Chapter 5
CHARLIE
Paige is in her kitchen when I walk in the back door. Normally, I’d knock first, but Paige said not to bother when I texted I was heading over.
Pumpkin gives a warning bark and scrambles off her dog bed in the corner.
“Pumpkin, sit. Friend.” Paige uses a confident tone she never had when we were younger, and the pit bull pays attention.
The dog’s butt hits the ground, and her barks peter off. Extending my hand slowly, I let the sweet girl sniff my knuckles. Pumpkin snuffles, then licks my palm when she recognizes my scent.
“Pumpkin, free,” Paige says, and the dog trots back to her dog bed.
“You all did a great job training her,” I offer as I move to the counter, searching for any sign of coffee.
“Shocking, right? Since I was flirting with the trainer the whole time, you’d think we never would’ve gotten a thing done,” Paige teases.
I grin over my shoulder, matching her expression. She met Dash at the dog rescue when she adopted Pumpkin and basically bribed the guy to get him to agree to help her with training.
Later, my friend found out some of Dash’s hesitance came from his attraction to Paige and thinking he, an ex-con, would not do well, lusting after a judge’s daughter.
Luckily, the guy got over his hang-ups because Paige deserves to be happy.
And Dash makes her happy.
Hence, the whole wedding thing happening in a few days.
“I managed.” The former dog rescuer and current mechanic strides into the kitchen. He gives me a nod before pulling a box of cereal off the top of the fridge and dumping the Frosted Flakes into a bowl.
“Is that your way of saying Paige sucked at flirting?”
My friend chucks a dish towel at me as her fiancé smirks.
“She wrote her number in a romance novel and gave it to me. Real kinky stuff.”
“You love that book! Plus, I landed you. Obviously, all of my efforts worked.” She leans over to kiss his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Dash’s smile widens as he pours milk into his bowl. “Thank you.”
Damn. They’re just too adorable. So sweet that I feel like I’m drinking syrup straight from the bottle.
Enough to make my chest ache for a similar connection. A partner of my own. But maybe that just stems from the general disquiet I’ve had with my life lately.
Falling in love would be nice, but it won’t fix anything.
Pushing the introspective thoughts aside, I return to my caffeine mission.
“Coffee?” I ask as Dash shovels down his breakfast at record speed.
“Oh. Sorry.” Paige holds up her half-full mug. “I made myself a latte, and Dash doesn’t like to drink coffee before work because it makes him horny.”
“Paige,” Dash groans around a mouthful of cereal.
I press knuckles against my lips, trying to smooth away a smile.
“What?” She stares at him, actual confusion on her face. “It does.”
Dash pushes away from the counter. “I know,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around her waist. “But Charlie doesn’t need that information.” He presses a kiss to her cheek before stepping back.
Paige glances between the two of us, then stage-whispers, “Sorry.”
Dash shakes his head, but I can see the grin on his face as he passes me by with a pat on my shoulder.
“You two have fun. I’ll see y’all at dinner.”
Once he’s out the door and we hear the engine of the car start, I turn back to my best friend.
“Why does coffee make him horny?”
She takes a deep sip of her latte. “He says I smell like coffee. And not bad coffee breath either, which would’ve been mortifying.”
“Ah. Well, if I promise not to get a hard-on, is it okay if I brew myself a pot?”
Paige chuckles and opens a cabinet to pull out some ground coffee and a French press. “Go for it. I’m going to take a quick shower and get dressed.”
“No problem. I’ll just bond with Pumpkin.”
The dog in question lies on her back in her bed, snoring heavily.
“Have fun with that.” Paige places her mug in the sink and leaves me alone in the kitchen.
With or without people, the room is small but somehow not cramped. The same way I’d describe this entire house. A perfect size for two people. And a pit bull, of course. I helped Paige pick the place out a couple of years ago. She was happy to be buying a home of her own.
And now I’m envious. Not of Dash. I’m not pining for my best friend.
The two of them are perfect for each other.
What I’m really after is my own version of the happiness she’s found.
These thoughts trickle slowly through my head as I heat water in the teapot and scoop the ground coffee into the press.
At the sound of footsteps approaching, I call out, “You sure you don’t want another cup? I can make a bigger batch.”
“Yeah, I’ll take some,” says a slightly husky voice. A voice that does not belong to my friend, but is familiar all the same.
Trying to not appear too eager, I rotate on my heel and meet a set of decadent brown eyes, which have me pondering about a piece of dark chocolate melting on my tongue.
“Luna.” Shit, what’s wrong with my voice? What sound was that? A dying rodent?
The corner of her mouth teases up. “Hey, Charlie. How’s it going?”
“Good. Great. Really, really … awesome.”
Luna’s smile widens at my ramblings, which is just unfair.
She looks amazing this morning. Not that she’s all dressed up, like at the party.
In fact, she has on an outfit from the opposite end of the spectrum.
Athletic shorts that show off a set of muscular legs, paired with a loose T-shirt that has a Red Cross blood drive logo half worn away on the front.
Her short hair is a finger-combed tangle around her face.
Just as my eyes catch on the inky strands, she gathers them up, pulling a hairband from her wrist and fashioning a messy bun on the top of her head.
The movement has her breasts pressing against the fabric of her shirt, which is how I’m almost certain she’s not wearing a bra.
The whistle of the teapot cuts off my gawping.
I turn my back on the wonderfully sleep-mussed sight of Dash’s sister and focus on the simple task of coffee.
“You said you’d like a cup?”
“Yeah. If there’s enough to spare.”
“Plenty.” Silence descends as I carefully pour the boiling water into the press, then place the top on. Problem is, now there is a wait time for the coffee to brew.
“Are you and Paige hanging out today?” she asks.
With a deep breath to steady myself, I turn around to meet Luna’s eyes. Only she’s not looking my way. Her head is in the fridge instead.
“Yeah. Yes. We’re going to get brunch and catch up.” Without thought, I start cracking my knuckles. A nervous habit I thought I’d gotten over years ago. Forcibly, I relax my hands and try to keep the hopeful note out of my voice. “You’re welcome to join.”
Luna turns toward me, carrying a yogurt container and a banana. “Thanks, but I can’t. Have some business in town to take care of.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.”
“How long are you stateside? You live in Germany, right?”
“Uh, yeah. For now.”
“For now? You moving soon?”
I wish. But then I’d need some destination in mind.
“No immediate plans. Just pondering things. But I’ll head back to Germany a few days after the wedding.”
“What’s your job?” Luna settles at the table and opens her yogurt. But all the while, her attention rests on me.
“Salesman. Fabric sales. The company sells fabric.” How many more ways can I babble out the same information? Good thing I’m not such a mess when talking to customers. Then I would definitely be moving soon because I’d be out of a job.
“You’re into fashion?”
“We focus on durable materials for outerwear. Not normally what shows up on the runway. And I’m just good at selling things.”
“Do you like selling things?” Her piercing stare digs into me, and I find myself spilling out truths I haven’t even admitted to myself.
“I’d like it more if I was selling something I cared about.”
She nods. “Hence, the pondering.”
The timer goes off, giving my hands something to do. I slowly push down on the press, watching the fragrant brown liquid swirl on the other side of the glass. One mug already sits out on the counter, and I fill the thing up, intending to give the cup to Luna and grab another for myself.
Her willingness to help is where everything goes wrong.
The moment I turn to find another mug, she’s there, offering one, having transported from the table to right behind me.
At the sight of her so near, my body jerks as I battle the urge to get closer, stay where I am, or jump away.
The miscommunication sends my top half teetering and arms flailing.
Flailing is not recommended when holding a French press.
“Shit!”
Hot coffee hits my chest.