Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SIX YEARS AGO
The day he proposes, a spring storm capes Dallas. We lay tied around each other like ribbons on his couch, watching it roll in. He draws tingles up and down my forearm, currently lolled across his chest, with the tips of his fingers.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier. The slow moments, when we laze in each other’s arms, are my favorite.
The world outside the window lights, a crack splitting through the showering rain. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. A deep growl of thunder rolls overhead.
“The storm’s five miles away,” I whisper to his heartbeat, tucked beneath my cheek.
A soft chuckle answers back, his thumb brushing against my skin reassuringly. “One mile, actually. You count the time between the lightning and thunder then divide by five.” His mouth presses to the top of my head.
Yesterday marked four months of being his.
And for the life of me, I can’t recall why I’d been so scared of being his girlfriend.
It’s not much different to how things were before.
We still grab lunch together on campus, taking turns with who pays.
He still sneaks into the studio to watch me practice, and I still third wheel on movie nights with Garrett at their place.
He still kisses all my dance bruises better, and there’s still always roses waiting for me in the dressing room at the theater, although, these days, he signs his name.
But beneath it all is a patient, understanding current of stability, the promise we will do it all over again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.
He is the even-keel constant I’ve always craved.
“Hey, Winnie?”
“Hm?”
His sternum rises slowly as he inhales the sort of breath that precedes something important.
Brows knitting, I lift my head and look at him, stomach fluttering.
He is so unfairly handsome. With the barest touch, he caresses the backs of his fingers against my cheek, his thumb taking a detour to trace the peak of my cheekbone.
Maybe for the first time, he looks nervous.
“I love you,” he murmurs, his throat bobbing. “I’m in love with you, Winona.”
I’m weightless. My heart’s outside my body, leaping through the air. I search his face for a catch, for some evidence I’m dreaming or he’s playing a joke on me. I find only his wide anticipation staring back at me.
I gape. “You . . . what?”
His smile softens as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “I love you. You don’t have to say it—”
“I love you too, Charlie.” The feeling surges through me, a relentless energy, as I inch closer, clutching the collar of his shirt.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, still playing with my hair as his grin widens, “but I think I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you.”
I lean closer, our noses brushing. “You’re right. I do think you’re crazy—believing in something with no hard evidence? No tried and true data? No measurable variables? No application of the scientific method? Who are you?”
He clicks his tongue. “Ah, see, there’s where you’re wrong.
I have plenty of data. Mounds of it, really.
” His hand slides to cup the back of my head.
“I’ve been testing this theory since the day I met a very beautiful—very snarky—girl in a dressing room and she brutally rejected me, threatened my job, and then asked if I wanted to be friends instead. ”
I roll my smile between my teeth. “You should’ve told her to get lost. Sounds mean.”
“Meeting you just clicked for me,” he breathes, fingers clenching in my hair. I’m so full of joy it’s threatening to leak out of my eyes. “In a way that nothing really has before.”
He closes the distance between us and kisses me. I never want to leave this bubble of warm shared breath and love confessions. Sliding my leg over his hip, I move to straddle him. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Flower Boy.”
His palm molds to the dip at the small of my back as we kiss again, our sharp inhales syncing, and my body aches for his.
Garrett’s out all weekend. We have another hour before we both have to work—Charlie running deliveries for his mom, me on ticket box duty at Colby Theater.
That’s plenty of time. Like his mind’s exactly where mine is, his hands slip down to my ass.
“Hey, Charlie?”
“Hm?”
“Remember when I said I was waiting for marriage?”
He stills beneath me, suddenly alert. “Yeah?”
“Funny story, that actually isn’t true.” I bite my lip, searching his face for signs of disappointment in me. All I find is confusion. “This. This is what I was waiting for.”
All other forms of intimacy—with him, with anyone before—had been moves on a board, an exchanging of pawns and knights to keep the game going.
Only for love, only for him, will I risk the king.
It’s not any more valuable or powerful than any of the other pieces, but it’s something I’ve wanted to protect, wanted to withhold, simply because I could.
Because I only wanted to let my guard down with someone who was worth it.
Unfortunately, his greedy touch backs off my ass, his attention tuning into what I said. “Really? Why didn’t you just say that?”
It’s one of my favorite things about him, the way he has no reason to keep parts of himself hidden.
Not really. He doesn’t spill his guts to just anyone, but I know the way he talks to me.
I’ve witnessed how he talks with Garrett.
To his core, Charlie believes the best path forward with anything is honesty.
“I was trying to scare you off,” I admit. “And if I said I was waiting for someone I loved . . .”
He sucks his teeth. “You were worried I’d use that to my advantage.”
I nod and kiss his jaw, dotting a line to his ear. “I got lucky with you. Turns out you don’t scare easily. And you have an astonishingly upstanding moral character.”
“Did you lift that line from my college recommendation letter?”
I slide my hands along the warm skin of his taut stomach beneath his shirt. “Your high school chemistry teacher was as shocked as I was to find a little threat of temporary celibacy didn’t keep you at bay.”
“I think my high school teachers would be more shocked I was getting any at all.”
“Late bloomer?”
He cracks a smile. “Still waiting.”
“You don’t have to anymore,” I purr against his throat. His lips part as a breath hitches in his chest.
“You want to? Right now?”
“We have a whole hour,” I mouth against his skin.
His hands brace the tops of my shoulders. “But it’s your first time. Our first time. I want it to be special. Not on this shitty old couch.”
I nip his chin. “You can carry me to your bed if you want.”
He frowns. “Sheets are in the wash. Mattress is bare.”
“That’s fine.”
He scoffs. “That’s the vibe you want?”
“Sure.” I shrug because I don’t know how to articulate that compared to the bed of a pickup truck on a dark country road or a musty basement at a house party, this couch is a Hallmark moment for me. Because the man touching me cares about me. He loves me.
He rolls on his side, pinning me against the back cushions.
Hooking beneath my knee, he hitches my leg over his hip and my blood soars through me as his erection presses along my inner thigh.
Is this really going to happen? His mouth drags along my jawline, pausing at my ear.
His lips catch against my ear as he murmurs, “This whole time, I’ve been picturing a fluffy hotel bed and ripping a white dress off with my teeth. ”
A thrill races through me, winding tight circles low in my belly. Does that mean he’s thought about . . . marriage? My heart bursts.
He presses a soft, open-mouth kiss beneath my ear. “The tables have turned, sweetheart. I think it’s my turn to make you wait now.”
I roll my eyes, like this is the most annoying, absurd thing a man’s ever said to me. “Fine.”
He grins and kisses me. “That’s my girl. Just until tonight.”
I’m not sure what lucky penny I picked up that granted me a life so sweet. But I hope to god I never lose it.
There are rose petals everywhere.
Everywhere.
“Charlie,” I groan, covering my grin with my hands.
They litter his bedroom floor, the duvet cover, the end table I bullied him into buying.
A full bouquet, still in its wrapping and still unplucked, sits next to the framed cloud photo I gifted him for his birthday on top of his dresser.
He didn’t spring for candles, but the string lights looping his head board cast a saccharine honey glow across the sheets.
For once, his bed is perfectly made, and an unopened box of condoms sits on the end table.
I can’t even name the feeling buzzing electric through my body, it’s a combination of too many things.
“Too much?” He laughs, slipping a hand around my waist from behind.
I twist to face him. “Mortifyingly romantic.”
A satisfied noise hums in his chest. “Good. I live to embarrass you, Winnie.”
“Yeah.” I work my fingers into his hair, gaze dropping to his mouth. “I know.”
“I love you,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Fuck, it feels so good to say that finally.”
I smile back against him. “Can you believe I was a stranger just a few months ago?”
“I can’t explain it, but you’ve never been a stranger to me, Winnie. Not really.”
Hungry for bare skin, my palms slip beneath his shirt. “I never thought I’d find someone like you,” I admit, pressing my shaking hands to his stomach.