Chapter 21
Charlie
“You have to tell me everything,” Amy says, her voice filling the cabin. “You ignored my messages—rude, by the way—so now you’re obligated by the best-friend code to spare no detail.”
I fall back onto the bed, laying the phone beside my head.
Amy called when Mateo and I were getting ready to head to one of the common areas to get some work done before the ROV deploys this afternoon. Vivian hopes we can catch species moving into shallower waters if we deploy around sunset, so the plan was to catch up on PhD work, until Amy called.
Now I’m being interrogated.
What does she want me to say? A lot has happened in the last ten days, and I don’t know how to unpack it with myself, let alone with her.
“It’s been…good,” I offer.
“Charles,” Amy groans, “I need you to give me more than that. Have you frolicked between the sheets? Are you having fun? Is your chest fluttering? This is what I want to know, not ‘good.’”
“No. Yes. And yes.”
“Ugh, you’re giving me nothing !”
“I let him see my scars,” I admit quietly. “I let him see, and…”
“And?” she presses. When I’m silent, she adds, “Let me guess, he proved you wrong because you thought he would turn away after he saw them.” Well, fuck . She hit the fucking bullseye with that one. “You never did give Mateo enough credit.”
“What?”
My stomach grows queasy at the accusation in her voice.
“It’s just…” She sighs. “He asked me for your coffee order once so he could memorize it. And every time he orders at the shop, he asks about you. He’s done it since the day he realized we were roommates.
Mateo has always been kind to you, even if he teased you and called you that silly nickname. He’s always cared for you.”
“I never knew.”
“Would it have made a difference if you did?”
An uncomfortable sense of guilt weighs heavily on my chest, because no, I don’t think it would have made a difference, and the realization leaves me unsettled.
Ashamed with myself, really.
It wouldn’t have made a difference because I didn’t want to see Mateo any other way than a rival. It was easiest if that was the box I placed him in—the one that kept me safe because I didn’t have to acknowledge how I felt differently around him.
A tear slips out.
“I’m a horrible person,” I mutter.
“No, Charles, you’re afraid. Have been since the day we met. You’re terrified people are going to get too close and then decide they don’t like what they discover.”
Now I’m sobbing because she’s right. She knows it, and I know it, too. I’ve allowed those thoughts so much control, I’ve hurt myself, and Mateo, too.
“I haven’t run, and neither has he, so when are you going to stop running? ”
Amy calls me out on my shit, always has, but right now, it’s like she’s saying everything she’s been holding back, hoping I would figure it out for myself but haven’t, so now she has to tell me herself.
I don’t want to hate my skin or spend days avoiding my reflection.
I don’t want to waste hours wondering why someone was staring at me in the grocery store.
I don’t want the joint pain or the pins in my hip or the scar that cuts across my eyebrow.
I don’t want to hesitate every time Mateo compliments me, because my initial reaction is to brush off his words as a lie.
But I don’t know how to function any other way.
“I don’t know how to stop.” Stop running. Stop hating myself. Stop pushing people away. “I’m scared, Ames. But I’m trying. He asked me if he was worth it.”
And it broke my heart .
Witnessing him stand in front of me in the small bathroom, his uncertainty palpable, and ask if I thought him worthy enough, it fucking shattered my heart into a million pieces. Because for one moment, he and I were the same: two people terrified the other was going to throw them aside.
“But I think he might be,” I continue. “I think he might be worth the risk.”
Amy squeals. “Isn’t that so exciting?”
“No, it’s fucking terrifying!”
“It means you care for him—a lot—and I, for one, think that’s fucking incredible. You deserve someone who makes you happy, and if that’s Mateo, then chase that feeling, and when you catch it, don’t let go.”
“And if I get hurt?”
She releases a gust of air, rattling through the speaker. “Charlie.”
“What?”
It’s a valid question. What if when we get off this boat and return to reality, Mateo realizes this is a bubble?
That what happens on the boat is not a reflection of real life?
That he’s choosing someone who has to pull over in a rainstorm and freaks out on airplanes?
What happens when he realizes I have nightmares and wake up drenched in sweat?
What happens to me when I let him in and he realizes I’m broken?
“The only person who could potentially get hurt in this scenario is him.”
“You think I would hurt him?”
Why does that feel like a fucking dagger straight to the heart?
“I think you have the power to, if you wanted.”
My sniffles are the only sound between us.
“I’m not saying you’re going to hurt him, I’m just saying that he’s as vulnerable as you are.
Falling in love is an act of blind faith.
It’s trusting another person so fully you give them everything that could hurt you—hand it to them on a silver platter—and believe they would never use any of it to cause you pain.
It’s letting them see every soul wound you possess and allowing them to help you heal. ”
Her words sink into my soul, settling and growing roots.
Falling in love is an act of blind faith .
I have to decide whether Mateo is worth the faith, if I trust him enough not to hurt me, the same way he would trust me.
If it wasn’t for this trip—the way he has helped me step out of my comfort zone—I don’t think I would have been ready to hear Amy’s words and fully understand her meaning.
“Are you smiling?” she asks. “I have a best friend’s intuition, and it’s telling me you’re smiling.”
My fingers trail along the seam of my lips, where a tentative grin appears, nothing more than a tilt at the corner, but she’s right. She always is .
“No,” I say, but she can hear it in my voice, and she laughs in response. “How long have you been waiting to have this conversation?”
These weren’t words in the moment, but a speech practiced and repeated, like she’s been anticipating this moment.
“Since you called a few nights ago. Had a feeling you might be ready for a chat. I love you, Charlie. I hope you know that.”
“I love you, too.” More than she will ever know. I sniff away the tears threatening to fall.
“Now, tell me about all the cool shit you’ve seen before you have to go work.”
“Do you have your to-do list?” Mateo asks, and I lift my notebook to show him my page filled with everything I need to complete before the ROV deploys at seven.
His dimples appear, and my chest does this odd constricting thing where it becomes momentarily difficult to breathe. I don’t know if I hate it or if I want to feel it again and again.
Species identification guidebooks and notebooks cover our table in the lounge, and a condensation ring from my iced coffee stains a scientific paper about population genetics in green sea turtles.
My fancy gel pens are lined up in a row, and my to-do list is color coded by priority and how much anxiety the task gives me.
“You know the rules,” he says, displaying the massive bag of chocolate, then setting it off to the side. “When the timer goes off, you get a reward.”
“You should give it to me now.”
Do I believe sticking out my lower lip and batting my eyelashes will convince him? No, but when it comes to my treats, I’ve never been one to give up without a fight. He raises a brow, amused but undeterred, and my stomach flutters when his foot grazes the inside of my calf.
“Cute, but no. You’ve got to earn the chocolate, bruja. We’ve been over this.”
“This is not helping disprove my ‘ruler of hell’ theory.”
With a loud, exaggerated huff, I flip open my laptop. The keys clack as I bang against them. If only I had some sugar. Then this email wouldn’t make me want to gouge my eyes. There’s a deep chuckle, and then the blue foil interrupts my vision.
Thank you, Neptune! And Mateo, I guess.
The gooey caramel melts against my tongue, and I devour it with the grace of a bridge troll—that is, with none at all.
This piece was smashed in the packaging, and I lick the wrapper to clean up the leftover crumbs.
Only after every ounce of sugar is consumed do I realize I essentially just made out with a candy wrapper.
Warmth creeps up my neck, but before I can defend myself, Mateo searches the empty lounge, takes my face between his hands, and plants a searing, breath-snatching kiss on my lips.
Never have I been kissed like that, as if I’m the air he needs to breathe on a planet lacking oxygen.
There’s little I can do to still my racing heart or the adrenaline-induced tremor in my hands, so I tuck my palms beneath my thighs.
“I’ve always wanted to kiss you after you eat a piece of chocolate. See if you would taste like the candy you devour,” he admits in a gravelly voice.
“And did it?” I manage to croak.
The temperature in the lounge spikes ten degrees, and my throat dries as his tongue travels along the seam of his lips.
“Tasted even better than I could have imagined.”
An ember of pleasure forms in my lower stomach, and Mateo stokes the flame when he touches my leg again .
“What tastes good?”
Jett’s voice cuts through the air, and I screech, launching out of my chair and knocking my things off the table.
“How the fuck are you so quiet?” I yell, clutching my chest to press my heart back into its cavity, because surely, it just launched out of my ribcage. Mateo is laughing, doubled over, and Jett is staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.
This is not funny. I nearly soiled myself in fear.
“Sorry, Blondie. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“We need to get you a bell,” I mutter, and Mateo snorts. Wildly, I swing my foot beneath the table until I hit his calf and he groans.
Serves him right . I nearly shit myself, which is not a good look when you’re in the early stages of whatever Mateo and I are doing.
Shitting yourself is for seasoned relationships.
Jett slides into a seat beside Mateo, whose cheeks are so red they resemble a fire hydrant, and asks, “What are you guys doing?”
“Catching up on some PhD work. Charlie is working on creating lesson plans for her lab course”—Mateo gives me a look, and I stick out my tongue—“and I’m grading reports for the invertebrate biology lab I run.”
Jett looks unimpressed, so I add, “For every hour we work, we get a chocolate.”
His demeanor shifts instantly. “Does finally responding to comments on all my social media pages count as work?”
“Does the idea of completing the task make you want to bang your head against a wall?” I ask. That’s how I make my lists. Minor inconveniences at the top, and “this is going to lead to a meltdown” at the bottom. He mulls over my question, then nods. “Then, yes. It’s work.”
Mateo sets the timer on his phone, and we each work in silence. Jett snickers to himself every few minutes, and Mateo hums while he grades his papers .
The first alarm goes off right as I finish the lesson plans I’ve pushed aside for weeks, and I patiently wait as Mateo digs a chocolate out of the bag and places one in my hand, then one in Jett’s awaiting palm.
He restarts the clock, and I accomplish another task. The hours fly by, and somehow, I’m deep into my to-do list, completing the duties I thought were a long shot to reach.
The chime rings through the air, and without looking away from my screen, I stick my hand out. Jett does the same, never glancing away from his phone.
I only look up when my palm remains empty and Mateo snorts. He peers down to our hovering hands, then to the timer, and finally to me. His face quivers as he attempts to restrain himself.
“What is so…”
I blink, stunned, as my brain catches up to his realization. No fucking way .
He’s going to talk about this forever, and I will never live it down. The day Mateo Alvarez managed to Pavlov Charlotte Bowen will be marked in the history books as the worst day of my life.
It might be dramatic, but I think this is worse than my accident, if only because the cocky grin on Mateo’s face makes my toes curl even if I want to throttle him for turning me into an experiment.
“I cannot believe you fucking ‘Pavloved’ us.” I seethe as his laughter deepens, the sound smooth like honey. “We are not his dogs, salivating every time you ring a bell.”
Except, maybe we are. But that’s not the point. The point is, my…whatever Mateo is, has trained us both, and he thinks it’s fucking hilarious.
“It wasn’t intentional, I swear. But when you held out your palm as the timer went off, well…I connected the dots. ”
Leaning over the table, I steal the bag of candy, snatching a handful and splitting it between Jett and me. If we’re going to be Mateo’s lab rats, we’re going to get paid. With chocolate, of course.
We’re talking about this later, putting No experiments on the other person on our odd rule list.
“You will pay for this, carino,” I say, and his grin grows even brighter, amused I’m calling him by his shitty nickname.
He calls me a witch constantly, so it’s only fair I call him an annoying asshole, even if using the endearment makes my cheeks heat and my stomach flutter. There’s something intimate about giving another person a nickname, sharing the small inside secret with them.
I’m lost in the bright green of Mateo’s irises, tracking the way they brighten when I call him carino , when Jett asks, “Who’s Pavlov, and why are we dogs?”
Oh, hell, I don’t know how to explain this, so instead, I offer him another piece of chocolate.
“The less you know, the better,” I say, patting his shoulder.
Mateo laughs again, and when Jett looks away, I mouth, You will pay for this later.
He winks.
The cocky asshole winks, and fuck me, my stomach flutters.