All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

He stretched out his arm and pulled her hand away. “It’s okay. You can say what you think. I won’t be offended.”


Wilma appeared with lunch. Charlie grabbed a French fry, thinking that maybe her blurting problem was because of low blood sugar. Perhaps in addition to food, the best solution would be not talking so much.

“Tell me about her,” she said, then reached for the first half of her wrap.

He picked up a French fry, then put it down. She could practically see the tension leaving his body as he relaxed. Something she wanted to call contentment softened the sadness in his eyes.

“She was brilliant and funny,” he began. “A photographer.” The smile returned. “She hated models, especially male models. She used to say we were all vapid and useless.” His smile broadened. “We met at a party and she was not into me.”

Charlie chewed and swallowed. “I would have liked her.”

He chuckled. “She would have liked you. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was twenty...she was thirty-four and when I asked her out, she laughed for a good two minutes straight. I got her number through a friend of mine and wouldn’t stop calling. She finally agreed to meet me for coffee, but only so she could tell me all the reasons it would never work.”

She heard the affection in his voice, saw the pleasure he took in the remembering. Lately her friends had been busy falling in love, so she recognized the symptoms.

“I convinced her to give me a chance at a real date. She surprised both of us by agreeing. At the end of that first night, I was completely in love with her. It hit me like lightning. It took her a lot longer to come around.”

“The fourteen-year age difference would be difficult for most women,” Charlie said. “It’s stupid, but it’s been pounded into us that the guy should be older.”

He nodded. “She had trouble with the age difference, with the fact that I was so young, my career. But I was determined to win her.” He paused. “I proposed six times before she said yes. We were married within a week. I didn’t want her to change her mind.”

Charlie laughed. “A man with a plan.”

“I wasn’t the only one. Diane talked to me about my future. She pointed out I couldn’t be a model forever. She’s the one who suggested I go to college. Think about my future.” His smile faded. “She was killed five years ago in a car accident. I was on a shoot when I got the call. She was a force of nature and then she was just...gone. I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Charlie put down the second half of her wrap.

“Thanks. I still miss her. The pain is different now. Not so sharp. But it’s still there. She was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Charlie knew better than to offer some stupid promise that things would get better, or that he would be fine. Sometimes a person simply had to sit with the pain and deal. That was probably healthier than what she’d done, which was try to pretend it had never happened.

While loss and betrayal were different, they both left scars.

Clay picked up his wrap. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get into all that with you.”

“I’m happy to listen.”

Maybe it was an illustration of how twisted she’d become, but she almost envied Clay. At least he’d loved once. She never had and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Loving someone meant engaging in a level of trust she wasn’t comfortable with. But belonging like that sure sounded nice.

“Part of the reason I wanted to settle here when I retired was to be near my family,” Clay said. “In the past couple of years, I’ve wanted to be closer to them.”

Charlie couldn’t help grinning. “Retired? You’re what? Thirty?” She grabbed a fry then held it up in the air. “I know, I know. Being a butt model is a young man’s game. You told me.”

“Beauty fades.”

She took in the dark eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the broad shoulders. His was still in full force.

Conversation shifted to more neutral topics. They finished their lunch arguing if the Dodgers would ever make it to the World Series again and whether or not the L.A. Stallions had a chance at a winning season.

“Stallions not Raiders?” Clay asked. He took the last bite of his wrap and waited.

“I know Oakland is physically closer, but I’ve always been a Stallions fan. I can’t explain it.”

Wilma appeared with the bill. Clay grabbed it before Charlie could.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

“Make sure you leave a big tip,” Wilma told him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The old lady grinned, then ruffled his hair. “You’re not bad, kid. You can come back.”

When she left, Clay leaned toward Charlie. “Does she really get a say in that?”

“This is Fool’s Gold. There are very strange rules in play.”

He’d left a couple of twenties for what she knew to be a twenty-five-dollar tab, then stood. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.

“Thank you. With a tip like that, Wilma is going to be sending you personal invitations to return.”