A noise broke through the storm, and I could hear people walking in our general direction.
Charlie pulled back and watched me, his eyes traveling all over my face. He didn’t grin or make a joke, and his voice was gravelly when he said, “They’re watching us.”
“What?” I asked, touching my lips with my index finger. “They are?”
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed and nodded. “They stopped skating and they’re talking. Dramatically.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, looking toward the rink. “Trouble in paradise, I think.”
“Um, that’s really great,” I mumbled, still stuck in a post-kiss stupor. I tucked my hair behind my ears and rambled, “Yes. Great.”
That brought his eyes back to my face, and his mouth slid into a slow half grin. “You are fucking gorgeous when you’re kiss drunk, Mitchell, did you know that?”
I grinned back at him, feeling hot in spite of the chilly fall evening. Drunk was exactly how I felt; blissfully, tipsily, giddily under the influence of Charlie—both his kiss and the unexpected compliment. His smirky fucking gorgeous felt, to me, like he’d called me the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“I did not know that,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to hold in the giggle. “Thank you.”
He reached out and ran his finger over my cheek, muttering “My favorite thing” before turning away from me and yelling, “It’s cold, Emily—can we go home and have cocoa, or are you skating all night?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Bailey
“Glasses?”
I lay there on the pullout sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah?”
“You know there’s nothing wrong with liking him, right?”
“Who?”
“Scott.” Charlie’s voice was thick with sleepiness as he said, “It doesn’t change anything with your dad if you like him.”
“What? Charlie.” I sat up and looked in his direction, even though I couldn’t see more than his form in the dark. I didn’t want him to say that, because I was already struggling to keep my resolve in the whole get-rid-of-Scott plan. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be helping me sabotage his relationship?”
“Settle your ass down,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I am here to ruin his weekend—no worries. But, honestly, he’s a nice guy, and if you change your mind, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Well, I’m not.” I shook my head and tried to forget how much of a “nice guy” Scott was, because it didn’t matter—it wasn’t about that. My concern was about preserving the normalcy of my life, the comforting sameness of my family unit of two. “Changing my mind. I don’t care how nice he is. I don’t want him moving in and changing everything.”
“And that’s fine,” he said. “Now lie back down like a good girl.”
“Screw you,” I said as I did exactly what he said. I rolled onto my side. “So what’s the story with your parents, Charlie?”
I suddenly wanted to know more about my partner in crime. “I know the basics, that your mom’s boyfriend sucks and now they’re pregnant, but you never talk about it more than a generalization, whereas I complain all the time.”
“It’s boring shit,” he said, but his tone made me think he was trying hard to sound bored. “After the divorce, my parents absolutely focused on their futures, never looking back. My dad is remarried and expecting a baby with his wife, and my mom has been desperately trying to make that happen with Clark. And now they’re having a baby.”
I didn’t want to push, because the last thing I wanted to do was remind him of unhappiness, but suddenly I found myself thirsty for Charlie backstory. “Do you like your dad’s wife?”
“She seems nice enough, although I really only visit twice a year, so how the hell would I even know?”
“Yeah, what’s with that?” I toed off my socks under the covers and said, “I don’t want to sound like a whiny little kid, but I don’t get our dads. Everyone in the world acts like it’s normal and fine, but to me, it seems absolutely bizarre that a parent would be cool living in an entirely different state than their kid.”
“But they have responsibilities, Bailey,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. “Careers and real estate and health club memberships that they can’t just cancel.”
“Such bullshit.” I snorted and pictured my dad’s golfing buddies. “I’m not asking to be the center of his world or anything, but shouldn’t it bother them, never seeing us? Shouldn’t it give them an uncomfortable little pain just under their breastbone, every time they picture our faces?”
“Glasses,” Charlie said, a sweet, sympathetic lilt in his deep voice. “Do you get a little pain under your breastbone every time you picture your dad’s face?”
We were rarely serious, so maybe it was tiredness that changed things for me. But instead of joking, I answered honestly.
“Every single time,” I said, feeling that melancholy creep in as I remembered the way my dad’s laugh sounded. He laughed like Santa, slow and deep and loud, and part of me wondered if he even knew what my laugh sounded like.
My throat was tight as I explained, “It’s almost like panic, like I’m afraid if I don’t see him soon, I’m going to forget what he looks like. Or he’s going to forget all about me.”
“Honey,” he said, and it made me blink back tears in the dark. Charlie calling me honey was sweet and reassuring and hit me so hard in that emotional soft spot that I had to pretend I hadn’t heard it.
“Stop, I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight.
That kind of sweetness could annihilate me.
“It’s okay to not be fine. When was the last time you talked to him?”
My heart felt like it was beating a little heavier, all of a sudden, as I focused on the big thing I’d been avoiding focusing on. “That’s the thing. Nekesa pointed out that I’m always the one who instigates, the one who calls and texts him first, so I decided to prove her wrong. I decided to wait until he reaches out to me.”
“Aw, shit,” he said. “How long has it been?”
I swallowed. “Four months and three days.”
He didn’t say anything, and I felt stupid. I knew Charlie didn’t judge me, but I judged me. I was a fucking senior, goddammit, and it was pathetic that I was homesick for my dad like a thumb-sucking kindergartner.
I closed my eyes, wanting to push back the emotions, but then Charlie was there. The pullout bed dipped, and then his arms were around me in such a Charlie way that I laughed out my shock. He threw a long leg over me and physically hauled my body closer so he could big spoon me while he murmured, “Like I can sleep with this bullshit going on over here.”
“Charlie.” I laughed. “Go sleep—I’m good.”
“Nope,” he said, tightening his grip. “You’re not good until Charlie spoons you for a solid ten, trust me.”
I started giggling. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your hair smells like balsam needles,” he said, inhaling deeply. “And despair.”
“You know what despair smells like?”
“Hell yes, I do.”