Okay. She was overreacting, probably.
They were just friends.
Good friends.
She couldn’t just mess that up, because she was a sad, lonely widow, aching for some kind of recognition in the world.
Could she even accept love if it was handed to her?
She wasn’t sure.
Chapter Sixteen
When tensions rose between Everett and Charlotte, Everett found it funny that one of the two of them would burst into laughter—as though both of them knew how middle-school-silly any sort of affection was. Sure, maybe if he was twelve, he would have said, I have a crazy crush on Charlotte Hamner. But he wasn’t twelve, and he was there on Martha’s Vineyard to do a job, sell some photographs, then head back to LA to spend it on some overpriced rent (although decently priced for the neighborhood he lived in!), cocktails, and dates with models who didn’t have any feelings.
He tried to burn these thoughts into his mind.
But they really didn’t stick.
When the taxi reached Charlotte’s house, he turned his eyes toward hers and tried to drum up the strength to say goodnight. Instead, he heard the first real music of the night, when she said, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? There’s a lot to unpack from tonight. I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to forget a minute.”
Everett reached forward to pay the driver before Charlotte could. She half-heartedly swatted his hand away, then said, “Whatever. I’ll get it next time,” as though there would be a whole series of next-times together in the back of a taxi.
It was enough to make Everett’s heart surge with hope.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that hope.
He crunched through the snow behind Rachel and Charlotte. A quick glance at his phone told him that it was just after one in the morning. Still, his head buzzed with adrenaline. It could have been the middle of the day.
Charlotte drew open the door to allow him to enter. Inside was a little foyer with red tile, a mudroom off to the side, a kitchen, a living area, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Everything was decorated warmly, comfortably—completely unlike the swanky party they had just attended.
“Your taste is nothing like Ursula Pennington’s,” Everett said with a laugh as he removed his shoes slowly and placed them in the mudroom.
“What can I say? Friends tell me my number one attribute is that I’m... not a millionaire,” Charlotte said with a funny laugh.
Rachel yawned. She looked on the verge of collapse. “I’m going to go take a shower and get into bed,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
She spoke pointedly only at her mother. Everett seethed with sudden panic. He realized that he had just put himself in an awkward position, forcing himself into their home after one in the morning. Probably, this made Rachel uncomfortable?
But as she turned down the little hallway, she called back, “Good night, Everett.”
“Good night, Rachel,” he returned.
In the silence that filled the space between them, Charlotte performed a similar routine to Rachel. “I’d like to get out of these clothes if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’ll be out here.”
“I’ll boil some water. Make some hot cocoa with...” Charlotte yanked open a swankier bottle of whiskey, one she had clearly taken from the rehearsal dinner.
“You little thief,” Everett said, grinning from ear to ear.
Charlotte laughed and disappeared for a moment. As Everett sat there alone, he glanced around the living area—over the TV, on the refrigerator, toward the foyer, where Charlotte, Rachel, and another man lurked in nearly every single photo.
Right. Trevor had said something about disaster.
Here he sat, in the epicenter of that disaster.
Compared to all that, he was nothing.
The thought didn’t make him feel bad, exactly. It wasn’t like he had known the guy, or known the circumstances. Still, he didn’t want to be any reminder of that tragedy: another big man in the house, mentally into Charlotte in a way he couldn’t really describe.
He had to be on his best behavior.
He didn’t want to push any buttons.
Which probably meant he couldn’t remove any.
Not that he’d gotten out of the taxi with her to do that!
Now, he was safely stuck in his head. He shook it violently and again studied the photos. The guy in them hadn’t died that long ago, clearly, since Rachel wasn’t so young in many of them. What had happened? Car accident? Murder? No. That was ridiculous. People didn’t just get murdered.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte appeared in a light pink robe. She had removed a little bit of her makeup, and her hair still billowed around her beautifully.
“Yeah! Just thinking about tonight,” Everett lied.
“It was wild, wasn’t it?” Charlotte said. She walked to the stove, poured two glasses of boiling water, added hot cocoa, then poured what looked to be two fingers of whiskey.
“Somebody is looking to party,” Everett said, teasing her.
Charlotte laughed—thank goodness, since the second he’d said it, he’d regretted it.
“Those people make me insane,” she said. “I don’t know. Do you think they’ve always been rich? Never had anyone to answer to? I feel like most of them looked at me and thought, ‘Yes. I can take advantage of her because she’s only half the person I am.’ It makes my stomach hurt. Oh, but that’s been a facet of growing up on Martha’s Vineyard, I guess. When summer happens, the big politicians and celebrities come through, and you’re nothing to them.”
“I guess it’s kind of similar in LA,” Everett said, agreeing with her.
“Oh, of course,” she said. “I keep forgetting. You’re used to all these celebrities and their obsession with Instagram and all that. I feel like I’m on the outside.”
“I’m not saying that I like that they’re like that,” Everett said with a laugh. “Only that’s them. For better or for worse.”
“For better or for worse. Nice use of the wedding vows,” Charlotte said.
“I thought you’d like that,” Everett replied.
This time, her cheeks turned bright pink. Clearly, he had gone too far again—or maybe just gotten too flirtatious? Where was the line? He didn’t know!
“I really appreciate what you did earlier when Ursula was yelling at me,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know how to get her out of her stream of consciousness, yelling.”
“She can’t taint her image like that,” Everett said. “It would have ruined her.”
“Paul Thomas Anderson would not have called her up again, that’s for sure,” Charlotte stated.
They sipped their hot chocolate whiskey drinks. Everett blinked forward, but accidentally caught sight of another of those family photos. He had no idea what to say next. Maybe he had run out of topics forever. Maybe he’d never said anything interesting at all.
“Why did you get involved with wedding planning?” he suddenly asked.
This was a good start, wasn’t it? A way to actually get to know her?
“That’s a good question,” she said. She sipped her drink again and thought for a moment. “I guess my main answer is, I always want to see people on their happiest days, as ironic as that sounds after what we just saw.”
“Their happiest days,” Everett breathed.
“Does that sound crazy?” Charlotte asked. She knocked her head back against the couch cushion and blinked up toward the ceiling.
“Not at all,” Everett affirmed. “I can even understand it. Although I do think it’s rare to see that, even on the wedding day itself.”
Charlotte arched her brow and turned her gaze toward his. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, beyond what we just saw—which is obviously a crazy outlier—I feel that mostly, I see a lot of fake happiness on wedding days,” he said. “People who are overly willing to put on loads of makeup and give me pretend smile after pretend smile until the clock stri
kes twelve. And it’s funny, you know? Sometimes, I’ll take photos where I think, wow, these people. They look really happy here. And they almost never actually buy the photos of actual happiness. Fake happiness sells better. Maybe it’s because that’s the happiness we see reflected back in advertisements. It’s the happiness we’re told to want, so it’s the happiness we buy.”
Charlotte nodded somberly. “That makes sense.”
Everett felt as though he had killed the mood. He looked at his half-drunk whiskey and cocoa and considered a way out of the room.
But instead, Charlotte spoke.
“Have you ever been married? I just realized. I barely know anything about you.”
Everett laughed. “That’s funny, isn’t it? We’ve gone to war, basically, but we don’t know anything about the other.”
“And so, I ask...”
“Right. No. I’ve never been married. This actually came up with your cousins at the bar. They said they’ve never been married, either,” Everett said.
“True. But look at them. They’re well on their way. Lola’s thirty-nine years old, and I’ve never seen her more in love than she is with Tommy. Christine has had a mountain of boyfriends, but now, at forty-one, she seems ready to settle with Zach.”
“I would marry him for his cooking alone,” Everett joked.
“Ha. Maybe I’ll steal him away,” Charlotte teased.
“But really. I never thought marriage was worth my time since I wanted so many things along the way,” Everett explained. “I wanted to travel. I wanted to spend a year in Asia. I wanted to build my photography career. I wanted...” He paused. All the words he said seemed like stories that belonged to someone else’s life. “Anyway, nothing ever really worked out the way I planned.”
“Was there anyone along the way? Anyone, you might have married? If you could just turn back the clock?”
Everett shook his head. “It’s sad to say, but I really never allowed myself to feel that way for anyone. I kept myself guarded. And now... Well. I’m forty-four. Single.”
“And ready to mingle,” Charlotte said, her voice lilting, joking.
“Something like that,” Everett said.
Now. Kiss her now. It’s obvious she wants it. Her eyes are glittering; she’s even tilted her face toward yours.
This is so obvious.
Kiss her.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it there, in front of all these photographs of this other man. Not without knowing what had happened. Not without understanding her better.
He cared for her too much.
He had only known her a day for God's sake.
How stupid of him.
Suddenly, the spell was broken. Charlotte’s lips erupted with a yawn. When the yawn broke, she laughed and sipped the rest of her drink.
“My gosh. I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I head to bed? Do you want to head back to the Inn?”
“I might just collapse here if you don’t mind,” Everett said. His eyelashes fluttered across his cheeks for a moment, until he summoned the strength to yank them back up.
“Of course. I’ll grab you a blanket.”
Everett watched in awe as Charlotte splayed a thick quilt over him. “Are you comfortable enough?” she asked him, as though this was her greatest concern in the world.
It had been a long time since Everett had been someone’s greatest concern in the world.
“It’s perfect. Thank you,” he replied.
Minutes or even seconds later, Everett was cast into darkness. He slept like a little kid after a long day of play. He only knew that when he woke up, he would find a way to help Charlotte through the rest of the weekend. And he knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte stood at the barrier between the hallway and her living area at five-thirty in the morning, wide-awake and bright-eyed, staring at the still-sleeping form of one Everett Rainey, a man she had literally just met.
What had she done?
She remembered the night, of course—at least, most of it. She remembered wanting to take care of him, to make him a bit of cocoa (and whiskey, if memory served her correctly), to ask him about his thoughts.
Did she remember asking him to stay over? Why had he just slept on the couch?
Had she tried to kiss him or something?
That wasn’t really like her. After all, it had taken her years to kiss a boy for the first time. That boy had been Jason, who had later become her husband.
Shoot. She was the most inexperienced person on the planet.
And here she was, before one of the more experienced people she’d probably ever met.
Was she falling for him?
Would she really allow herself to do that?
Surely, she was more responsible than that.
Oh, but why did she care so much? Why did he seem to care so much? When Ursula had berated her the night before, Charlotte had thought there was no way out, that she would have to endure the depths of all that pain and torment until Ursula got bored of it.
And then, there he had been—her knight in shining armor.
Charlotte had a number of people to call and things to take care of that morning. She tried to redirect her thoughts to include these elements only. Any sort of romance brewing between her and the photographer would have to wait for another day. Assuredly, that other day would come, and he would be long gone.
Better to keep herself safe from emotion.
Charlotte brewed a pot of coffee as quietly as she could. Now that he was there, fast asleep, in all of his clothes (should she have offered him something? No. That “something” would have belonged to Jason, and that felt even more wrong than everything else)—she might as well allow him to sleep.
Just as she poured herself a big cup of black coffee, Rachel appeared beside her. Charlotte nearly leaped out of her robe.
“Hey, honey,” she said, trying to stifle her tremendous fear. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were awake.”
Rachel tilted her head toward Everett. “He slept over,” she whispered.
“I guess so. He must have passed out before heading back to the Inn.”
Rachel gave her a look that meant, If that’s what you want me to believe, I’ll believe it. I guess.
“Seriously,” Charlotte said, giving her daughter a wide-eyed stare.
Rachel grabbed the box of Pop-Tarts from the top of the fridge and yanked open the silver package. She took a small nibble from the top of a brown sugar cinnamon, then chewed contemplatively.
“What are you thinking?” Charlotte breathed.
“I was just wondering if this might become a thing.”
“What kind of a thing?”
“Like, are you going to start dating again?” Rachel’s eyes bore into Charlotte’s.
Charlotte grabbed the silver package, yanked out the other Pop-Tart, and took her own bite. “No,” she chided and took another bite before continuing. “Your father has only been gone a little over a year. I know that. You know that. It’s not like we can just walk away from that life so easily. Maybe I’ll never be ready to. I don’t know.”
Rachel arched her brow. “Apparently, Aunt Claire is worried that you’ll never find anyone.”
“Oh, my God. Of course, she is. But I have you, don’t I?”
Rachel grumbled. “For now. But Mom, I’m fourteen. What if I want to go to college off the island? And what if I get a job in New York City, like Christine, or Boston, like Lola? And what if I move to Paris or go to Rome or...”
Charlotte stretched her palm out between them and shook it. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”
Rachel shrugged. “I just think maybe we shouldn’t focus on the past so much. That’s all.”
This was the wrong time to have this conversation. Charlotte felt that in every part of herself, in the way her throat constricted and the way her heart lurched into her stomach. After all, the first man she had ever been attracted to outside of
Jason Hamner currently slept on their couch, only about six feet away.
Still, a small, horrible kernel of her heart told her that her daughter was right.
Maybe it was stupid to wait.
Maybe Jason wanted her to move on.
Charlotte tore off another piece of Pop Tart and grumbled. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what?” Rachel demanded.
“Proving how old you are? It’s making me feel silly. You’re going to have to be my boss soon,” Charlotte said.
Suddenly, Everett erupted from the couch—so fast that the quilt fell off his legs and he yelped with fear.
Immediately, both Charlotte and Rachel burst into laughter. Everett turned his wide eyes toward them, clearly coming out of some kind of nightmare. He looked at them like he had never seen them before in his life. If Charlotte hadn’t been more sensible, she might have thought he was possessed.
“My gosh,” he said suddenly. He rubbed his cheeks, coming out of his panic. “I had no idea where I was.”
“We figured as much,” Rachel said, still giggling. “You looked like you were getting chased out of your dream by monsters.”
“Ha. It was kind of like that, actually,” Everett said. “Actually, I usually do that when I’m at someone else’s place. I wake up like a crazy person. I’m sorry about that.”
Rachel shrugged. “Thanks for the comedy routine. Want a Pop-Tart?” She grabbed another silver package and passed it to him.
He took it and thanked her. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these in like twenty years,” he replied, looking at the package in his hand.
“As you shouldn’t,” Charlotte said. “They’ll rot every single part of your body.”
“Except for your heart,” Everett said teasingly.
There: he had done it again. He had tugged at something inside of Charlotte’s mind, something that told her, This guy is different. This guy has the potential to be something more.
Shoot.
Rachel and Charlotte watched as Everett struggled with the silver packaging. Finally, impatient, Rachel grabbed the package and yanked it off, passing a full pastry to him.
A Vineyard Thanksgiving (The Vineyard Sunset Series Book 4) Page 11
