Chapter 16
Taylor squeezed out the bar rag, watching the street door swing shut behind the dark-haired woman. When she looked back, Charlotte was at the table on her own, sipping her glass of wine. There was a faint, lazy looseness in her movements. Tipsy. Not drunk, but definitely tipsy.
A few minutes later, Charlotte walked up to the counter.
“Closing out?” Taylor asked, setting down the cloth.
Charlotte raised her eyes. Her gray-blue gaze flickered, unfocused for half a second before settling entirely on Taylor. A faint pink flush bloomed over her cheekbones, creeping past the collar of her blouse. “Yes. I believe my card is back there.”
“It is,” Taylor said. She rested her forearms on the wood, leaning in just enough to drop her voice below the low hum of the bar. “How was your date?”
Charlotte blinked, a small, sheepish curve touching her mouth before she pulled it back into a polite line. “My what?” She stared at Taylor for a second, like she lost her train of thought. She was definitely flustered. “No. We weren’t on a date… I mean, we’re just colleagues.”
“Colleagues.” Taylor couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re a little tipsy, Professor.”
“I am not,” Charlotte said, though her mouth stayed soft, betraying her. Her eyes dropped to Taylor’s lips, lingered there a beat too long, then snapped back up. “I had a few glasses of wine. I’m fine.”
Olivia slid up beside Taylor, a fresh stack of clean tumblers tucked under one arm. She took in the two of them with a quick, perceptive sweep of her dark eyes, then smiled at Charlotte. “I can pull that tab up for you. What was the name?”
“Reid,” Charlotte said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. “Charlotte Reid.”
“Got it.” Olivia punched a code into the touch screen. She tapped Taylor on the shoulder with a light, warm knuckle. “Hey, the crowd’s thinned out now. Go ahead and log off for the night. I can handle the rest.”
“You sure?” Taylor asked.
“Positive. You killed it tonight. Go get some rest.” Olivia swiped Charlotte’s card, the receipt printer whirring quietly into the silence between them.
Taylor stepped back from the register and around to the other side of the bar. Without the wooden counter acting as a barrier, the space between her and Charlotte felt suddenly stripped down.
Charlotte signed the slip. “Are you heading home?” she asked, her voice dropping low.
Taylor looked at her, hoping that she wouldn’t think about driving. “My place is right upstairs,” she said quietly. “How are you getting home?”
Charlotte slid her phone out from her purse, her thumb swiping across the screen before she held it out at arm’s length, squinting slightly against the bright white glow.
“Uber,” Charlotte said, tapping the screen.
Outside the main glass doors, a dozen people clustered under the awning. Two more groups were paying their tabs, ready to spill out onto the same street. Every available driver within a five-mile radius was going to be swamped.
“What’s the wait time?” Taylor asked, resting one hand on the edge of the bar.
Charlotte tilted her head back. “Thirty-four minutes.”
The thought of Charlotte standing out on the curb alone or sitting awkwardly on a bar stool while Olivia swept around her made Taylor’s chest tighten.
It was a terrible idea to invite her up. Bringing Charlotte back into her personal space was asking for a fresh burn on skin that hadn’t even healed yet.
“Come upstairs and wait with me,” Taylor said, the words slipping past her lips before her self-preservation could filter them out. “Let me just get my guitar, and we can head up.”
She braced for the inevitable polite refusal, the sudden stiffening of Charlotte’s shoulders, but she merely nodded, her eyes soft and unreadable in the dim lighting of the bar. She tucked her phone back into her bag without a single argument.
Taylor grabbed her guitar case and led Charlotte upstairs. Taylor unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let Charlotte pass. She carried the case over to the corner.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Taylor asked, turning around and wiping her palms against her jeans.
“Just water, please,” Charlotte said.
Taylor walked over to the tiny kitchenette, taking two glass tumblers from the open shelf.
“You were amazing tonight,” Charlotte said, her voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Taylor’s arms stand up. “On stage.”
Taylor paused at the sink, the cold tap running over her fingers before she filled the glass. “Thank you.”
She walked back to the sitting area and handed Charlotte the water. Charlotte took it, her manicured fingers brushing Taylor’s skin for a fraction of a second. A sharp spark shot up Taylor’s forearm, swift and hot. She sat down on the leather couch, leaving a deliberate two feet between them.
Charlotte took a slow sip, her gaze resting on the exposed rafters before sweeping back to Taylor.
“I mean, I already knew you had an unbelievable voice,” she said, her throat moving as she swallowed.
“But it was different hearing you with a mic versus your voice drifting across the beach.” She paused for a second.
“You’re very talented. Have you ever pursued it as a career? ”
“Yeah,” Taylor said, resting her elbows on her knees and staring down at her own glass.
“For a while. But I think I’ve exhausted every avenue.
I have an Instagram now that I keep up to date, but I’m realizing that it’s probably not going to happen for me.
I’m happy just singing, though. I have a career path now. I want to do social work.”
Charlotte tilted her head, her long blond waves shifting over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised by how mature you are.”
The unspoken for your age hung in the air between them, but Taylor let it slide right past. She didn’t care, not tonight. Having Charlotte sitting here on her couch made every defensive wall Taylor had spent months building crumble into useless dust.
“I’m glad you weren’t on a date,” Taylor said, the raw truth tumbling out before she could stop it.
Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted, a tiny, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah?”
“I saw you two from the stage,” Taylor admitted. She exhaled a long breath, forcing her eyes to meet Charlotte’s. “I was so jealous. I know I had no right to be. But I was.”
Charlotte let out a soft, breathy laugh.
A cold knot tightened in her stomach, her jaw setting hard. “I don’t really think that’s funny.”
Charlotte immediately sobered. She leaned forward, setting her glass of water down on the low wooden coffee table with a soft clink. “No, it’s not that,” she said gently. “I’ve actually spent the night trying not to be jealous.”
Taylor blinked, her heart knocking against her ribs. “Of...?”
“The woman I was with, Sam,” Charlotte said, resting her hands in her lap. “We work together. She, um... well, she heard you sing here last week, and she admitted having a crush on you.”
“Oh?” Taylor’s brows pulled together, the surprise catching in the back of her throat.
“But I told her that you were a psychology student,” Charlotte continued, a faint, wry edge creeping into her voice. “And while you’re not in her class... it wouldn’t exactly be ethical.”
Taylor scoffed, a rueful half-smile breaking through her tension. “I hope she wasn’t too disappointed.”
“She was, actually,” Charlotte said.
Taylor looked at Charlotte’s mouth, tracing the subtle line of her lip before pulling her focus back up. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Charlotte tilted her head again. “Do what?”
“Flirt with her in front of you.” The alcohol wasn’t driving her words—she was completely sober, but her mouth kept moving anyway, stripping away every filter she possessed. “I doubt you still feel anything for me, but... just in case, I don’t think I could.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything at first. Instead, her chest rose and fell on a heavy, shuddering exhale.
“If only you knew how wrong you were,” Charlotte said with a sigh.
The sentence hung in the quiet loft, suspended like smoke.
Taylor stopped breathing.
Was that in her head? Or did Charlotte really say that?
Taylor stared at her profile, her ears ringing.
Charlotte hadn’t just said that out loud.
There was no way she had.