Naturally, Charlie

by S. L. Scott

  He’s more than just attractive—he’s gorgeous. Is it the way his long lashes fan upward toward his eyebrows as he twists his body to make eye contact with the barman? No, not just that. Maybe it’s the way his jaw cuts under his chin, sharpening at the edge, displaying its strength for all to see.

  Maybe.

  But when he turns, looking straight back at me, I figure it out. It’s his smile and the way his eyes match his every emotion. Jim had gotten good at hiding the lies in his eyes. But this is Charlie. So, despite that I can tell he’s from money from the funeral we attended and his snooty mother, his eyes make me want to trust him.

  “What’s your story with the upper crust back at St. Bart’s?” I ask, wanting to find out all I can about this handsome man, but maybe that was a bit abrasive. “Sorry about that. I kind of lose my filter when I drink.”

  I must amuse him, because he laughs, lightly, but it’s there like he’ll answer simply to entertain me. “That’s all right. I like that you’re straightforward.”

  “Good.” I smile, feeling mischievous. “So I gather you’re a fancy pants from the Upper East Side?”

  That makes him laugh. “I was.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “No, not anymore.”

  “Sounds like a story to me. You want to tell it?” I ask, all humor gone as I lean back in my chair and take the last sip of my drink.

  He sips his Old Fashioned, but I can see the debate happening in his head, the momentary avoidance going on. I guess he decides he trusts me, because he says, “As I mentioned, I’m the black sheep of the family. I was cut off from my parents’ money years ago. They cut off some of their love for me in the process. We haven’t yet recovered from the upheaval. But that’s a story for another time.” He taps his glass against mine. “I hope to have another time to share it with you, but for now, let’s talk about you. You don’t have to, but if you want to talk about Jim, I’m here. I’ll listen.”

  No! my mind shouts. That’s my normal reaction to thinking about him, much less talking about him. I’m not comfortable in the attention focused on my past and me. I grab my water to help stave off the dryness that has overwhelmed my throat. When I set the glass down, the shock subsides. Jim’s name being said in this bar, this sanctuary that we escaped to, is disconcerting.

  I don’t blame him for being curious, though. Charlie witnessed Cherry first hand today, and something—okay, everything about him makes me want to share more than I should. I’m not surprised he’s questioning the event, so I start near the beginning, the beginning of the end, despite the turmoil I feel inside. “Jim and I were engaged—”

  Embarrassment colors his face, and his hand covers mine where it rests on the table. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about this, we don’t have to. I knew you were close, but I guessed a boyfriend, not more.”

  I continue, needing to let him off the hook and not worry about missteps in assumptions. “We weren’t when he passed.” Passed, I think, twisting the word around my tongue. It doesn’t sit well with me. Passed sounds temporary. I search for a word that makes it the most real to me. “Died. We broke up about six months ago.”

  I laugh at the irony of a fated realization. “We were supposed to be married this month. I hadn’t thought of that until now.” He watches me, intrigued. “I didn’t break us up—”

  He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “If you’re not ready to talk about this—”

  “No, it’s all right. I haven’t talked about the breakup in a long time, and his death feels new, foreign to me. He’s dead.” I repeat it more for me than Charlie. His hand is warm, and though my body is frazzled from the reality of the day, I’m calmed by his simple gesture. It feels good to have someone touch me in this way. It’s the kindest touch I’ve had in a while.

  His hand slides away too soon, leaving mine abandoned and cold once again. His expression reveals he feels he overstepped a boundary. Doesn’t he understand we’re a team now? As of today, we’re friends.

  The last drink hits me harder than expected. Several reasons come to mind. I haven’t been drinking that much in the last couple of months. My emotions are a tangled mess because of Jim’s death, and the funeral brought everything bad about Jim and our breakup to the surface.

  Charlie doesn’t interrupt the long pause in my story, letting me think and talk on my own timeline. “I haven’t talked about this . . . stuff in a while, and today was more difficult than I care to burden you with. Do you want to get some dinner? I think I should eat.”

  “Dinner would be nice.”

  As soon as we stand, he dashes forward, racing me to the bar to pay our tab. From behind, I say, “My treat. You got the cab.”

  He backs away, hands in the air, surrendering, and lets me buy the drinks.

  We’ve sprung forward with the time change, but it’s still darker than I expected. As we walk down the street, I peek at my watch.

  “Am I boring you?” he asks with a smile.

  “Quite the contrary. You interest me very much.” I automatically wink. Oh my God! I actually just winked at him. I really need to keep myself from flirting. He’s just being nice to me. I don’t want to ruin this.

  He laughs. “You interest me very much, too, Charlie.” Then he squints. “I’m not going to wink, though, because I won’t look half as good as you did when you winked.”

  I hit him on the arm. “You’re not supposed to call a girl out on her idiocies.”

  “You’re not an idiot, but you are entertaining.”

  “Changing the topic to anything other than this one. Hey look, it’s dark outside. I didn’t expect that.” It’s seven-thirty, and I’m kind of shocked how the time flew. “I knew I was hungry, and now I see why.”

  He smiles, and we see an old-school Italian restaurant coming up on our left. He says, “Hey, I’ve eaten here before. It’s fantastic. Do you mind Italian?”

  “I could eat Italian every night.” His enthusiasm is contagious, but that he let that embarrassing conversation and wink go is full-on attractive. He’s quite the gentleman.

  Our table is quaint and very traditional in its appearance. We order our food and both stick to water. He still holds my complete interest as I sit across from him. His eyes reveal what he tries to hide from most.

  “He cheated on me,” I say, picking up where I feel comfortable. His lips separate in surprise of my admission. “He cheated and then broke up with me.” I look at the checkered tablecloth and run my finger down a red line, then back up a white line. “I wish I had been the one to do it . . . but—” I shake my head, letting him know that I’m done talking about it tonight.

  She fascinates me. The way she speaks, the words she chooses, she’s different. Charlie shakes her head. She can’t go on with her story, and I’m not going to push. I offer her a breadstick, and she happily accepts, eating it in place of talking.

  Time passes, but I don’t rush it. The silence doesn’t bother me. It gives me time to think—to sort out what I’m doing with this woman, what I’m feeling for her. By the way my heart is clenching, I can tell I’m not going to figure this out in one day. She’s much too complicated for that and intriguing, and damn beautiful.

  She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. She’s vulnerable and soft. Yes, she’s been hurt, broken, but I don’t need to fix her. There’s a lot of determination in her small frame, and I have no doubt she’ll mend her own heart, without relying on others to perform the task. After spending five hours with her, I just hope I can be there for the journey.

  She asks about my work, and though she asks all the right questions, she seems distant. I’m not surprised. It’s been a rough day for both of us. As we eat, I see lights of a happier life spark from within her. She’s had a good life with a few bumps.

  When our plates are cleared, panic rises. I don’t want this to end. How can I justifiably keep her near me longer, though? I’m ready for this day to end, but I’m definitely not ready to let her go.


  She breaks my train of thought. “Today has been one of the longest of my life. I’m so ready for it to be over.”

  “I was just thinking the exact opposite.”

  “Really?” she asks as she rubs her hand over her stomach.

  I shrug. “Yeah, there’s been some, um, sad parts, but you’ve made it a lot better.”

  Her eyes are a bit glassy from the alcohol, but she’s held her liquor well. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  “Do people treat you poorly?”

  “You tend to answer questions with a question. Did you know you do that?”

  “It’s a distraction technique. It’s also a bad habit I fall back on when I find someone so fascinating that I need to know more.”

  She smiles with a giggle. “Now that’s a someone I’d like to hear more about.”

  “Maybe one day.”

  “All right. One day then.”

  I buy dinner without any fight for the tab this time. She’s wearing down, tired. Lifting her coat from the back of her chair, I stand to assist.

  Out on the sidewalk, she seems more serious, even a little sad. “Thank you for today. I couldn’t have done it without you.” She pauses to choose her words carefully. “It was bearable, better, with you there. Thank you.” Leaning up, she wraps her arms around my neck in a full embrace, an embrace shared between people who are more than mere acquaintances. But I don’t argue, because it feels real. I’m hoping we are, too.

  Feeling her soft hair against my cheek, I slide my arms around her. In this moment, the death of my aunt hits my heart, making it ache, and I feel my body shake from the loss. Grace was the last person I hugged—the last person who hugged me before Charlie.

  She now holds me with the knowledge that this isn’t just for her. I feel the warmth of her inner sunshine against me, soothing me from the outside.

  “I guess it’s been a longer day than I thought,” I say.

  She sighs, mirroring my own emotions, then peeks over my shoulder and down the street. I turn my head just enough to see the taxi she’s eyeing. Stepping back from her, I wave my arm to signal it over. As it pulls to the curb, I look to her, expecting the typical awkwardness present between two people in a new relationship or getting to know each other, but it’s not there.

  “Thank you for going with me.” I stumble over my words, feeling the end coming too fast. “I’d like to hang out again sometime.”

  She jokes, “When’s your next funeral?” A small smile flickers across her mouth, but it doesn’t hold.

  I laugh. She’s clever. “Maybe we could hit a wedding next time.”

  It’s her turn to laugh now. “Yeah, maybe something lighter would be a nice change.” She asks the next question like she’s wanted to all day. “Are you going to see Rachel again?” Her face reveals her doubts, but she doesn’t show signs of regret for asking.

  I like that.

  I chuckle to myself. “You’re asking me instead of your friend?”

  “We’re friends, right?”

  “Yes, I guess we are.” I angle my head, trying to figure her out. It’s a wasted effort. I imagine I could spend a year straight with her and still not understand everything going on in her head. “We decided we were better as friends. She didn’t tell you?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Embarrassment colors her cheeks, or maybe it’s the alcohol. “I didn’t ask her on purpose.”

  Interesting. “Why not?”

  She lifts her eyes up to meet mine, and I can feel her hesitation to say too much, though she doesn’t seem to hold back. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer. She’s usually so open with how her dates go, but with you, she didn’t say anything.”

  Her words don’t relieve me. They stress me. She’s seeking the truth from me, but I don’t know if she’ll believe it when she hears it.

  “It was mutual. The ‘It’ factor wasn’t there. She’s a great girl—”

  “For someone else?”

  “Honestly, yes, for someone else.” I hold eye contact with her, hoping she sees the sincerity, the truth there. Then I reach, grabbing at anything that will give me more time with this beautiful woman. “Would she disapprove of us being friends?”

  She moves toward the cab as I open the door for her, wishing she would stay longer. She doesn’t look at me, but stops momentarily in thought before she slides into the waiting car. Her pause makes me nervous and hopeful that she’s considering her options.

  “I don’t know, Charlie.” She looks up at me. “I’d like to be friends with you, but I don’t want to hurt my friend in the process. I don’t have many these days.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, because she’s doing the right thing, her loyalty admirable. I know this deep down, and it says a lot about the person she is. I’ve already argued my best points, so I have to trust this is meant to be.

  “I’ll talk to Rachel,” she says.

  “Please do. I have a good feeling about us.” I question my sanity for being so amiable.

  “So do I.” She smiles and says, “Thanks again. Maybe we’ll run into each other sometime soon.” After a quick wave of her hand, the door closes. I see her mouth good-bye through the smudged glass of the window as the car starts to pull away.

  Her last name. Shit! I don’t know her last name. I feel panic building inside and run after the cab.

  “Wait! What’s your last name?” But it’s too late. The taxi is too far, and I stop, muttering a pathetic, “Good-bye, Charlie.”

  I catch a cab and call it a night. I’m too drained to make any appearances on the social scene tonight.

  By morning, the previous day feels ancient and out of place in my mind. The low of my great-aunt’s funeral mixed with the high of being with Charlie makes it hard for me to tuck the day neatly away in my mind. I pace my apartment, worrying and thinking about Rachel’s reaction and that I might not see Charlie again. Rachel seems to hold all the cards concerning my future, and I don’t like my fate resting in another’s hands.

  I should’ve gone with my instincts that first night at the bar, but opportunity and reality seem to collide regularly in my world. I went with reality, and hey, I like Rachel, just not romantically. Like Charlie said, she’s a great girl . . . for someone else.

  When I look at the fact, I might have wrecked that relationship on purpose, but why? I didn’t know if I was ever going to see Charlie again. By the way she darted from the club that first night, I didn’t think she wanted to see me again. Ugh! I’ve got to get out of this place. My nerves feel like they’re crawling under my skin, itching in anxiety.

  I grab my jacket out of habit from the preceding cold months of winter and jog down the several flights to the street. I feel better avoiding the confined space of my apartment—for now anyway. I walk with no particular purpose. The fresh air clears my head, allowing me the space to think about my redhead.

  I’m happier than I remember being in a long time. Life is just better when you have some sunshine in your life.

  Chapter 8

  I didn’t want to get in that cab, and I didn’t look back in fear that I might make the driver stop and that would lead to bad things. Things like looking into Charlie’s eyes, then grabbing him by his sexy jaw, which was covered with light scruff, and kissing him. I roll my eyes at my ridiculousness, then close them, relaxing into the vinyl and indulging in the fantasy a moment longer.

  As our lips get acquainted, I would hold onto his shoulders, his muscular shoulders that are straight and strong. I’d let his hands wander my sides. My breathing deepens at the thought. It’s almost as if I can feel his hands on me, up and down, over my ribs and down the curve of my waist to my hips where his fingers grip me even tighter.

  My head drops back as my mouth falls open. His lips leave a wet trail across my face leading to my neck, his breath on my skin awakening every nerve from its hibernation. I feel his thumb caress the side of my breast, tentative, testing. My own breathing is harsher and unsteady
under the pleasure.

  “Miss? Miss!”

  My eyes flash open. I drop my hands from my neck and sit straight up, horrified—or would that be hornified?

  “We’re here,” the driver says.

  I shake off the silly thought and look out the window as if I need verification of what he’s told me. My building. Yes, we’re here. “Oh, sorry. How much is it?”

  “Fifteen seventy-five.”

  I grab a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to him. “Keep the change.” I’m so embarrassed I was caught fantasizing that all I want is to get out of this car as fast as possible, which I do.

  Once inside my place, I lean against the door. My body is still warm with little tingles sprinkling across my skin in places I haven’t felt in a while, places that have been ignored for too long. I release a deep breath and try to shake myself out of this crazy daydream. The liquor in my system makes me dizzy, so I pause as it rushes back to my head then I start to walk.

  Yeah, it’s just the alcohol making me think craziness like this. Charlie’s from Jim’s world. I’m sure there are more similarities than differences, and I don’t think I can put my heart at risk to prove my head wrong.

  I hang my coat in the closet and kick my heels off when I enter my room, working my way to the bathroom and tossing my dress onto my bed.

  After brushing my teeth, I slip off my bra before pulling a tank top over my head. When I climb into bed, I realize it’s not that late, but I’m exhausted. Switching on the television, I relax into the mattress with a cooking show playing in the background. Recounting the day is interesting, as Charlie’s face fills every moment worth remembering. He was a bright spot in an otherwise dark day.

  Thinking back to Jim’s funeral, it could have been awful, even more awful than the fact that I was actually attending his funeral. The stares, the whispers—I heard it all. I saw them all gawking at me like I did something wrong, like I was the one who cheated on him. That’s Cherry’s doing. She’s woven her web of lies and used me as her tarnished-halo-wearing son’s scapegoat. She can’t have the truth come out about someone in her family, much less her picture-perfect son. He wasn’t all bad as a person—I did fall in love with him, after all—but he wasn’t all good either.