Chapter 19
Charlie
“Talk?” I croak, nerves eating away what confidence I have left.
The sound of the door falling shut is deafening in the quiet space. Mateo places my bag on the desk and perches on the edge of the mattress, patiently waiting for me to move closer, but I can’t.
Every moment on the boat has led to this moment—this one conversation—and it holds so much weight that I’m crushed by its intensity. Every emotion I’ve spent years suppressing now lingers at the surface, and I’m petrified he’s going to see more of me than I’m ready for.
“Charlie.” My name is a caress, spurring me to move, and I drop into the chair across from him. He lifts a brow but allows me the space. “I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”
It takes a moment for his joke to land, but when it does, I level him with a glare.
“There she is,” he purrs, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. “I told you yesterday, but I’ll say it again: I want to date you, Charlie. And I know this is an unorthodox situation, but I want the chance to get to know you outside of normal circumstances.”
He’s so calm, offering his truth like it’s nothing more than the weather report, but my hands tremble.
The walls I’ve painstakingly built are crumbling, taking me with them, but I don’t want to fall, so I pull the carnelian stone from the corner of the desk and grip it in my palm.
With a shaky voice, I say, “I want that, too.”
A brilliant smile breaks across Mateo’s face, and I offer him one of my own.
“Come here, bruja,” he says, and my stomach flips with anticipation when he pats the bed beside him. It dips beneath my weight, and as soon as I land, his hands are on me, dragging me closer.
“I know you’re nervous,” he says, working his palm up and down my thigh, “but I’m nervous, too.”
“You are?”
I don’t know why I’m surprised—why his admission is so shocking. Maybe it’s because he’s always held this unwavering confidence in himself. His words are sure and decisive when our advisors ask questions. When he walks into a room, he holds his head high, his shoulders back.
It’s hard to picture Mateo as anything other than confident—the opposite of who I am.
His laugh is soft, little more than a huff of air.
“Yes, bruja, I’m nervous.” His touch stills.
“I am going to be brutally honest for the next thirty seconds, even though it scares me.” He pauses, and I gulp, unready for whatever truth he’s going to offer me.
“I have flirted with you every day for the past two years, hoping you would see me, and now that you do, I’m afraid it’s going to end.
I’m terrified that we’re going to step off this boat, and you’re going to brush me off like this all means nothing.
Because for me, this means something— you mean something to me—but I don’t want my heart crushed if you’re not all in. Because I am. I’m all in, Charlie.”
He drags his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic I’ve learned he has, and I spot Darwin sitting in the corner, watching us explore the unknown territory in front of us. I’ve spent the day worried about the new terrain, afraid of what I may uncover, but maybe I’m going about it the wrong way.
It’s unfamiliar, but instead of standing at the edge of the unexplored jungle, fearful of the creatures lurking behind the foliage, I could embrace the uncertainty and the potential to discover something incredible and life changing.
Darwin’s head bobbles as if to say, You’re on the right path , so I take the first step into the uncharted territory and offer him a truth of my own.
“I want to try with you.”
I’ve always run from emotional connection, stuck to my rules to keep me safe and detached, but I don’t know how to separate logic from what I feel for Mateo.
I won’t lie; I’m scared shitless I’ll fuck it up, or he’ll realize I’m more effort than it’s worth, but I’m realizing he’s worth the risk. Mateo is kind in ways I’ll never be, understanding and patient, and vulnerable with his heart.
“I’ve never really tried with anyone,” I admit, timid and unsure, but I reach out a hand and lace our fingers together. It’s better to be frightened, I think, than not try with him at all. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Nerves eat at my insides, but he squeezes my hand, and my throat dries from the tenderness. Mateo deserves far more credit than I’ve ever given him, because he hears every word I can’t formulate, and he understands.
“We’ll learn together,” he says, shifting to face me. His free hand reaches out, and the pad of his index finger trails down my scar to cup my jaw. “Deal? ”
“Deal,” I respond, and my lashes flutter shut as he offers a gentle, probing kiss.
His hand slips to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling in the strands of my hair as the kiss deepens into something charged with raw energy. The air crackles as he grabs my hips and pulls me onto his lap, swiping his tongue against the seam of my lips.
I want to bottle the feeling banging around in my chest—capture it so I can experience it forever. It’s the nerves of preparing to speak in front of a crowd. The anticipatory fall when you reach the peak of a roller coaster. The thrill of discovering something new.
He grips my waist, digging into my flesh to pull me into his chest. Mateo leans away, far enough to speak, but still so close I can identify the varying shades of green in his eyes. Moss. Seaweed. Evergreen.
Mateo’s hand slips below my top, grazing against my bare skin, and I jerk from the contact—not from discomfort, but in anticipation. I’m distracted by the tiny freckles scattered along the bridge of his nose, but his hand pauses on my stomach.
“Do you want to stop?”
His lips are swollen, hair in disarray, and he’s never been as attractive as he is right now. I lean in until our foreheads touch. He sucks in a breath, and I press a feather-soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the stubble of his beard scraping against my flesh.
“No.”
His thumb swipes across my torso and over the scar from my spleen removal. One, two, three times, he passes over the raised skin, and I hold steadfast, mustering up every inch of courage I possess.
Pounding fills my ears as my heart races.
I’m not used to people touching me how Mateo does—like I’m art, meant to be admired. It’s not inherently sexual in its nature. Rather, it’s appreciative, and I’m trying to believe the unspoken words in his actions .
I don’t want to self-destruct and take him with me.
“Will you tell me if you do?” he asks. I nod, tugging at the hem of his shirt until his chest is bare, rising and falling.
I lay my palm over his heart, and he moves to rest his hand atop mine.
“It’s always like this,” he whispers, pushing my hand against his skin.
“When I look at you, it always beats like this.”
It’s not a steady beat but an erratic pounding, identical to mine, thanks to his confession.
If his possessive touch wasn’t proof enough of the truth lacing his words, the beating in his chest would give him away. My cheeks heat, this moment more intimate than any other I’ve ever experienced, and my nerves skyrocket as I move our palms to cover my own heart.
Words have never been my strong suit, but this I can offer him. He leans in, and this kiss differs from the prior as he takes control, nipping at my lower lip until I gasp.
Mateo’s hands drop, playing with the bottom of my shirt.
“Can I take this off?” he asks, breaking the kiss and clearing the fog from my mind. He holds my top in his grip, and with one nod or a single word, I would be bare in front of him.
“Lights off,” I demand, my voice cracking.
His features soften in understanding, and it’s like a punch to the gut, but he refuses to surrender.
“I want to see you, Charlie. All of you.”
He waits, chin raised, and I coil in on myself. To allow him to see everything…it’s too exposing.
“I-I…” The words fizzle off my tongue.
Be brave, Charlie.
The thought is the only thing stopping me from denying him outright.
Mateo waits, leaning back on his palms as I rise to stand in the middle of the tiny cabin, at war with myself. I’ve been battling for so long, with myself, my body, how society perceives me. I’ve spent so much time hiding in the darkness, I don’t know how to step back into the light.
“It’s okay,” he says, rising to pull me against his chest. “We won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
I’m limp within his arms, fighting back the tears his reassurance brings to the surface. There’s a sense of freedom in the safety he’s creating. He told me what he wanted, but he’s also respecting the boundary I’m struggling to verbalize, and the one small action speaks a thousand words.
All of them telling me if I show Mateo my scars, he’s not going to disappoint me.
The sea-salt scent of his cologne envelops me, and I wrap my arms around his waist, sinking into the hug. My Charles Darwin bobblehead catches my eye, and I break from the embrace to turn him around to face the wall.
He’s not allowed to witness what’s about to happen.
“What would Darwin do?” I whisper, before responding to my question. “He would be courageous.”
When I spin around, Mateo is watching me with a goofy grin and a raised brow. “What was that?”
Before I can lose my nerve, I take the hem of my top with my shaky hands and lift it over my head. It flutters out of my grip, and I fight the urge to fidget as Mateo’s jaw slackens.
“I’ve never allowed anyone to see all my scars,” I whisper.
He’ll never be able to see them all—the worst of them invisible—but the longer I stand, the greater my confidence builds.
Not because he’s looking at me like he might drop to his knees in worship, but because I’m facing something that’s been holding me back.