Where One Goes

“I’m Charlotte, by the way.”

 

“I know. My parents think a lot of you.” My heart swells with that. I showed up to this town looking like a homeless addict, and her parents have shown me such warmth and kindness.

 

“They’re great people,” I tell her. “Some of the best I’ve ever known.”

 

“I’ll see you at dinner at their house next week,” she tells me.

 

“Hey, just a heads-up. Try not to talk to me too much . . . it gets distracting, and since I’m the only one that can see you, it wouldn’t look good to seem like I’m talking to myself.”

 

“I hear ya,” she replies and smiles faintly. “I’ll try to keep quiet. Bye.” Then she vanishes. I frown slightly. She is by far the easiest soul I’ve ever had to deal with.

 

“Is she still here?” Ike asks from the backseat as I turn out of the parking lot of the Mercers’ gas station.

 

“No, she’s gone.”

 

He morphs into the front seat and stares out the window. “It really isn’t easy being you, is it, Charlotte?” he asks.

 

“Just another day for me,” I answer somberly.

 

 

 

Misty has been off the last two days, which has been wonderful, but George has been here, of course, and hasn’t spoken a word to me unless he’s grunting an order. After dinner with his folks and his attitude toward me, I need some space. Otherwise, I’m likely to snap at him and blow this whole plan to help him. Luckily, he decided to close early this evening since it’s slow and we’re not making any money.

 

As I’m sweeping under my tables, Anna saunters up to me. “I’m heading out, but I’ll pick you up at your motel in an hour.”

 

“I’m sorry?” I ask, confused.

 

“It’s Friday, and my mom is keeping River overnight. They have a decent band at the dance hall tonight. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

 

“I don’t have anything to wear, Anna. I think I’ll just head home and sleep.”

 

Putting her hand on her hip, she purses her lips and says, “Charlotte, you’re going. I have a bunch of dresses, and I’ll be there in an hour.”

 

“Dresses?” I ask, baffled. The closest I’ve gotten to wearing a dress in the last five years is a jean skirt. “Is it a dressy dance?”

 

“No,” she sighs. “But it’s nice to dress up a little when you can. I’m not bringing you prom dresses to try on. Chill. I have one I know will look great on you. Do you have any boots?”

 

“Some black ones . . . knee-length.”

 

“Okay . . . see you in an hour.”

 

After I finish up my tables, I head to the back where Sniper is almost done closing down the kitchen. “Are you going to this dance, tonight?” I ask, hoping to God he is so I know more than one person there.

 

“Yeah, Anna’s making me.”

 

I laugh. “You really like her, huh?”

 

Glancing sideways at me, he smirks and winks. Guess that was my answer.

 

 

 

An hour later, my makeup and hair are done, and Ike and I sit as I wait for Anna.

 

“Is this too much?” I ask him as I motion at my face.

 

“No, you look hot,” he assures me with that fabulous knee-knocking smile of his. “You’ll be the hottest girl there.”

 

“I doubt that,” I say, as I blush.

 

“I don’t.” When my gaze meets his, heat blankets my cheeks. The look he’s giving me is so intense.

 

I don’t know why, but I ask, “Would you dance with me tonight if you could?”

 

His brows rise, surprised by my question. Standing, he looks down at me, his expression serious. “Every fucking song. You wouldn’t have a chance to dance with anyone else the entire night.” When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs. My heart tightens. There’s no denying there’s an attraction between us and I’ve wondered if it was just me, but now I know. Ike is feeling it, too. “But since I can’t, will you dance with me now?”

 

This time, my brows rise. “How . . . ?”

 

“It might be weird since we can’t touch, but we can move together.”

 

“What about the music?”

 

Smiling, he says, “I’ll sing.”

 

“You sing?” I grin.

 

“Uh, I try to, but I know I can pull this song off.”

 

“Jack-of-all-trades, huh?” I tease.

 

“Master of none,” he quips back.

 

“Okay. How do we do this?”

 

“Stand here and put your hand on the back of the chair.”

 

“Why?”

 

B N Toler's books