by Noir, Roxie
“Did you send that in?” Charlie asks me.
“Seriously?” I ask, and Charlie laughs.
“It was probably my mom,” she says. “Knowing her, it’ll be on the front page tomorrow.”
“All right put down the duck and get closer,” the photographer says. “This is gonna be a tighter shot so it’s not too obvious that you’re both wearing the same clothes in the regatta picture and the engagement picture.”
We both press in. My right side is against her left, and even though there are thirty things going on at once — the photographer instructing us, my brothers in the crowd talking amongst themselves, Charlie’s arm around my back, Rusty tossing the winning duck up and down in the air — it still sends a sizzle through me, an instant hit of longing, of nerves, of the wish that none of these other things were happening right now.
The shutter clicks a few times, and then she frowns. Rusty drops the duck and it bounces between the photographer and us. Just as I’m about to ask her to stop, Eli materializes to one side.
“Rusty,” he says. “Want to pet a goat?”
“A goat?!” she yells, excitedly, the duck already half-forgotten. Eli takes her hand, flashes me a thumbs-up, and heads off. I take a deep breath.
“You two switch,” the photographer orders, looking down at the camera, then frowning up at the sky. “I want to get the ring in the shot.”
There’s more direction, and Charlie and I probably look like robots trying to act like they’re filled with human emotion, because having your picture taken is hard and having your picture taken while you’re trying to look blissfully in love with your best friend who’s pretending to be your fiancée is harder.
Finally, we’re face to face, arms around each other, her left hand perched just-so on my shoulder as I gaze down at her and she gazes up at me. We’re so close that her irises don’t look hazel anymore, but like a kaleidoscope of green and brown and gold around her pupil, and I feel a little like I’m falling in.
The shutter clicks.
“Smile,” the photographer says.
We smile.
“Not like that,” she says.
I smile… less? Charlie’s trying her best not to laugh, her eyes dancing beneath black lashes, her freckles twitching with the effort of holding it back.
“Closer,” the photographer orders.
We pull closer, the heat of the warm day combining with our body heat, my fingers on her back aimlessly playing with the bow I tied earlier today.
“Don’t undo my dress,” Charlie murmurs to me. “Inappropriate, Daniel.”
Her eyes are still laughing.
Her bra and panties match, I think, then banish that thought as thoroughly as I can.
“The bow’s decorative,” I point out.
“Doesn’t mean you should undo it,” she says.
I tug on it the tiniest bit and think about everything and anything besides undressing Charlie.
“Dammit,” she hisses, and pokes me in the ribs.
“Please don’t move,” the photographer says, clicking away.
I tug again, just hard enough that Charlie can feel me doing it.
“Yeah, Charlie, don’t move,” I tease, keeping my voice low so the photographer can’t hear me.
“If it comes out and she has to re-pose us, it’ll be your fault,” she says.
“Accidents happen,” I say, and give another tiny tug. Charlie’s freckles collide as she tries not to laugh, and the photographer lowers her camera, flipping through her photos.
“All right, these’ll do, almost done,” she says then lifts it back to her face. “Just a few of you kissing and we’re good.”
There’s a sudden shift in everything: the air, the light, the timbre of the background noise, the way Charlie’s standing.
The camera clicks. There are fifty sets of eyes on me, on us.
Suddenly I have no idea how to kiss.
I lower my face toward hers anyway. Charlie’s on her tiptoes, eyes wide and slightly alarmed, and the last thing I think is we should have practiced this.
Then our noses collide.
“Ow,” Charlie whispers, and I tilt my head to one side and now our mouths are half-together, hers partially in my beard, mine a little on her cheek. I move again but so does she and now we’ve got the opposite problem and somehow her mouth is slightly open, my lip against her teeth, the photographer clicking away.
“All right,” she says. “Tilt the other way?”
We do. Our noses mash. We recover a little, manage to get our mouths together, but then the photographer is telling Charlie to close her eyes and telling me to lean in and the shutter is just clicking away.
I open my hand against her back. I force myself to ignore everything except Charlie.
Suddenly, there it is: the spark, the fire, the reason I’ve been thinking about this since we kissed in the driveway on Wednesday. Charlie relaxes too, moves closer, her mouth suddenly soft and warm and—
“Okay, that’ll do,” the photographer says, and we both pull away. “I think I got something useable.”
Useable. Great. High praise for my modeling abilities.
“Thanks,” Charlie says. I take her hand in mine again. “When’s it running?”
The photographer slips her camera into its bag and slings it around herself carefully.
“The regatta’s running tomorrow,” she says. “The announcement, probably Monday, unless they decide to do a story.”
“A story?” Charlie echoes, and the photographer just nods.
“That’s up to the section editor, though,” she says, and checks her watch. “Congrats on the win and the engagement!”
Then she’s gone, before we can ask any more questions like what kind of story or why is this a story at all?
“Okay,” Charlie says, mostly to me, after she’s gone. “Sure. A story.”
“There’s no way they’re going to do a story,” I tell her, trying to sound reassuring. “A story about what?”
“Are there any abandoned buildings we could burn down?” she asks.
I raise one eyebrow at her and wait.
“So the paper runs that and not a fluff piece about us,” Charlie explains.
I still don’t say anything.
“I did specify abandoned,” she says, a little defensively.
“True,” I drawl.
“Sometimes you need to be creative,” she says, sighs, and leans her head against my shoulder again. “Should we go find Rusty?”
“Probably,” I say, but I don’t move.
This is all turning out to be infinitely more complicated than I thought it would be — I thought Charlie would wear a ring to a hearing, and now here we are, kissing awkwardly for photographers and hoping that the newspaper doesn’t run a story about us.
But I don’t hate it. I don’t like lying to people and I don’t like the spotlight, but moments like this — Charlie’s hand in mine, her head against my shoulder, the two of us sharing a secret — make it almost fun.
We should probably practice kissing, though, I think. My heartbeat picks up for a split second.
“All right, what do we think Eli did with my kid?” I ask.
“Probably juggling knives,” Charlie says, and I sigh, scanning the crowd. Caleb, Levi, and Seth are still standing where I left them.
Caleb and Levi are talking about something, but Seth is just watching Charlie and me, looking contemplative.
I don’t like it.
“All right let’s go rescue him,” I say, and we walk off to find Rusty.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie
Silas leans forward, the neck of his beer bottle dangling in his fingers.
“Look, she’s not really going around telling people this, but her asshole boyfriend also dumped her the same day she got laid off,” he says.
I gasp dramatically. It’s probably a bit much, but it’s the first Loveless Sunday Dinner after we announced our engagement, and I’m on
e-point-five beers in on an empty stomach.
“After she got laid off at the paper?” I ask, also leaning forward conspiratorially. “He knew she’d gotten laid off and then he dumped her too?”
Silas just nods.
“That seems unkind,” says Levi, frowning.
“Well, he’s a scummy asshole who wasn’t fit to be cleaning gum from the bottom of her shoes, let alone dating her, so I wasn’t terribly surprised,” Silas says, swigging some more beer.
Then he looks at me.
“Don’t tell her I said that,” he says. “June already thinks I’m a Neanderthal, so I’m trying to be reasonable about this when I’m within earshot of her.”
“Sounds like he sucked,” I say, sympathetically.
“He did suck,” Silas agrees. “She thinks I’m just being an overprotective big brother, but that dude sucked. He was some trust fund asshole, so even though he supposedly had a job with his dad’s company, it sure seemed like he mostly played golf and went on stupid weekend trips with his buddies.”
“Fuck trust fund kids,” I say, and hold out my own beer bottle.
“Fuck Brett in particular,” says Silas, and we clink bottles.
Levi doesn’t clink. He’s just watching us thoughtfully, not saying much of anything. We’re sitting in three deck chairs in one corner of Clara Loveless’s back porch, slightly away from the general hubbub.
There’s plenty of hubbub. Rusty and two of her friends are tearing around the back yard. Eli’s in the kitchen, making something that smells amazing, and Seth is in there assisting. Last time I checked, Clara and Violet, Eli’s girlfriend, were having some sort of in-depth discussion in the living room, and a few minutes ago Caleb came out the back door, frowned, and went back inside.
I haven’t seen Daniel in like fifteen minutes. He’s probably hiding somewhere.
“Luckily, I think she’s more bummed about the job than the guy,” Silas admits. “Like maybe, deep down, she knew all along how much he sucked, and now that it’s confirmed that he sucked pretty bad, she’s at peace with the end of their relationship?”
I just nod. I’ve never really had a bad breakup. Honestly, I’ve never dated anyone I really liked that much. I just tend to get bored after six months or so, then break things off amicably.
Levi clears his throat lightly, like he’s about to say something, but instead the back door opens, and Clara walks over to the three of us.
“Try these,” she says, and holds out a plate with three cookies on it.
“Thank you!” we chorus, instantly reaching for them.
When Clara Loveless offers you a baked good, you accept. It’s a smallish shortbread cookie, crumbly and buttery when I bite into it.
Crumbly, buttery, and tasting a little like… pine trees?
“Ah, you made them,” Levi says, nodding.
“I had to freeze the needles for a while because I got swamped with work,” Clara says. “I think with fresh they might be a bit brighter.”
Levi takes another bite. Silas is already brushing crumbs from his hands, having wolfed it down.
“That was excellent, ma’am,” Silas says, and Clara smiles, looking amused.
“Thank you,” she says.
I nod enthusiastically.
“Kind of strange, but good strange,” I say.
“Yes, I think they’re a bit piney,” she says. “But I found this recipe for shortbread cookies made with evergreen needles, and Levi offered to collect some for me, so…” she shrugs.
“Delicious,” says Silas, who thinks that everything is delicious, and Clara laughs.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll put some aside for you to take home.”
As she leaves, I lean in toward Levi and point after his mom.
“Hot tip,” I whisper. “That’s when you call someone ma’am. Your friend’s mom, not your friend’s little sister.”
Levi just sighs.
“Don’t worry, I’ve gotten quite the earful on correct forms of address since yesterday,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “I think I’ve settled on never using one again. From now on everyone will just be hey, you.”
“That’s probably for the…”
The back door is open again, and I suddenly realize that Eli is standing in it, staring at me and pointing.
“…best,” I trail off, frowning at Eli.
He points more emphatically. I point at myself, eyebrows raised, and he nods. Then he crooks his finger.
“I’ll be right back?” I tell Silas and Levi, and head into the house, leaving my half-finished beer on a side table.
“My mom found her wedding dress and wanted to know if you were interested,” Eli says as I walk up.
No, because there’s never going to be a wedding, I think.
“What’s it look like?” I ask, wondering how to be diplomatic about this.
Eli shrugs.
“Like a white dress,” he says. “Come look at it, it’s up in my old room.”
He points at the stairs. I ascend. He follows me.
I wonder, briefly, why I need to look at this dress right now, why Eli is the messenger about it, and why this all seems so hush-hush, but I don’t wonder that hard.
He follows me up two flights of stairs, to the attic room where he was living before he moved in with Violet last year. As soon as we’re outside I hear Daniel’s voice.
“—did you need me to come all the way up here to ask me that—Charlie?”
I step into the room. There’s no wedding dress. There’s one Daniel.
I’ve been tricked.
The door shuts definitively behind me, and Eli stands in front of it, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a bouncer.
“This is an intervention,” he says.
“For what?” I ask.
“For kissing,” Seth says, taking his place next to Eli, mimicking his stance. “Y’all are terrible kissers.”
Several thoughts all trip through my brain at once. Heat flushes my face. I take a step back.
“Neither of us is kissing you, Seth,” Daniel says, also crossing his arms over his chest.
“Don’t speak for the lady,” Seth says, suddenly grinning.
Next to me, I can feel Daniel’s whole body go rigid.
“The lady’s not kissing you either,” I say before Daniel can say anything.
“No one is here to kiss Seth,” Eli says, shooting him a look. “We’re here to help you kiss each other, because I’ve seen puppets kiss more convincingly than you two.”
A quick flutter of anxiety moves through my chest, waving through me like wind through a wheat field.
“What puppets have you been watching?” I ask, after a second.
“You can find some real weird stuff on the internet,” Daniel offers.
“Spoken like an expert,” says Eli.
“He’s not the one who brought up puppet porn,” I say. “Apparently, you’ve been watching—”
“Everyone quit talking about your perversions and focus,” Seth says, raising his voice. “No one is kissing anyone, except that you—” he points at Daniel, “are kissing her—” he points at me, “because you need people to think you’re actually engaged.”
The flutters are only getting faster, stronger, a gale force wind through the wheat fields because I really do want to kiss Daniel and I really don’t want to do it in front of his brothers, presumably while they shout helpful make out tips at us.
“They’re Eli’s perversions,” I say. “I’ve never even seen—”
“No one is leaving this room until you stop talking about puppets fucking and start kissing,” Eli says, firmly planted in front of the door.
Daniel just sighs.
“Is this because of yesterday?” he asks.
Despite being trapped in an attic and being told to kiss me or else, he’s somehow the calmest person here right now because of course he is. Daniel’s almost always the calmest person around.
“Yes,” S
eth says.
“Obviously,” Eli confirms at the same time.
“I’d be the world’s shittiest brother if I saw that travesty and didn’t do something about it,” Seth goes on. “You,” he nods at Daniel, “have somehow gotten yourself into a ridiculous situation where you need to convincingly make out with her,” he nods at me, “to keep custody of Rusty, and you,” he nods at me again, “have inexplicably agreed to this farce. I agreed to do your taxes, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“And by God, Daniel, I’m not letting Rusty move to Colorado with the progeny of a demon and a swamp beast, so you better shut up and kiss Charlie.”
“No one kisses normally in front of cameras,” Daniel says. “Look, we kiss just fine. Yesterday there was a photographer saying something, practically everyone we knew was there—"
“Is it just me, Seth, or do those sound like reasons to practice?” Eli says, turning to his brother. “Call me crazy, but maybe they should get better at kissing in public instead of just hoping it never happens again.”
“I do believe you’re correct, Eli,” Seth says. The two of them are talking like they’re in an infomercial, and it might be the most irritating thing I’ve ever heard. “And since they’re not leaving this room until you and I are satisfied, they may as well get—”
“Fine,” Daniel finally says, then unfurls his arms and looks over at me. “Sorry,” he says, his voice softer, gentler.
“They do kind of have a point,” I say, even as my insides twist. “Yesterday wasn’t great.”
Finally, Daniel half-smiles, and he smiles at me, not his dumbass brothers, runs one hand through his hair in his nervous-and-trying-not-to-show-it gesture.
“It was pretty bad,” he admits.
“You jammed your nose into my eye,” I say, laughing.
“You bit my chin,” he teases.
“You—”
Eli clears his throat obnoxiously.
“Come on,” Seth says, spinning a finger in the air in the universal can we get a move on gesture.
I take a deep breath, turn to Daniel, quiet the flutters, and look up into his sky-blue eyes for a split second.
Then we kiss.
It’s slow, gentle, tentative. It’s polite. I can feel his brothers’ eyes on me as I kiss him back, mouth closed, one hand on the back of his neck. I can’t forget where I am, and I can’t lose myself in it like I want to. I can’t pretend for just a few minutes that he’s not my best friend, that this isn’t all for show.
