Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
ALICE
Long after we leave the hot shop, I can still feel Charlie’s arms around me. How good it felt as he helped me gather molten glass to make that paperweight, the heat from the furnace warming my skin. You’d think that would make it easier to write the big kiss scene in my novel tonight, all those nice warm thoughts. But you’d be wrong.
I pull the sheet of paper out of my typewriter and fan myself with it. When that doesn’t help, I go downstairs.
The house is dark. The Sharp twins left to see a movie after dinner, and once again, Charlie is nowhere to be found. His absence settles over me, the weight of missing him, and it makes the house seem even darker.
Don’t get attached.
My life is too messy for that right now. I still don’t know why my ex left, and worrying about it has made me do the stupidest things in the past twenty-four hours—like send Jason an email at three a.m. because I couldn’t send a text. An awkward “why did you break up with me” message that I regretted instantly.
And when he didn’t respond? I did more stupid things.
That’s how I ended up next door this morning when I was supposed to be writing downtown. Hovering on the front porch of a haunted bed-and-breakfast until I lost my nerve and gave up.
I’m not even sure if I want answers, if I can handle them. I just know I’m too scared to think about anything else, anyone else. Even Charlie Roscoe.
So I focus on that kiss scene instead.
I have no idea what I want it to look like, but I know there should be moonlight. Lots of it. Lonesome streaks of pale silver that filter through the windows, dappling the room and making it glow.
That’s how I end up in the kitchen; it has the best moonlight in the house. And that’s where I’m still standing, lost in thought, when Charlie comes home and finds me.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Working on my book.”
Am I though? In reality, I’m just standing in the middle of the room, holding a sheet of paper while I daydream in the dark. But Charlie doesn’t argue.
He moves to flick on the kitchen light—then he stops. Hesitating, he leaves the house dark and leans against the open entryway, the moonlight and shadows making him look even more playful and dangerous than usual. Even more like a rake.
He nods to the paper in my hand. “Is that what you’re working on?”
“Yep.”
“Why is it blank?”
It isn’t. But when I try to explain, Charlie moves closer and slides the paper out of my hand, his fingers grazing mine. There are words waiting at the top like I promised, four of them. An entire sentence. His smile quirks as he reads them out loud.
“And then they kissed.” Pausing, he raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know, Carrots. I think you might need a little more than that.”
Carrots.
It has felt so good to be called that again, and tonight is no exception. I let that nickname roll down my spine, giving me whatever chills it wants. Enjoying every second.
“Maybe it does need more,” I concede with a shrug. “But only a little. I’d hate to overdo it.”
He smiles, and I should stop while I’m ahead, while I still seem charming and fun instead of awkward and nervous. Go back to your room, Alice—end on a high note. Be smart.
But I’m never smart. At least not when it comes to Charlie.
“I can’t picture it,” I admit instead. “I’m not even sure what I want to happen in the scene. I just know there should be a moonlit window. That’s why I’m in here.”
Charlie glances at the large window across the kitchen. Nestled on that one blank wall where the counter ends and the view begins. The moonlight drifting through the glass speckles every surface, casting the room in a soft glow.
Charlie looks back at me, scrubbing his hand along his jaw. “Do you need some help planning it out?”
“Sure.”
I answer before I really consider that question. Before I notice the weight in his gaze and realize he’s flirting with me. But I don’t take it back.
He nods to the window. “Is it supposed to be behind them or beside them or…”
“Beside them.”
Charlie rests his hands on my hips. Pressing me back until my body bumps softly against the counter. “Like this?”
My skin hums from the weight of his touch. If I say yes, will he let go? Raising my chin, I shake my head. “Nope. Closer.”
Charlie tugs me gently to the right, sliding me toward the window with my lower back still pressed against the counter behind me. “How about that, Carrots?”
“Closer.”
He does what he’s told, guiding me to the right until my shoulder bumps the wall. Until I’m pinned in place, the side of my body resting against the moonlit window, all that soft white light dusting my skin.
Except it doesn’t feel how I wanted, being pinned in place. My brow furrows, and Charlie can tell something’s wrong. He shifts my body toward his, tilting me just right as he nestles me back into the corner where the counter meets the wall. That perfect little nook where I don’t feel crowded or trapped.
His eyes find mine, but he doesn’t ask the question. We already know the answer.
“There,” I murmur softly. “Perfect.”
He keeps his hands on my hips, and the air grows heavy between us. His hazel eyes look darker up close, even with the moon shining bright in the window. I’m already in my pajamas—striped shorts with a cropped t-shirt—and his thumb finds that bare slice of skin in between. He traces the slope of my waist, his touch ticking back and forth like a metronome, the light drag of his thumb rough against my skin.
It’s the most tantalizing rhythm. Back and forth, back and forth. My body heats under his touch, and I glance away, suddenly nervous.
“What’s he like?” Charlie asks, and he sounds more curious than anything. “The guy in your book. Is he another grump?”
“No,” I answer quietly. “He’s more of a bad boy. Except he’s not really that bad. Not once you get to know him.”
I shouldn’t be saying this—any of it. But Charlie is still tracing the curve of my waist, and when I get up the nerve to meet his gaze again, I like what I see. If he keeps looking at me like that, holding on to me this way, I’d say so much more.
The moment feels fragile, fleeting, and I try to hold on to it as long as I can, to remember any details I can. From the moonlight to his faintly wicked smirk, the way his tattoos shift as he reaches to tuck my hair behind my ear, his touch blazing a trail down the side of my neck. How he smells just as good as he did when we were hiding in that mining exhibit, all spices and sandalwood with the barest hint of oranges.
Silence stretches between us like a gossamer thread, as delicate as moonlight. The only sound is the gentle hum of the refrigerator behind us, and it rumbles under my skin. Then he asks another question.
“Now what? What should your characters do next?”
I have no idea what to say, how to respond. I can barely breathe.
I wish I knew what I wanted. Or maybe I do know, and I just wish I was brave enough to ask. Either way, the paper in my hand feels like a life raft, and I glance down ready to be saved—but there’s nothing there. Just those four simple words that thrill me the most.
And then they kissed.
This wasn’t part of our plan. There’s no one around, no audience to rat us out to the Victorian. If we kiss again, here in his kitchen, it would only be for us. Because we wanted to. And that thought thrills me too.
Our first kiss was supposed to be a fluke, a beautiful anomaly, but then Charlie slips the paper out of my hand again. He sets it on the counter beside us, and the look in his eyes doesn’t feel like a fluke.
“Let’s keep this simple,” he says. “Where should he kiss her first?”
That’s a very good question—the best question—and a deep blush stains my cheeks. I can tell Charlie notices, even in that dark kitchen full of moonlight. His smirk deepens, and his dimples make my knees wobble, that dangerous look in his eyes. Heaven help me.
Even here, even now, he seems like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. As if he helps fledgling romance authors live out their kiss-scene fantasies all the time. That thought makes me blush even harder, and I glance away, but he’s ready for that too. Hooking his finger under my chin, he tilts my face back toward his.
“What’s next, Carrots?” he asks. And I say the only thing I can, the only words I’d ever want to say at a moment like this.
“Surprise me.”