Can't Let You Go (10 page)

“Okay.” He captured my hand before I could pull it away. His fingers interlocked with mine, and his eyes dared me to do something about it. “Then let’s talk about us.”

Oh, even better. Because I totally had that element of my life all figured out. “Why don’t we talk about something simpler. Like ending global warfare or how to solve the national debt?”

“So you’re saying we’re complicated?”

I merely lifted an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t have to be.” His voice was smooth and husky, and it skimmed over me like a caress.

It was time to change the subject. “I’ve been looking over James’s paperwork on the Thrifty Co. takeover. They’ve really been low-balled.”

Charlie leaned back in his chair. “This moment is totally unsexy now.”

I laughed. “Were you weaving a magic spell there, Romeo?”

“I got no game when you talk business.”

I patted his shoulder. “That’s sweet you think you got game, period.”

He ran a finger over my hand, tracing a slow line up my arm. “I seem to remember you liked me on a recent airplane ride. Need me to refresh your memory?” He leaned in, so close I could smell his cologne, see the fire brighten his eyes.

I struggled to find my voice. “We need to forget that.”

“I can’t.” His fingers made lazy swirls on my skin. “I can’t forget that kiss. And what you said right before it. And I know.” His hands made a slow migration to my face, cradling my head. “I know you remember it. What I don’t get is why you won’t talk to me about it.”

“Charlie, what are we doing?” When had my hands moved to rest on his chest? And why was my face a mere breath from his, as if I was all but begging for a kiss? “I’m not in a good place.”

“I don’t care.” He lowered his head—

Only to be interrupted by the blast from my phone. A Katy Perry snippet sang from beneath my chair.

“James!” Relief flowed like honey at the sight of my dad’s name on my screen. “Am I glad to hear from you,” I said as I answered his call. He spoke briefly, assuring me he and Millie had safely landed in Port Au Prince.
Thank God.
I felt like anyone flying deserved a Purple Heart of Bravery, and I didn’t know when I’d ever be able to step on a plane again.

The call was over almost as soon as it began, and a tired James told me he loved me and would ring back in a few days.

“Your parents got there okay?” Charlie asked.

I nodded.

“Are
you
okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve just been worried about their flight. I’ve been tracking it on radar all afternoon, and they were going through some rain.”

Charlie’s hand reached out, and he massaged the back of my neck, where tension sat in knots of coiled pain. “You got issues.”

“Just part of my charm. Oh, wow, that feels incredible. I don’t even want to know where you learned that.”

Charlie laughed, then stood. With a tug of my hand, he pulled me to my feet, only to sit down in my chair and draw me onto his lap. I started to protest, but when his hands skimmed over my back, I lost all motivation to complain. I didn’t remember ever feeling this comfortable when Ian touched me. Never this dueling sense of desire and calm.

“How’s that head?” Charlie asked, his fingers doing something heavenly to the base of my neck.

“It’s fine. I get the stitches out later in the week.”

“I guess now that you know your parents are safe, you can focus all your attention on being happy for Frances and Joey.”

“While that is a worthy project”—My gosh, his hands were bliss—“What I need to focus on is saving the Valiant. A little more to the left, please. Ah, right there.” Was it wrong to purr? His fingers pushed into the tight knots on my shoulders, and I took a few cleansing breaths. I could’ve stayed like that forever. Just me, Charlie’s hands doing their thing, and the gorgeous night sky above. “I’ve been studying James’s notes.”

The massage stopped. “When you weren’t tracking weather and planes?” He resumed his ministrations, his hands moving slower, gentler.

“I’m a great multi-tasker. And you’re an excellent masseuse. I could fall asleep right here.”

“Guys do not like to hear our presence puts a girl to sleep.” He pulled my hair to the side, his fingers running down my neck, making my nerve endings hum.

I lolled my head to the left. “Don’t take it personal. I haven’t slept in days.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know. I have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

His hands slowed. “Like me?”

“You wish.” But that was definitely a good part of it. Charlie and I had picked up right where we’d left off, as if we’d not gone two separate directions. As if we hadn’t both chosen to not be together multiple times over the years. The man smelled like heaven. It was a mix of spice, outdoors, and soap, mixed with tangy notes of arrogance and charm.

“Calvin Klein ought to bottle up your scent,” I said lazily.

“Maybe call it Sweaty Texan?”

I smiled. “I still have a few of your t-shirts from high school. In college when I’d get homesick, I’d pull one out and sleep in it. They used to smell like you.” Like home. Like the boy I had loved.

Charlie turned me until I faced him. His hands cradled my jaw, his thumbs sweeping across. “I love it when you get too tired to filter,” he whispered. His lips brushed against mine—once, twice. “Anything else I need to know? Like you have my name tattooed somewhere fun?”

“Maybe.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “But you’re not checking.”

“I love a good challenge.” His smiling lips descended and captured mine. I soon forgot what we were talking about, and all I knew was this man. I held onto Charlie like he was a lifeline, my raft in the tossing waves. His mouth was soft and teasing, sending spiraling sensations to every limb, every cell. It was wonderful not to think, to let my brain take a few minutes of respite, while the rest of me just. . .felt.

A loud crashing had us both breaking apart.

Heart pounding, I scanned the yard until I saw the familiar intruder.

“Armadillo,” Charlie said. “He was probably watching us.” His hand slid down my back. “Want to give him an encore?”

“Not tonight,” I said as Charlie pressed his lips to a spot behind my ear. It was difficult to form a coherent sentence when he did that. “Charlie—” His evening stubble shaded his cheeks, and I couldn’t help but ran my hand over the places where tomorrow a razor would go. “I think I’ve found my purpose here in In Between.”

Charlie leaned into my hand. “Us?”

“Not what I was talking about.”

“We’ll work on that.” He traced my collarbone with his finger. “Your stage career?”

“No.” I could barely focus. All I could think was
please don’t stop whatever you’re doing.
“Um. . .no, not my career. That’s pretty much dead.”
Focus, Katie.
“I’m talking about the Valiant. Nobody’s going to take that from me.” For my twenty-first birthday, James and Millie had added my name on the deed. I’d happy-cried for days. “It’s horrible timing that James isn’t here with all that’s going on, but I’m going to fight for it. I’m going to make sure Thrifty Co. never touches it. Maybe this is what I came back for. Maybe God led me away from acting to come back and save the Valiant.”

“Let me get this straight. You think God told you to quit acting? When you think of giving up your theater dream forever, that gives you the holy tingles?”

No, but Charlie sure did. I forced myself to rise from the chair and walk to the edge of the deck, needing some distance between me and the overpowering magnetic pull that kept drawing me back to him. Between that and the fact that I was completely sleep deprived, my brain was as sticky as cotton candy. “Before I came home, the attorney hired by James and the rest of the group quit. My dad said Loretta found another one last week. Ever heard of Reggie Barker?”

“Name sounds familiar.”

“I guess I’ll meet him at the town hall meeting tomorrow night. James wants me to size him up. You could go and help me.”

Charlie stood beside me, his side pressed into mine. “I might be there. Katie, I think we should talk. I need to—”

“The stars are so beautiful tonight. And look at that full moon. There’s nothing as pretty as In Between, is there?” I turned to Charlie and found him watching me with an intensity that had made weaker girls toss their t-shirts and morals.

“I could think of a few things more beautiful.” His gaze not wavering from mine, Charlie reached out and captured a strand of my wayward hair, running it through his fingers. “I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the whole town. When I went to college, I never met anyone who turned my head like you.”

“You do know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“I know you’re in rebound mode, and you’re hurting from that Ian guy, but whether you deal with it now or later, you and I have unfinished business. If you need time, I can give that to you.”

My hands slid up Charlie’s chest, as he pulled me close. “I do need time.” Didn’t I? “It can’t be right to jump out of one serious relationship right into another.”

“This is me,” he said gruffly. “I’m not some new guy you met at Starbucks. You know me. You know
us.
And there’s always been an us.”

“I have horrible judgment, especially with relationships. I don’t exactly trust my heart right now.”

“Then trust me with it, Katie.” He hugged me to him and rested his head on top of mine. “Please. . .trust
me
.”

W
hen the alarm
went off at four Monday morning, I rolled over and thought about crying.

But the kind of energy that required wouldn’t kick in ’til five.

The lazy sun hadn’t even made an appearance by the time I walked into Micky’s Diner and reported for my first day of work.

“You sure about this?” Loretta asked, swigging from a mug of coffee.

“I think so.” I went to the carafe not labeled decaf and helped myself.

She took another sip and assessed the blousey hang of my super-sized t-shirt I had uselessly tried to shrink in the dryer. “You gonna work two weeks then get knocked up and leave like my June hire?”

“No plans to get preggo.”

“You gonna be the best darn plate balancer ever, then run off with my fry cook like Miss November?”

“I can’t balance anything.” Though hooking up with a fry cook could have its perks.

“Or you could be like Miss February and give extra bacon and burgers to your drug dealers.”

“My dealers are vegans.”

Her lips quirked. “Maxine said you were sassy. You get that from her?”

Not one drop of Maxine’s blood coursed through my veins. “Probably so.”

“She also said you’re gonna help us run Thrifty Co. out of town. Nominated you as our new leader in your dad’s absence.”

I choked on my classic roast. “I’m all for helping, but that sounds a little over my head.”

“You got a fancy college degree.”

“And if you want me to teach you all how to express your protests in mime, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, I’m not really qualified to take charge.”

“Either you give it a shot, or I put you on dish washing duty for the rest of your career here.”

“I was secretary of our Brownie troop in second grade, so I will take your kindly given challenge.” I could not catch a break if someone handed it to me.

“I’ll get you a list of our group’s contact info. The property owners are gonna meet before the real show gets started, and you can jump in then. Maybe you can bring some fresh ideas.” She threw an apron at me. “Put that on. And be at the town hall meeting an hour early.”

“Do I need a secret password?”

“Yeah.” Loretta waddled off, her spikes especially pointy. “Thrifty Co. sucks.”

“You ready to get started?” Kourtney with a K chewed on a pink piece of gum with lots of snap, crackle, and pop.

I banished all the thoughts of my happy days on the stage and thought about my sad, sad bank account. “Let’s do this.”

Before Kourtney with a K could tell me how to be a waitress, she decided to give me a fifteen minute tutorial on bleaching your own hair. “I do it all the time.” She held up her fried ponytail that was colored a shade of orangey-white not usually found in a stylist’s palette. “I could do yours if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe when I get paid.” And when I no longer had brain matter.

She then took a whopping five minutes to explain the rigors of waitressing before the doors opened and sleepy In Betweenites trickled in like harmless zombies.

“Orders are pretty simple at breakfast,” she said, shoving me toward my first table. “Just keep the coffee flowing.”

It sounded so easy.

Half an hour later, I was thinking performing heart surgery or splitting isotopes might be simpler. Did everyone have to be so picky? Tea with light ice. Could I substitute hash browns for an extra egg? Semi-crisp bacon only. Was the ketchup organic? And then there was Mr. Sherman, eighty on his last birthday, trying to give me a bum-pinch every time I walked by.

I carried out three plates of biscuits and gravy, proud of myself for not spilling so much as a crumb, and delivered it to table number seven, three ladies from the In Between Garden Club.