by S. L. Scott
When I get closer, I see a group of women with his book in hand. I sigh, frustrated that there is a crowd already gathered, and briefly wonder if these women are professional stalkers. I lift my chin and walk toward the group, wanting to get a primo spot so he’ll see me. The fan-girls are serious about maintaining their current positions, though, and I discover they aren’t afraid to elbow me to keep it.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I mumble, irritated. Talking to myself is something I’ve started doing in the last year. It’s quite embarrassing, but whatever. I can’t worry about that right now. I have a Charlie to track down, to stalk.
The bookstore’s side door flies open, and two women walk out, directing the crowd to back away from the car. Then, like a celebrity, he walks out. Charlie. I hear a collective swoon, including my own.
His body language shows his discomfort in the situation. His head is down, and he’s focused on the car door that’s open for him.
When the crowd starts calling his name, he looks up, all shy and a lot gorgeous, and smiles.
This is it!
“Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!” I scream, trying to be the loudest of the Charliegirls.
He doesn’t respond, and suddenly images of flinging myself on top of the car come to mind. That’s absurd . . . right? Yes, I nod. Totally ludicrous. I need an immediate and very different tactic. I jump in the air, which isn’t very high, and yell again. “Charlie! Charlie? It’s me, Charlie!”
He’s just about to duck into the car, but stops and looks up.
“Charlie!” I call his name one more time and hold the rabbit’s foot into the air. I grip his book to my chest and pray he can see the lucky charm even if he can’t see me among his fans.
Suddenly everyone goes quiet, and I hear him say, “Charlie, is that you?”
My heart stops when I hear his dulcet tones calling me. I jump up once. “That’s me! I’m here.”
Then, like Moses parting the Red Sea, my Charlie parts the groupies, and he’s standing there with his hand out toward me and smiles. “Come here.”
My body responds, and I’m there, standing in front of him in pink, cupcake-covered pajamas and smelling like pizza. Thank goodness my coat hides my unfortunate outfit choice. I pat down my hair, feeling where it’s matted, but try to be as presentable as possible for my declaration.
He takes my hand and pulls me closer as he backs up toward the car. “What are you doing here?”
I can’t help but feel encouraged hearing the hope in his voice.
My cheeks heat under his gaze, a gaze I can confidently call adoring. I gulp, praying my knees don’t buckle. “You didn’t sign the book for me.”
Looking between us, he sees the book, and a look of disappointment colors his handsome face. “Oh. Yeah, I can do that.” His hands drop to check his pockets, and he says, “I don’t have a pen.”
“And I’m sorry.” I blurt the words.
His eyes crinkle at the corners in confusion. “You’re sorry I don’t have a pen?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’m sorry about that, too, but really, Charlie, I’m sorry I’m always apologizing to you because I screw up so much. My head gets clouded and my past was holding me back, but I came here tonight with hope. I read some of your book, and you wrote about us. I was late and I was told it was sold out and I couldn’t come in and then the lady with little glasses threatened to call security on me so I had to leave the line and—”
“Wait! Hold up.” He throws his hands up between us, so I shush immediately. “You read some of the book, and now you’re here because you want me to sign it?”
“I read some of it, the beginning. I just started reading an hour ago and . . .” I want to clear the air and start over, so I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “I came here because you wrote about us. This is us in here. Our story,” I say, tapping the book.
He nods as he backs us to the car. Considering he’s giving me all his attention, the groupies lose interest and start to leave. I mentally celebrate this small victory, because I’m the last woman standing.
“Yes, it is,” he says. He looks away, but when his eyes return to mine, he smiles.
“My life was off-kilter, but you got me back on track. I was dropping toothbrushes in toilets and missing my subway stop and you loved me!”
By his expression, I’m assuming he’s trying to interpret my ramblings. “Off-kilter? Charlie, what are you talking about?”
“Do you still love me?” I ask.
He ponders the question, but not for long. Looking shy, his eyes meet mine, and he whispers, “Yes.”
“I love you, too.” The words escape me, loud and happy, as I squeeze his hand.
“You do?”
“Yes! You’re my everything, too.”
His bright eyes melt me as he quickly pulls me against him. Rubbing the back of his hand gently across my cheek, he repeats barely above a whisper, “My everything.” His eyes stay on me as his hand slips to the back of my head. “I want to kiss you.”
“I want that, too. I know I’m laying all of this on you at once, but I want you to kiss me so very much.”
“If I kiss you, this will be real. No more running.”
I lean into him, getting even closer, because this is it. This is when our future begins. “It was always real. I was just too blind to see it.”
His fingers weave into the back of my hair as he draws me forward. “This is your last out. Are you sure?” he asks. His minty breath fans across my face.
“Positive. Now, seal it with a kiss.” I stare straight into his eyes so he can see how much I want this, how much I’m ready for us to begin. He leans in, closing his eyes, but I stop him abruptly, “Wait!”
He jerks back, startled. Confusion and sadness appear.
“I want to kiss you, but I have a cold,” I say. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
He chuckles. “A cold couldn’t keep me from kissing you right now.” Grabbing me, he kisses me with every bit of passion and every ounce of need he possesses. The kiss is intense, and our lips aren’t tentative. This kiss is comforting and yet makes me tingle down to my toes, like we were always meant to do this.
Leaning back, he smiles proudly. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
I perk up even more. “I like the sound of that.”
Laughing, he takes my hand again, and leads me to the car. “I see you dressed up for my book launch.” I playfully punch his arm, and he feigns pain where my fist lands. “You’ve still got a mean right jab, too. Have you been working out?”
“I’ve had some time on my hands.”
We both slide into the back of the car, holding hands, fingers entwined and bonded. I’m smiling so big, because this is different. This is us, the same us as before, but better. This is us, knowing what we’re getting into and going into it with open eyes and open hearts. This is love. I will cherish this. I will cherish us, because everything that’s happened in our lives has led us to this true love—friends, lovers, everything, the whole heart and soul kind of love. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“Better believe it.” He’s confident. “You know, Ms. Barrow, now that I have your love and your full undivided attention, I may never let you go.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. A giggle escapes because I’m a girl and I’m in love, and though it’s not the first time, I know it will be the last. I kiss him because I can, and then I straddle him in the back of the Town Car for that exact same reason.
I hold his face and kiss him all over—his eyelids, nose, forehead, cheeks, and his wonderfully welcoming lips.
Leaning back to look into his happy blue eyes, I say, “Oh, and I still want my book signed.”
“I think I might be able to do that for you.” He rubs my cheek again. “I’m craving cupcakes.”
I giggle. “I might be able to help you out there.” I sigh, happy. “I’m so glad I finally came to my senses, but you, you knew all along. You wr
ote our love story. You knew we were always meant to be, didn’t you?”
He kisses me long and slow then leans back, resting his head on the back of the seat while looking at me with that smuggy smile I love so much. He easily replies, “Naturally, Charlie.”
Epilogue
I’ve often wondered over the last three years what would have happened if Jim hadn’t cheated on Charlie. Would they have gotten back together if he hadn’t died? Would they have gotten married and had children?
I realize these thoughts cross my mind because I love her so much. My life wouldn’t be what it is if she wasn’t in it. Without her, I wouldn’t be a married man, a successful writer of love stories, or a man determined to start a family because the world needs more of her in it.
Looking across the garden, she delightfully leads a group of ten elementary students in their art lesson. She uses her hands to demonstrate how to hold the paintbrush comfortably, and how much pressure to apply to the paper in front of them. With a large flourish of her brush in the air, she smiles and tells them to start painting.
Charlie quit her job at the auction house when we got into the developmental stage of the gardens. The Creative Coalition was her concept, and I wanted her to be a part of every decision. She was thrilled and thankful to be included. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She catches me watching her, but that’s nothing new. It’s hard to take my eyes off her. Against a backdrop of blooming rose bushes, her cheeks turn the prettiest pale pink when she smiles and sends a small wave my direction. Her yellow dress is bright and happy, just like her. Like today, from the moment I met her, she’s been my own personal sunshine, and I revel in her rays.
That kiss after my book signing was a promise. From then on, we’ve been together. As clichéd as it sounds, those six months we spent apart gave her the chance to finally deal with Jim’s legacy of betrayal and guilt. As much as I wanted to stay by her side, I became a barrier to her in dealing with her trust issues. Without me there, she could do what I couldn’t—heal her broken heart. Although it hurt my own heart to let her walk away that August, it was best for her.
I thought about her all of the time. I picked up my phone to call her at least three times every day, but I would set it down again, knowing she had to make the next move. The hard part was not knowing if she ever would.
She did. Thankfully.
Today, I sit in the garden of the nonprofit organization we started last year, which introduces the humanities to underprivileged children. The kids go on field trips to museums and the New York Public Library in Manhattan. They volunteer at local charity organizations to learn compassion, and take a variety of courses such as writing, painting, and sculpting free of charge.
Grace left me twenty-five million dollars. My family was livid that I got the bulk of her estate, but they were more shocked that she left the remainder of her money to the New York City Department of Education to be used to continue the in-school art program she supported while she was alive.
Charlie and I used eleven million of it to buy a condemned building for the land and the lot next door. It was torn down, but we utilized the existing foundation to support a smaller eco-friendly, two-story building that houses our offices and three classrooms. We turned the remainder of the land, including the vacant lot, into a large green space christened Grace’s Garden. We wanted to build something beautiful among the dilapidated surroundings and I think we succeeded.
“How are you?” I ask as Charlie sits down next to me on the bench.
“I love being here.” She takes a deep breath. “I love this program and the kids and the hope I see in their eyes. I love,” she says, turning to look me in the eyes, “you. Thank you for loving me.”
“You’re thanking me for loving you?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I guess I am thanking you for loving me.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” I chuckle.
She stands and looks around. “I need to confirm the trip to MoMA for next week. Will you cover the class for me?”
Standing up, I salute her. “Consider it covered.”
Walking over to the class, I think about my family and how much has changed. My mother has visited the gardens several times, even bringing my dad for a picnic once. She likes it here, and she likes Charlie. She once told me she was happy I’d found someone who loved me for me and not my money. We both knew that was as close as she would get to admitting she was wrong for pushing her social agenda on me. Deep down, I know she respects that I stood by my beliefs.
But it pleased both my parents and Charlie when I finished my degree just over a year ago. I went to school while the Coalition was being built. I have a degree now but not in business like my parents wanted. I earned my Bachelor of Arts in English. I did it for me this time.
My mom recently came to our apartment with three copies of my latest book for me to sign. She was giving them to friends and was proud that I’d made my way on my own. She didn’t apologize for not supporting me years ago, but we’re in a good place these days. I consider that progress in rebuilding our relationship.
Approaching the class from behind, I clap my hands together once to get their attention. “How’s everyone doing on their paintings?”
“My rose looks like a turtle, Charlie.” Julian is nine and bright as can be, but painting may not be his forte.
I stand behind him, analyzing the lines and overall picture. “I like the detailing, but it might look like a turtle because of the colors you chose. Close your eyes and imagine your rose in red or orange or yellow, instead of green and brown. Doesn’t look like a turtle in those colors.”
“So color matters? Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll add some red.” He gives me a high-five and a smile. I start to move to the next student, but he stops me. “Charlie?”
“Yes?” I ask, squatting down next to him.
“I’m not really into this painting stuff, but I liked that writing class we did last month.”
“Then you should take the next level. You have a way with words. I think you’re a talented writer.”
“My mom doesn’t have much money—”
“Don’t worry about that. Like the other courses, we’ll cover all of the expenses for you. You just need to promise me that you’ll work hard and show up on time.”
“Deal,” he says. His smile is huge and contagious.
I still can’t believe this is real. Grace would be so proud. Mrs. Lackey would be proud of her matchmaking skills, too. Little did she know that her funeral would make the woman of my dreams a reality.
A little over one year ago, I was worried that Charlie sensed a setup. Not to discount my romantic ways, but a picnic in the middle of the workday felt like a setup even to me. The calm of today makes me laugh, remembering that special afternoon.
I secretly arranged for her to have the rest of the afternoon off from work. How would I know that her department would receive the consignment from a private collector in Maine today?
So, Charlie is anxious and a little hesitant to take me up on my lunch offer when I call her that morning. Luckily, I can be persuasive.
I show up a few minutes early and wait downstairs for her.
“Hey handsome.”
“Hey pretty girl.” I kiss her, having wanted to do that all morning.
“We’re having a picnic?” She eyes the bag in my hands.
“Yep, seems like a very couple-y thing to do.”
“It’s March and kind of chilly outside for a picnic, don’t you think?”
I take her hand in mine. “We have each other to keep us warm.”
“Awww, I love your sappy side, Charlie,” she says, poking me in the ribs. “But you’re right. We do have each other.” As she leans her head on my shoulder, I wrap my arm around her back, and we start walking west.
“Central Park?”
“No, the library.”
I can see the excitement in her eyes, and she smiles, pleased with this idea.
“I want to eat over here.” I lead her to the left of the front doors, past Patience the lion to the Beauty fountain.
She stands there looking a little confused, so I start talking. “I need to tell you something, Charlie, and thought this place was right for us.”
“We’re not here for lunch?”
“We are. We’re here for lunch. Are you hungry?” She’s hungry. Of course she is. Maybe I should sort the food out first. No, I can’t. I need to do this, and then we can eat.
“Yes. It is lunchtime.” I know she can tell something’s off with me, because she’s wary. I can hear it in her tone.
I kiss her cheek. “I’ll try not to drag this out then.” Dropping the bag to the ground, I climb up on the lowest ledge below the fountain. “I wanted to bring you here because this,” I say, signaling behind me to the lavishly carved marble statue, “is considered the epitome of beauty. But she pales in comparison to you. That first day, that first contact we made on the train, changed me forever. The girl of my dreams ran right into me, and I mistakenly let her go.” I sit down, and she moves closer.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” she asks. Her eyes are equally concerned and thrilled.
I take a deep breath, wanting this to be right, wanting this to be perfect, but I’m not perfect, so I stumble through my unrehearsed speech the best I can. “I made my second huge mistake that night when I let you walk out of that club. I felt the spark with you, the one that people brag about—a pull, an attraction. I knew you were the one, and I let you walk away from me again.” I slip off the ledge and take her hands in mine. “I’m sorry I relied on fate instead of destiny back then.”
She’s shaking her head as tears fill her eyes. “We both did. I walked out of the club feeling that magic, too, and I still left. You knew after that night, when it took me so long to figure it all out. Jim was always my fate, but you, you Charlie, are my destiny.”
