Charlotte was crestfallen, “If that’s what you want.”
“Just for tonight,” he walked back over to her and kissed her quickly on the lips. “But tomorrow night, we’ll make it fun. My parents aren’t so bad. They’ll like you. You’ll probably like them. But as long as you at least like me, I can live with that.” He smiled, something she was glad to see.
“Goodnight, Declan.”
“Goodnight, Charlotte.”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte watched from the window as Declan started walking across the sand toward the house next door.
She was relieved to see he wasn’t coming to her door. Or was she relieved? Part of her wanted to talk to him, to show him she was beyond what he did to her, beyond the heart break of losing him. She would tell him about her successful practice, that she had graduated from Vanderbilt at the top of her class, that she had been at the top of her class in med school as well.
She’d pretend to be confident. She’d stand tall with her shoulders back, her hair no longer a wild mop of curls and waves. She was sleek now, more chic than she was back in the days when they were together. She longed to be aloof with him, to show him she barely thought of him anymore.
It would be a lie, but it would feel good to tell it.
But no, it was better that he hadn’t come to her door. She wasn’t the best at pretending she felt a way that she didn’t. She had no poker face.
What would really happen if Declan came to her door-she’d feel nauseated. She’d cry. She’d scream at him for killing her heart, for making it so that she could never love again. Men had approached her over the years, good men, with good intentions. But she was constantly rebuffing, constantly (but gently) declining dates. She stopped even the most innocent flirtations in the guise of wanting to stay professional. But really it was just her staying guarded. She never wanted to go through a break up again. She’d rather just never love at all.
And anyway, it looked like he had a wife now. The older blonde that had left his house earlier. Or maybe she was a friend. Either way, it wasn’t her business.
Charlotte sighed and looked at the clock. It was afternoon. The stress of everything that had happened in her life recently was taking a toll. She was tired. It was time for a nap.
Maybe when she woke up she’d find out she’d only dreamt of him. Again.
********
Declan took a long shower. He most often had his best ideas in the shower and he hoped the incredible water pressure of his new home would help him decide what he should do about Charlotte. But it didn’t. He stood under the water until it turned cold and he still didn’t know what the hell to do.
“This is ridiculous,” he said out loud to himself. “I should just go over there and acknowledge her. See what her husband looks like. Try to break the ice and cut through the awkward.”
But she’d run away! Fled from him without shoes on her feet. He’d watched her perfect ass trudge through the sand so she could get away from him. So, clearly, just going over to her house and saying hello wasn’t an option.
Maybe he’d write her a letter. Put it on her door. It was passive-aggressive, which was completely not his style, but he couldn’t get the look on her face out of his mind.
Yet he couldn’t not contact her. Especially if they were neighbors.
He pulled on a pair of shorts and pulled out a notepad from his computer bag.
Charlotte…
********
Charlotte woke up a couple hours later, her head heavy from only having had wine today, and her stomach rumbling from hunger.
I need to order some food, she thought. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.
She padded into the kitchen. The sun was beginning to set. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore. She glanced outside to see who was on the beach. It was empty.
She walked over to the window in the dining room that faced Declan’s house. There was one light on downstairs, the rest of the massive house was dark.
In the kitchen, she went through drawers to see if there were any take out menus. A pizza place was the first one she found.
“Pizza it is,” she decided.
Thirty-five minutes later there was a knock on her door. She was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked under her while she absent-mindedly watched a reality show featuring squawking housewives.
She jumped when she heard the knock and then slowly walked to the front door.
She was relieved to see it was just a young man with floppy hair and a greasy cardboard pizza box in his arms.
“Hello,” he grumbled. “It’ll be fifteen oh seven.”
“Sure,” she said, handing him a twenty. “Keep the change.”
This elicited a broad smile from the young man, “Hey thanks! Oh, by the way, this envelope was stuck to your door. It fell off when I knocked, sorry.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. She took the pizza and the envelope, which said Charlotte on the front of it.