Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Fab. Let me help you and Kolby can take a few shots before it goes out to the ballroom.”
She willed her feet to glide her along with the Innkeeper, ending the discussion with Kolby without another word.
***
Okay, man, keep it together and get through this event. You can talk to her later, explain what happened, and make sure she understands.
Easy words to say, he thought. But once Charity’s accent presented itself, he knew he was in for it. She was pissed.
Beyond pissed.
And he didn’t blame her. He was pretty angry, too. Not at himself, because he'd done nothing wrong. Charity didn’t see it that way because she didn’t know the complete story. From the clipped, dismissive tone in her voice to the stiffness in her body, he knew she wouldn't listen to him, either.
Fine. He’d wait until after the reception and then tell her. Whether she wanted to hear him out or not.
But he was going to tell her what happened.
“Okay, kids,” he said, trying to smile at the bride and groom and hoping it looked sincere. “You want a food fight or a nice, sophisticated shot?”
The bride laughed while holding her fork aloft, a tiny square of cake poised on the prongs.
“Sophisticated,” she said at the same time her new husband declared, “Food fight,” with a grin.
“There’ll be no food fights,” the mother of the groom announced in a voice that told him who ruled that home. “No shoving cake into one another’s faces like silly teenagers. I hate that, don’t you, Felicia?”
The MOB nodded. “Just be gentle and careful.”
“Why do we do this, anyway?” the groom asked as he opened his mouth and waited for his bride to fork him some cake.
“It’s a pledge, a promise,” Charity said, “to one another that you make, underscoring your commitment to the marriage and that you’ll always provide for the other throughout your lives.
Feeding one another is a primary way you are going to care for the other person.
Literally, with food, to keep them nourished and healthy.
Hence, cake. The least nutritious thing on the planet.
” Everyone smiled and a few low chuckles sounded around them.
“Then, with your pledge to always be there for the other person emotionally, physically, and spiritually.”
“That’s lovely, Charity,” Felicia said, grinning.
Charity turned to the other woman and smiled.
Then, when Felicia leaned in to give her a hug, he watched Charity’s eyes widen and attempt to turn her face away from the woman.
He knew why without even thinking about it.
The MOB had a penchant for wearing heavy perfume, today no exception.
He’d noted it several times when he was in her presence.
Charity’s aversion to powerful smells stemmed from them being migraine triggers.
As mad as he was with her for what she’d said to him, he was equally worried the woman’s perfume would spark another headache.
Charity must have been worried too, which is why she’d turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to breathe in the cloying aroma.
That he spotted the moment her head started to pound, proved to him how much she meant to him and how attuned he was to her moods and body.
Blue eyes narrowing to almost closing, cheeks turning pale under their usual rosy glow, and the tiny tick in her left hand when she lifted it to her hair telegraphed that she’d been triggered.
He also knew when she planted a smile on her face that it was strained, evidenced by the subtle stiffness at the corners of her mouth.
Jesus. That mouth.
How many times had he fantasized about Charity's mouth? About that kiss she’d asked him for? About how he’d been stunned and so damn turned on by her asking that he’d almost lost all sense of decency and given in to every dirty little thing he wanted to do with her; to her; for her?
But he hadn’t, and the reason sounded hollow now. He couldn’t be the man she wanted in her life.
Couldn’t? Or...wouldn’t?
The lines were still blurry on that point.
The real question was, did he want to be?
When she lifted a hand and subtly rubbed at her temple, he knew he had to do something.
From experience, if she didn’t get ahead of the pain, before long it would be incapacitating.
He wasn’t even sure yesterday’s headache had fully resolved before she started today, even though she’d told him she was fine.
Kolby had a good idea Charity’s “fine” was a typical response because she didn’t want people fussing and worrying over her.
The signs of the pain were all there if you knew where to look.
And he did.
Automatically, he snapped away, taking dozens of pictures of the bride feeding the groom and vice versa in less than a few seconds.
He captured their cake-laden mouths when they kissed, each laughing.
A quick look at the viewfinder, and he knew the photo was a winner.
He wouldn’t be surprised if they used it for their thank you cards.
Maureen’s staff took the cake back to the kitchen, where it would be cut and served within minutes. Charity had moved across the room and was speaking to Liv Joyner and her daughter. Even from this distance, he could tell she was fighting the pain. He made a quick stopover at the bar.
“Hey, Greg.”
“Kolby. What can I get ya?”
“Got any cold Diet Pepsi in cans?”
“Cans are warm, but I can put it in a glass with ice for ya.”
“Sold.”
With the glass in hand, he spotted Maureen.
“Could you get this to Charity?”
She nailed him with a quizzical eye. “Any reason you can’t?”
“I’m not her favorite person at the moment. She’s got a migraine brewing, and this helps it. If I brought it to her, I’m afraid she wouldn’t drink it just because I was the one who did.”
Suspicion quickly changed to understanding on her face.
With a tired headshake, she said, “You two fight like an old married couple.”
Not the analogy he would have used, but she wasn’t wrong.
He watched her walk the soda over to Charity.
Confusion covered her pale face as Maureen made the delivery.
She must have announced he was the one who ordered it because she did a quick pan of the room until she found him.
Her expression solidified she was still mad – guarded eyes, stiff posture, lips a thin line.
He touched his temple with his index finger and then cocked his head. She understood the question and gave him a quick, small nod. He then made a drinking motion with his hand.
Something shifted in her expression; softened. He hoped it meant she was coming off being mad at him and would listen to what really happened in that hallway. It was important that she see him for the man he wanted to be, instead of the man he was in everyone else's eyes.
Charity lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. Closing her eyes after told him the caffeine was exactly what she needed and had wanted. When she opened them again, she mouthed a thank you.
Kolby nodded. Liv turned her attention toward him and smiled, a question in her eyes as she lit back on Charity.
That question he’d asked himself – did he want to be the kind of man Charity wanted in her life – bounced to the forefront as he regarded Olivia. A tiny nugget of an idea danced in his brain. With a nod, he made a plan.