Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CHARLI
Exhaustion weighs heavily on me as I try to think about something other than how cold I am.
Clearly, I underestimated how much the temperature would drop.
It took a while to get all my errands done, including washing and drying my new work clothes and coat.
Victoria called while I was taking a shower at the gym, but by the time I finished and returned to Second Chances, it was closed.
She left a note on the door, letting me know she had the sleeping bag and to stop by tomorrow.
After grabbing dinner at the café down the street, I headed back to my car.
Warmed by the large bowl of soup and my new coat, I mistakenly thought I’d be fine sleeping in the car.
And it wasn’t too bad the first few hours.
But now it’s three a.m. and thirty-five degrees.
Shivers rack my body and my toes feel like ice.
Popping my head out of the covers, I grab two more pairs of socks from my clothing pack and slip them on my feet, then dive back under the covers.
If I don’t get that sleeping bag tomorrow, I won’t have to worry about starting work. Or anything else, for that matter. I’ll be a permanent popsicle.
The light from my phone sweeps over my sketchbook as I stare at the drawings I just finished. Macklin’s eyes. Assessing. Suspicious. His chiseled face. The first one of the three I’ve seen in its entirety.
It took me an hour to get every feature perfect, my strokes painstakingly precise, as if a mistake would ruin the memory of our first meeting.
My finger traces the lines of his full lips and cleft chin.
Besides his eyes, these are the two features I recognize the most. I scrunch up my nose as I scrutinize the sketch.
My drawing doesn’t do him justice. It’s too flat.
The bold lines of his face demand more. If only I were a sculptor.
I bite the tip of my pencil. I’d practically given up hope of ever meeting any of them.
Drawing their features is my secret obsession, my guilty pleasure.
I almost feel like a stalker, desperate for a glimpse of them.
Every time a vision came to me, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else until I’d drawn it.
Pored over every detail. Sometimes I’d waste a whole morning filling pages of my sketchbook with their features.
Macklin. I wondered what his name was a thousand times.
But why now? Taking this job seemed like a whim, but now I’m not so sure.
Am I supposed to save him? If so, how? Worrying, I suck in my lower lip, but the possibilities are endless.
The only thing I know for sure is I made the right decision.
Coming here. Accepting this job. I’m meant to be here.
I flip the phone over and glance at the time.
Four a.m. Another hour down. The gym opens at six.
I drag myself and my sleeping bag into the front seat and start the car, blasting the heat to warm up the frigid air.
I didn’t want to waste the gas running it all night, but a couple hours shouldn’t use much.
I lean the seat back and get comfortable, then close my eyes and picture myself as a sexy, confident woman meeting Macklin instead of… me.
I’m sitting at that little place on Main Street I saw, called The Reserve, sipping a fancy cocktail in a sophisticated coupe glass.
My blond hair is perfectly styled with a few loose curls.
I’m wearing the light green sweater that matches my eyes and the most perfect pair of fitted jeans, the ones that add curves to my stick-straight body.
I glance out the window and see Macklin walking down the sidewalk, his long, powerful legs eating up the distance.
When he turns and spots me through the window, those blue eyes darken with interest and something more that makes me ache in places I didn’t know existed.
Walking in, he asks to join me, his deep voice filling the space in a way that makes me shiver as it flows over me.
Through me. There is an air of anticipation between us.
We talk for hours. Our interest builds until the air is thick with anticipation of the night to come.
Or…I dive into one of my favorite fantasies.
I’m at the gym working out in a pink tank top and matching pair of shorts.
My skin is unblemished and glowing with a tan.
And my small breasts look good pushed together in the tiny top, giving me the illusion of more.
I pick up the weights and step up to the mirror to begin the reps the video said would give my biceps a little definition.
Macklin prowls through the background, grey sweatpants hung low, rock-hard biceps on display in a sleeveless shirt, and takes a seat on the weight bench behind me.
But instead of lifting, he’s staring at me, his intense gaze following my every move.
Self-conscious, I bite my lip, but keep going, suddenly eager to complete the entire set.
I smile despite the cold. The last one was nice.
I haven’t worn a tank top or bathing suit since the fire.
In fact, outside of the hospital, nobody has seen my scars.
Not even the guy I slept with in college.
My one and only desperate attempt to feel normal.
I pull up the collar of my sweater. Hiding them is easier. Fewer questions, fewer stares.
Before the alarm goes off, I’m at the gym, waiting for them to open.
A sleepy-eyed guy unlocks the doors, and I stroll in seconds later.
After paying the small daily fee, I head straight to the locker room to take the hottest shower I can stand.
While the heater did warm up the car, I’m still frozen.
After I shower and eat, I’ll stop by Second Chances to get the sleeping bag.
But will it be enough? As I tilt my head back and rinse my hair, I think about whether it’s going to be possible to sleep in my car for the next six months.
I doubt it, especially not once it snows.
Maybe when I get paid, I can find a cheap hotel or a temporary apartment or something.
The store doesn’t open until nine, so I take my time blow-drying and curling my hair. It’s been a while since I went all out. Didn’t see the point, not that I’m doing it for Macklin. I’m just tired of looking like I haven’t showered in days.
Feeling loads better, I finish and return to my car.
When I get in, I realize my phone is dead.
Damn. I forgot to turn off the flashlight last night.
If I remember correctly, there is a coffee shop not too far from here.
I’ll plug it in when I get there. I should also try to get some work done on the two projects I picked up before I came here.
Of course, the coffee shop is packed. As I’m waiting for my coffee, the back of my neck tingles with awareness, and I subtly glance around to find several people staring at me.
Self-conscious, I turn back around and nervously tap my foot.
While this city is considerably larger than my hometown, it has the same vibe, like everybody knows everybody, and new people are interesting.
Taking my order to the back corner, I plug in my phone, grab my laptop, and dive into the website for the insurance company. It doesn’t take long to design a couple of concepts and shoot them over to my client. Once he picks a theme, I’ll be able to finish this job quickly.
I glance at my phone and see it’s nine. Packing up, I head over to Second Chances. Victoria’s standing by the register, chatting with a woman with long brown hair and a wide smile. Not wanting to disturb them, I walk around the store.
“Charli, I’m so sorry I couldn’t wait for you yesterday, but I had a meeting to go to,” Victoria explains, motioning for me to join them.
The woman standing next to the register smiles. “Hi, Charli. I’m Joy. Victoria told me you’re new to Greystone. Welcome. I own the apothecary shop down the street. Stop by if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I reply, although I don’t know what an apothecary shop carries. Is that like a pharmacy? Not wanting to ask, I simply nod.
Joy inhales deeply, and her brown eyes light up. “My friend, Clarissa, one of our local healers, runs it with me. She’s also a witch, and the coven leader, if you’re interested.”
My eyes widen, and fear blooms in my chest.
Her nose wrinkles, and she pauses, then looks at Victoria, who shrugs. “Umm, sorry. We’re pretty open around here.” After an uncomfortable minute, she forces a smile and waves her hand. “Well, I must run. Nice to meet you, Charli.”
Victoria studies me for a second. “Did they not have witches where you lived?” While she waits for me to answer, she pulls the sleeping bag out from behind the counter.
The word explodes in my brain, triggering a flashback of that day. Hank screaming at me in the background. Calling me a witch. Laughing as I burned.
“Witches aren’t real…” Words escape me as the memory begins to pull me under. Heart racing, I stare at her as sweat beads on my forehead and the world dims.
She reaches out to grab my hand, but I jerk it away before her skin touches mine. “Breathe, Charli. It’s okay. Look into my eyes. That’s it. Deep breath in. Okay. Slowly let it out. That’s it. Again.”
Desperate, I try to focus on her and the shop.
It’s not real. I take another deep breath and exhale to her count of five.
My shoulders and back begin to itch unbearably, but I don’t dare let go of the counter until the citrusy smell of the candle she’s burning eventually drags me back to the present.
My face burns as heat fills it. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m good.” I turn my head to search for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?” My voice is raspy, but I force the words out.
For a second, everything is silent as I wait for her answer.
“Ten dollars,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what just happened, but I promise you’re safe here. In Greystone.”
Tapping my card to pay, I finally force myself to look at her. “I hope so.” Taking the sleeping bag, I head out of the shop, leaving her standing there with a worried expression on her face and her hand reaching for the phone.