Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
ALICE
When our gondola ride ends, we’re at Charlie’s favorite spot in Ponderosa Falls. If I wasn’t terrified, the view would be spectacular.
He leads me onto the observation deck near the summit of Four Pines Peak, right past the gondola station, and the whole world stretches out beneath us. Miles of valley that’s dotted with buildings and trees, gray ribbons of road. The town is all clumped together, surrounded by nothing, and the view feels so overwhelming from up here, so vast. Fear makes my vision tunnel as I try not to faint.
The walkway and platform are made of concrete, and there’s a sturdy chain-link railing that runs along the edge of the observation deck to keep people safe, but it doesn’t help. My heart pounds whenever I try to look down, my pulse rushing like a river.
Beside me, Charlie leans against the railing, gazing down at Ponderosa Falls with a wistful smile. As if his hometown is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His expression is so serene, it’s like the thousand-foot drop in front of us hasn’t even occurred to him.
But it’s occurred to me. Several times. That looming free fall is the scariest thing on earth—besides tommyknockers and raccoons.
And ex boyfriends who keep showing up like the ultimate jump scare.
“Isn’t the view incredible?”
“Yep!”
Charlie glances at me and raises his eyebrows. I’m hovering a foot away from the chain-link railing like it’s made of Jell-O and bees—both useless and dangerous—but he doesn’t say anything. If he has a hypothesis, he’s waiting for more proof.
I hurry to smooth things over. Erasing all the extra cheer out of my voice, so I sound like a normal human being instead of a cartoon sidekick. “Why is this your favorite spot in town? Did you come here a lot as a kid?”
Questions are the perfect defense mechanism when I don’t know what else to say. So much better than a nervous glance or an awkward silence.
People mill around us on the observation deck, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps his gaze fixed on mine, considering my question.
“We couldn’t afford to come up here when I was little,” he admits. “For all five of us, the shuttle bus and the gondola were too expensive. The first time I visited was after rehab. With Edna.”
It’s the tiniest breadcrumb of backstory, and I want more. After hearing his confession about Edna earlier, I have a new soft spot for her, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. I can never learn too much about Charlie Roscoe.
He admires the view again before he says anything else. His gaze travels over all that empty space, the tiny town below us that’s surrounded by farmland, mountains, and trees. When he glances back at me, there’s a gentleness in his eyes that I like, something warm and honest.
“She used to come up here with her brothers and sisters when she was a kid. They’d all make wishes on the observation deck—they had a whole family ritual. Except Edna never believed in wishes.”
His smile quirks, and so does mine. If anyone in Ponderosa Falls wasn’t going to believe in wishes, it’d be Edna.
“She invented her own kind of wishes instead—Edna wishes. When she brought me up here after rehab, she taught me how to make one of my own.”
“What’s an Edna wish?”
He grins, nudging my shoulder. “I’ll show you.”
Charlie turns back toward the view and plants his hands on the observation deck railing. Then he waits for me to do the same.
“Edna said the most important thing I could do after rehab was choose the life I wanted. Picture it and make sure I was always moving toward it. She told me when you don’t, life chooses for you. And usually, the life that just shows up isn’t the one you wanted.”
Something about that resonates deep inside me. The idea isn’t perfect—it doesn’t take into account all the things you can’t choose, the twists and turns in life that just happen whether you wanted them to or not—but that thought still feels meaningful. Visualizing the future you want feels like the most practical sort of dreaming, the most Edna kind of wish.
“Close your eyes.”
I do, and the view below me fades. In that quiet darkness, I breathe a little easier, my fear of heights ebbing the tiniest bit.
“To make an Edna wish, all you have to do is picture the life you want,” he says. “Hold it in your mind, make it as vivid and specific as you can. Then count to three and open your eyes.”
It doesn’t take me long to decide. I know what I want—who I want. He’s standing right beside me, his voice easing over me like a summer breeze, soft and warm. But other people aren’t something you can choose. Not all the way. Not when they don’t choose you back.
Keeping my eyes shut, I try again. I make my wish more general this time, focusing on the kind of man I want to find one day, how I want to be loved. Not begrudgingly or conditionally but completely, with someone’s entire heart.
I want a love where I don’t have to be perfect—where I can struggle or face obstacles and that other person’s love never goes away. I want someone who accepts me for me, who loves me for me, no matter what.
After I let that sink in, I visualize other things too. Peace for my sister and my family. A life where we have the strength to tackle whatever comes our way. A life where we band together instead of falling apart.
Tears sting my eyes, and I can feel Charlie move closer. The gentle brush of his thumb as he wipes those tears away. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t get better. You can still have the life you want.”
I hope so. And standing beside him, I can picture it—the life I want, my very own Edna wish. Holding it in my mind, I count to three and open my eyes.
“Did you make your wish?” he asks.
My voice is a whisper. As wistful as a prayer. “Yeah.”
There’s something vulnerable in Charlie’s eyes as he gazes down at me, and there’s something vulnerable in mine. He searches my face, and that look he’s giving me is full of tenderness, full of understanding. Gradually, his expression shifts into something more expectant, but I’m not sure what he’s waiting for, what he wants me to notice or say. My confusion makes a slow smile spread across his face, and he fills me in.
“That was Nice List item number three,” he says softly. “Make a wish.”
He pretends to check it off on an imaginary list, and my heart squeezes. How have we completed so many things already? How is my time in Ponderosa Falls nearly done?
“Our list is almost finished.” I can’t help the sadness in my voice.
Charlie nods, and he sounds a little sad too. “We should’ve made a longer list, Allie-cat.”
That shouldn’t make my heart squeeze harder, but it does. He says that, and all I can feel is disappointed. All I can think is that I wish he’d call me Carrots again, one last time, so I can savor it and hold on to that memory forever.
Our time together is almost over; our list is almost done—except it isn’t. Maybe our Nice List is nearly complete with only one item left, but we haven’t made a dent in our not-so-nice list. We haven’t marked off a single thing.
We could now, though…
“We still have the other list,” I remind him. “We could work on item number three if you want—fool the Victorian.”
That isn’t really item number three. I should’ve said “make Alice’s ex jealous,” but I don’t care about Jason right now; I haven’t cared since we broke up. And some small part of me wants Charlie to know.
He glances at the observation deck around us, taking in the mix of Pondies and tourists before his eyes settle back on mine, the slightest hint of danger in his smile. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know—this just seems like a good spot for a first kiss. A Hallmark-worthy fake one. To fool the Victorian.”
In my heart, I know I’m taking this too far. My suggestion is more about me and my feelings for Charlie than fixing his reputation, but I don’t back down. Maybe I can’t have him forever. Maybe I’m not his type and he won’t think twice about me once I’m gone, but I can have this moment on Four Pines Peak. I can have right now.
If he wants to.
Charlie bites his lip and leans back against the observation deck barrier to face me. Like he couldn’t care less about the view. “You’d have to take the lead,” he reminds me. “You’re the predator, and I’m the prey, remember? Do you think you can handle that?”
He’s baiting me. There’s so much teasing in his eyes, so much flirt it makes my skin prickle. I angle my body toward his and hold his gaze, testing the waters. He doesn’t look away.
“It’s just a kiss,” I tell him. “How hard could it be?”
I’m all talk, though, all unearned bravado. Sure, I’ve kissed guys before, but I’ve never been the one to initiate the first kiss. Or the second. Or the third. I’m a “follow his lead” girl until I get nice and comfortable, and a spark of panic flares in my chest.
But sometimes, a little panic is worth it.
I shift to stand in front of him. He’s still leaning back against the barrier, and part of me hopes he’ll join in. That he’ll loop his arms around my waist and pull me toward him or rest his hands on my hips. Something.
It looks like he wants to, but he bites his lip again and shakes his head. As if he can tell what I’m thinking. “You’re in charge,” he says. “I’m just along for the ride.”
He’s enjoying this too much, watching me squirm. I try not to smile or egg him on, but I also try not to pass out, anxiety thrumming in my chest like a nuclear reactor.
I hesitate, and my false bravado falters. “Is this too soon? Should we practice first?”
Charlie only shrugs. “Practice is overrated. I’m sure you’re a natural.”
Rake.
I hide another smile and place my hands on his shoulders. Touching him feels better than it should, the hard curve of his muscles and the warmth of his body. Everything that’s waiting for me under the soft fabric of his shirt.
Charlie grips the railing behind him. There’s something almost desperate about how he’s holding on, and I can’t shake the feeling that he knows exactly what he’d do if he could. That he knows exactly how he’d hold on to me.
I wish he would. My skin hums for his touch, a desperation of my own coursing through me that I’ve never felt until now. Before I can make my big move, anxiety gets the better of me for good. Any courage I had fades, and I’m just a girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Standing in front of a guy who always knows what to do.
Suddenly, even having my hands on his shoulders feels like a mistake, how close I’m standing. I’m so awkward and clumsy, so Alice . “I’m doing this wrong,” I mutter. “Is this weird? Am I messing this up?”
The only thing more embarrassing than feeling this way is admitting it out loud, but Charlie doesn’t judge me. He rests his forehead against mine, gazing down at me with soft eyes.
“You’re doing great,” he whispers. “I promise.”
Those words calm me instantly, the look in his eyes, and I tilt my chin. As the distance between us slims, he hesitates. There’s no flirt in his eyes now, no rakishness. Just a certain honest something I can’t put my finger on.
“Are you sure about this, Carrots?” he murmurs, and that’s all it takes. I hear that word, that perfect nickname, and nothing else matters.
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.