ‘1s’ still looks like ‘7s.’ The address has to be mixed up. “With a forest green door?”
She nods, basically mirroring Ember’s head out the window.
Ah. I remember reading that the cabins in this area were built around the same time half a century ago. Most owners forgo entryway renovations, as those doors are known to be a part of Mistletoe Mountain’s charm. Charlotte wouldn’t know about the area’s history like I do. Her confusion makes sense.
Shifting the truck in park, I wait as she unbuckles her seatbelt.
Seeing Charlotte this excited, rather than the ball of stress from earlier, is refreshing.
We’ll laugh about this later: our drive to “her” cabin up the mountain.
Perhaps this is just the ice breaker needed that leads to smoother conversation.
To my surprise, Ember listens without fuss when I tell her to lie down in the back. We watch as Charlotte steps out of the truck and approaches the door. She’s been out of my vehicle for only a minute, and I already miss her presence.
“She’s still cute as hell,” I murmur to Ember, wedging my tongue between my teeth, smiling like an idiot, enchanted by her backside in yoga pants, the exact way I did when we were love drunk teens.
Placing an arm over the passenger's head rest, I watch the sleeping beauty in front of me—because clearly she was unconscious when she wrote the incorrect address.
Tiny snowflakes drift onto her hair before melting instantly.
I flip my seat warmer back on and settle in.
No point in unloading her boxes at the wrong place.
Whining and tiny stomps sound from the backseat. That didn’t last long.
“Alright. Let’s get you where you can see.” I reach behind me. Ember eagerly uses my arm as a plank to reach the center console. With all her might, she leaps into the passenger seat.
“Watch this,” I tell the passenger princess.
Any minute, Charlotte will realize her grave error and sulk back to the truck.
In lieu of popcorn, I unwrap a piece of hard candy and pop it into my mouth, satisfied by the buttery caramel swirling my tongue.
We’ll laugh about this debacle over lunch while waiting for the tow truck, then go our separate ways.
My brain replays our movie marathon dates.
Does she still like homemade hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream on top?
I smile at the memory of her finger swiping the fluffy peak, us wrestling as she attempts to boop my nose and me pinning her against the couch.
My thigh wedged between her legs. The heat from her center holding me captive as she lay underneath me.
She’d slip her finger into my mouth and demand I lick it clean.
Then we’d make out until our drinks went cold.
I loved the way she moaned my name. Almost as much as I loved tracing my tongue along the hollow of her clavicle.
We rarely finished a movie in her first apartment.
Warmth canvases my belly, snapping me to the present. Charlotte’s at the front door, fumbling with the lock. Obviously. A laugh slips from my mouth. Any second now.
She pushes the door open. I freeze.
What?
My eyes go wide at the key sticking out from the lock. Did she—did she really just walk into my house? How the fuck—
“Wait. Charlotte!” I yell through the glass, but she doesn’t hear me. “Hey!” I shove the truck door open and sprint toward the porch. Ten steps in, I stumble, tripping over a thick root poking from the ground. “Damnit,” I hiss. I knew that was there. A problem for later.
Charlotte’s standing in the foyer, back facing me, taking pictures like she’s visiting a historic building instead of my new home. The one I nearly went broke for.
“Charlotte,” I breathe her name for the third time, chest heaving in the doorway. My hands are shaking. Her shoes are already off, sitting neatly on my rug.
She whips around, face beaming. “Isn’t this place great—”
“What the hell are you doing in my cabin?!”