Chapter 6
B y the time Charlie knocks on my door two hours later, I’ve recovered from the phone call with my sister.
I get over it the same way I always do, which is to blast whichever Lola Piper album best fits my mood.
I’ve been a diehard Pipette since her debut, and I can always count on her music to lift me up.
Today, I listen to Limitless (Lola’s Edition) while I eat breakfast and pretend the conversation with Christy never happened.
I pause for a beat before I turn the knob, though.
I can already feel the electricity between Charlie and me buzzing through the door, and I just don’t understand it.
It’s thrilling, of course—but upsetting at the same time.
I decided years ago that I would never feel this way again.
Now my heart’s betraying me by manifesting an inexplicable connection to a man I don’t even know.
I was hoping our coffee date today would help break the spell. That I’d come back free of any lingering hope that Charlie could be the love I used to wish for .
But so far, we’re off to a bad start. I haven’t even seen his face yet, and there’s pure, unadulterated joy coursing through me. It’s the same way I felt when I painted the other day.
And that terrifies me.
He knocks again.
I shake my head to reset myself so he doesn’t see the hearts in my eyes. As soon as I open the door, though, Charlie’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, and I’m so giddy, I have to bite my lip to keep my smile an acceptable size.
“Hey, Jenna,” Charlie says brightly.
“Hi, Charlie,” I reply.
Then, without even thinking, I wrap my arms around him.
My body’s betraying me again, but I don’t care.
Being this close to him feels even better than I imagined.
He’s much taller and bigger than I am, but the way our bodies mold together, it’s like there’s a Jenna-sized space between his arms where we fit like puzzle pieces.
It settles my mind, and I feel present in a way I’m not used to.
I never felt like this with Scott. When we were in bed and he’d start kissing me, and unbuttoning my jeans, my thoughts would be everywhere except on him.
I’d be making grocery lists in my mind, or thinking about backsplashes for the house we were flipping.
But I never pressed my head against his chest and listened for his heartbeat the way I’m doing now with Charlie.
Even with Dex, I was always preoccupied, wondering how my body compared to the gorgeous models and actresses he’d been with.
He gave me absolutely no reason to feel insecure, but I couldn’t help worrying about the stretchmarks on my hips and the cellulite on my thighs.
I mean, he dated Ava Elwood, the supermodel—quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the world.
Even if her photos are airbrushed, she’s still 5'11" with legs for days. I don’t know her, of course, but from what I’ve seen in interviews, she seems really sweet, and down-to-earth, too.
And when Hunter and I?—
Dammit. I should probably end this hug with Charlie before it gets weird.
But there’s no sign that he’s uncomfortable when I pull away. He just gives me his gorgeous, easy grin and says, “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” I say, returning his smile. I’m wearing high-waisted black shorts with a simple white crewneck. But Charlie isn’t even looking at my outfit—or my body—when he compliments me. He’s looking into my eyes.
“You ready to go?”
“Sure am,” I say, slipping on my sandals.
“I was at the beach earlier this morning; the weather’s great. I was thinking we could take our coffees to the lake, if you’re up for a walk,” he says with a sweet shrug.
I wonder if my eyes are lighting up. They feel like they are. “Walking and coffee are two of my favorite things,” I tell him.
Charlie’s already-rosy cheeks flush. “Then let’s do it. I’m up for anything that makes you smile like that.”
If only Christy could see me now. I am happy. For the time being, at least.
It’s such a relief to be out of my head. I don’t want to waste time worrying about my vow to keep things casual—and why this man I hardly know makes me want to break it. For once, I’m too focused on being in the moment to question it.
We walk to a nearby Belgian bakery, where Charlie buys us two chocolate croissants to eat as we sip our iced lattes. “I have a sweet tooth,” he admits as we start heading toward the lake. “It’s why I had no choice but to become a runner.”
I laugh. “Is that what you were doing at the beach this morning? Going for a run?”
“I was taking my cousin’s yoga class. She became certified to teach a couple of weeks ago, and I wanted to support her.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “I love yoga. Was this your first time?”
He nods as he swallows a bite of croissant. “I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. I’ll definitely go again. You can join me sometime, if you like.”
“I just might take you up on that,” I tell him. Then my mind flies back to my phone call with Christy. I may not want to join Charlie for runs by the lake, but I would love someone to go to yoga with. Why not a hot someone with excellent taste in coffee and croissants?
Charlie slows his pace and turns to me, smiling. We’ve made it to the Lakefront Trail, where dozens of runners and bikers whiz past us, soaking up the last days of summer in Chicago.
But as the world moves around us, Charlie and I stand still in the golden glow of the morning sun. He lifts his hand to my face and places his thumb at the corner of my mouth. “You have a little chocolate…right here,” he says, gently wiping it away.
“Thanks,” I say. And this time, I’m not even embarrassed that I’m a mess. I’m full from breakfast, plus the croissant I inhaled, but I’d eat a second one without thinking twice if it meant he’d touch me like that again.
“Want to find somewhere to sit?” he asks.
I nod, so we cross the paved path and choose a spot at the water’s edge that’s furthest away from the crowd at Oak Street Beach. It’s quiet and peaceful, with only the sound of the waves and the soothing warmth of Charlie’s arm against mine.
“This coffee is delicious,” I say after a sip. “And I’m a pretty tough critic. I started young.”
He grins. “How young are we talking?”
“I had my first cup when I was fourteen,” I tell him. “It was a big day for me, and not just because of the coffee. I kind of…ran away from home.” But when Charlie’s brow furrows with concern, I add, “For a few hours.”
“I’m guessing everything turned out okay, since you’re sitting next to me, smiling,” he says, his beautiful long lashes framing his earnest eyes.
Normally when I go to the lake, I get lost in the colors of the sky and water. But not today. Today all I see is Charlie, and the way he looks at me.
“It ended up being one of the best days of my life. But it didn’t start out that way.
My parents were supposed to take me to the art museum in Cleveland.
It’s barely a twenty-minute drive from our house in Beachwood.
My art teacher had mentioned a Picasso exhibit there, but I knew my parents wouldn’t take me unless I told them it was mandatory for class.
” I pause and sigh. “My dad didn’t support my dream of being an artist. That’s putting it mildly. ”
Charlie nods, but there’s something more than pity in his gaze. “ My dad feels the same way about my interest in photography.”
I let out a wry laugh. “No wonder we’re both dissatisfied with our careers.”
He shakes his head with a deep inhale, as if to say, Don’t get me started . Instead he settles his eyes on mine and asks, “So, did your dad back out?”
I nod. “I had a friend over the night before, and my dad brought up the ‘mandatory’ museum trip because he was so irritated by it, and my friend spilled the beans. I should have talked to her beforehand. My dad was so mad, he refused to take me. He insisted on us all going to the country club instead, so he could play golf with his pretentious colleagues.”
“But you had other plans,” Charlie guesses, an amused gleam in his eye.
“I looked like hell the next morning, because I’d been up crying half the night.
My mom figured I was coming down with something…
so I let her believe it. My family left me at home, took off for the country club, and within twenty minutes, I was in a cab on my way to the museum.
I felt like Ferris Bueller,” I say, grinning.
“I think I see where this is going,” Charlie says with a knowing smile that almost moves me to tears.
He’s interested in my story. Interested in me.
Sadly, this isn’t a typical experience I have with men.
If they’re interested in anything at all, it’s getting in my shorts.
They certainly don’t want to hear about my high school shenanigans.
But Charlie does. “You’re at the art museum, and you run into your art teacher. Am I right? ”
I nod, relishing in the look of satisfaction on his face. “Mrs. Swanson.”
“Did you tell her why you were there alone?” he asks, his brow furrowed with belated concern for fourteen-year-old me. And it occurs to me, again, how safe I feel with Charlie. And how rare that is.
I sigh. “I was too embarrassed to admit that my parents chose a country club over me. So I told her they were home sick, and she took me under her wing. We walked through the entire museum together, discussing the different emotions each painting evoked. I felt so grown-up. She was my parents’ age, but treated me like an equal, which is something that didn’t happen at my house.
And before we left, she took me to the café and bought me my first cup of coffee.
Maybe it was because I’d had such a wonderful day, but it was love at first sip.
” I laugh. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about coffee ever since. ”
“I know the feeling,” he replies, his dark eyes sending heat to my cheeks. Suddenly, I’m not sure if we’re talking about coffee anymore.