“Books aren’t meant to be in perfect shape,” she said when we reached her room. “They’re meant to be read, to be inhaled like oxygen.” Her fingers ran over the spine again, and she smiled. “This book has been breathed. It’s been loved.”
That smile alone confirmed it was the best three grand I ever spent.
Charlie
I used to love my library.
That’s what I kept thinking as I slipped inside the beautiful room later that night, dark now that the sun had set, but still cast in a warm glow from my favorite reading lamp. I hugged the copy of Anna Karenina Reese had given me to my chest, walking over to a shelf on the far-left wall that held my classics. I eyed the spines, deciding where Tolstoy’s new home would be, and I wanted to love being in that room again.
But I just didn’t.
We’d had so many rooms in the house when Cameron and I first moved in. It was just the two of us. I remembered him carrying me like a new bride through each and every room when the house was still empty. He’d set me down, my bare feet on the polished wood as he excitedly showed me where everything would go.
We’d have our master bedroom, of course, and an office for him. We were both really into fitness at the time, so we saved one of the five bedrooms for workout equipment. There was the guest bedroom, and then there was the room closest to ours, with large bay windows and a beautiful view of the sunset at night.
It became my library.
It used to be one of my favorite places in the house. I’d come up after a morning of gardening and relax in the little reading nook Cameron had built me under the window. I’d re-read old favorites and discover new ones, too. One bookshelf grew to two, which quickly multiplied into four, and before I knew it, every wall was lined with books.
I thought there was nothing I could want more in the world.
And then, I got pregnant.
My stomach dropped at the memory, and I placed the brown cloth-covered book between my well-kept editions of Wuthering Heights and The Scarlet Letter. My eyes flicked to the closet in the corner, right near the window I used to sit under, and then back to the worn spine. It didn’t feel right, that it was so beat up and yet it sat next to two practically brand new books. So, I pulled it out again, running my fingers over the gold lettering as I surveyed other options.
Cameron and I weren’t trying to get pregnant when it happened, but we weren’t trying not to, either. We were just young and happy and in love. And in the blink of an eye, we were parents-to-be.
The morning sickness and my ultra-tender breasts were my first clues, but I’d kept quiet until two little lines on a store-bought pregnancy test confirmed my suspicion. That night, I’d cooked dinner for Cameron, and served the results on our good china right next to dessert. I still remembered everything about the way he looked the moment it hit him — the pinch of his brows, his mouth falling open, and finally, his wide eyes finding mine as tears filled them to the brim.
He fell to his knees and hugged me to him, pressing his ear to my stomach, and we both laughed.
Then, we wept.
It wasn’t too long after that night that the doctor confirmed what the test had said, and then when we went to find out what the sex was, we discovered we weren’t just having one baby, but two. Twins.
Both boys.
The euphoria that existed in our home after that day was inexplainable. We’d packed up all my books and moved them into his study, transforming the room closest to ours into a nursery most would dream of. There were two high-end cribs, ones Cameron had shopped around for months for to find the best of the best, and a rocking chair in the corner with a plush rug at the feet. We had a diaper changing station, a dresser for clothes and blankets, a high-tech stereo system with baby monitor controls, and more unnecessary baby gadgets than we needed.
Cameron wanted everything to be perfect for our boys. It was like he’d finally heard his calling, like he was born with the sole purpose of being my husband, and eventually, being their dad.
I read every single baby book I could get my puffy little hands on. They taught me how to eat properly when I was pregnant, and how to breathe during the birth. There were guidelines for how to nurse, when to expect first smiles and laughs and words, and what ages to start teaching colors and numbers. I discovered the science of childbirth, the signs of postpartum depression, and the small indicators that would alert me when our babies were sick or in need.
Those books taught me everything.
Except how to live my life when the babies we were so ready for never came home.
I sniffed, tucking my new book on the far-right edge of the shelf I stood in front of, right next to Great Expectations. That was one I’d read time and time again, and its spine had the same loving wear and tear as my new addition. I stepped back to admire them together, but my eyes drifted back to the closet over time, back to the place that hid thousands of dollars in baby furniture that we no longer needed.
Cameron had rebuilt my library a few months after the day we came home empty-handed. He was always so caring like that, showing me he loved me through his actions. He wanted to bring back some of the happiness I’d lost by rebuilding the place that was once my pride and joy. But my library wasn’t the same, not after I’d seen how that room had the potential to be so much more than a home for my books.
My library wasn’t the same. But then again, neither we were.
After one last longing look at the closet, I decided Anna Karenina was right where she belonged. I straightened the spines on my science fiction shelf and let my fingers linger there, remembering when it had once been a rocking chair that stood in its place. Then, I clicked off the reading lamp, stepped out of the darkness into the glow from the hall light, and shut the door behind me.
Charlie
“So,” I said to Cameron over dinner that Friday night. We were at our small dining table, the one not reserved for entertaining guests. “I was thinking.”
His eyes were on the steak I’d cooked for him as he sliced off another bite. I waited for him to look up at me, but when he didn’t, I continued.
“It’s Friday night, and it’s been so long since we’ve gone on a date. A real date, like we used to.”
He popped the next bite of steak into his mouth, hand reaching for his water, ready to wash it down.
“I heard on the radio that there’s a wine festival going on in the city this weekend. You can buy tickets for the whole thing or just for certain events, and tonight, there’s a special tasting event featuring a bunch of the local wineries. I was thinking… maybe we could go. You know, get all dressed up and wine drunk, come home and run a hot bath together? Doesn’t that sound nice?”
I was asking my husband on a date, but you would think I was telling him I was leaving him for the way I had to swallow past the knot in my throat. I’d barely touched my meal, too nervous to eat much before asking him. Now that the question was out in the open, all I could do was take a sip of my water as I waited.
He looked so handsome that night, his strong jaw lined with a hint of stubble, his eyes a bit crinkled at the edges. He’d grown older in the years we’d been together, and it only made me want him more, getting to watch time change him, the same way it’d changed me.
We were aging together, and that was a beautiful thing to me.
“It does,” he said after a moment, and I sat up straighter, my eyes wide with hope. “It really does, Charlie. But we have that huge merger call on Monday.”
The hope inside me deflated like a pin-pricked balloon. “It’s Friday.”
“I understand that, but we’ll all be working the entire weekend to prepare. I’ve got a list of things I still have to wrap up before I can even sleep tonight, and I’ll likely be in the study most of the weekend.” He shook his head, sticking a few green beans with his fork. “I just can’t take the night off, and I can’t be hungover tomorrow, either.”
“We can go easy,” I tried. “You can drive, and I’ll
get tipsy and tear your clothes off later.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. This is a really important call.”
I pursed my lips, tongue poking into my cheek to try to stop me from reacting the way I wanted to. But it was no use. I dropped my fork to my plate, bringing my napkin to my mouth before letting it fall, too. “Is Natalia on this call?”
He paused at that, fork hovering over his plate as his eyes finally found mine. There were a million words flitting through those dark eyes of his, but he didn’t say a single one of them.
“It’s fine,” I conceded with a sigh, knowing bringing her up was unfair of me. I’d promised both myself and him that I wouldn’t do that, but sometimes it was too difficult not to. “Work is work, right?”
“I really am sorry,” he said, voice lower now. His eyes begged me for understanding, and mine begged him for love. “Maybe next weekend.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
For a while I just sat there, watching him eat the dinner I’d cooked for him, foot shaking where it hung over my opposite leg under the table. I couldn’t remember the last time we went on a date. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done anything more than exist together, and for the first time in years, it didn’t just make me sad.
It made me angry.
The longer I sat there and watched him chew, the more silence that passed between us — the more I realized I didn’t want to be silent any longer. And I didn’t want to sit still, either.
“Well,” I said when he’d finished his steak. “Since you’ll be working, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I went to this happy hour thing some of the teachers are going to, would you?”
Cameron wiped his mouth with his napkin before dropping it on his own plate to mirror mine. “Happy hour?”
I nodded. “I know it’s not really my thing, but there are a bunch of teachers going. It’d be a good chance for me to network. You know, make some friends with the faculty.”
He considered me as he stood, gathering his plate and utensils first before reaching for mine. “I don’t see why not. Like you said, would be a good opportunity for you.”
“Great,” I clipped. I stood, too, ready to storm upstairs to change, but I stopped myself, closing my eyes and forcing a breath as Cameron finished picking up my mess. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he said easily. “You cook, I clean. We’re a team, remember?” He leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to wash up and head into the study. Have fun with the other teachers. Give me a call if you need a ride home, okay?”
“Okay.”
I stood rooted to that spot until he disappeared into the kitchen. When I was alone, the anger I’d felt morphed back into sadness, and suddenly I didn’t even want to go to the stupid happy hour. But what else was I supposed to do? Sit around and watch TV? Teach Jane and Edward a new song? I shook my head, dragging myself up the stairs to change.
Maybe getting out of the house would make me feel better.
I guessed I didn’t really have any other choice but to find out.
Reese
Blake laughed at the tail end of my story as I took another swig of beer, eyes focused on the sports highlights sprawling across the TV in front of me. I didn’t keep up with sports, but it was something to watch now that I was alone in a bar. The Westchester faculty happy hour had lasted for, literally, one hour, before everyone made excuses to leave.
So, I’d picked up the phone to call my old roommate.
I’d been avoiding the phone call long enough, I figured I might as well get it out of the way with a little booze in my system.
“Well, you’re missed around here,” Blake said, still laughing. “But it sounds like you’re getting settled in just fine.”
“I am. It’s kind of weird. Feels a little like coming home and a little like starting over fresh at the same time,” I said. I went to tell another story, this time about old Mrs. Garrett who wouldn’t stop pinching my ass in the break room, but my voice faded off when I saw Charlie.
She was standing just inside the door of the bar, looking around with pinched brows as she unwrapped her scarf. Her eyes finally landed on me, and she smiled, though I would have sworn she’d been crying just moments before.
“Sorry, Blake, I have to go. I’ll text you later.”
I didn’t wait for a response before I ended the call, sliding my phone into my back pocket as I stood to wave Charlie over.
Her hair was still pulled up into a tight bun, just like it had been earlier that day when we’d had lunch together. But she’d changed into a tight pair of dark jeans and a classy, long sleeve blouse that peeked out under her ivory pea coat. Her smile was wide as she shrugged it off her shoulders, slinging it over the back of the bar stool next to mine before leaning in to hug me.
Lemonade. How did she smell like summer in the middle of January?
“You made it,” I mused, pulling her chair out for her.
“Looks like I’m the only one.” She chuckled, looking around the mostly empty bar. “Where is everyone?”
“Well, apparently I’m the only poor sucker who doesn’t have a family to rush home to on Friday night,” I teased. “Shortest happy hour in history.”
“Doesn’t surprise me with the guest list.”
This time I laughed. “Fair point. You drinking?”
Charlie eyed the bottles behind the bar, sucking her thumbnail between her teeth for just a second before she tucked her hands between her thighs with a shrug. “Oh, why not. What are you having?”
“An IPA. It’s hoppy, kind of bitter.”
“That sounds fine.”
I cocked a brow. “You sure? You could get wine, or a martini or something.”
“I can handle a beer, Reese. I did survive a Wild Walker just seven days ago.”
I threw my hands up with a grin. “Alright, alright. I was just saying you could get whatever you want and that you didn’t have to drink what I was drinking. So sassy tonight.”
She blushed. “Not sassy, just thirsty.”
“Well, we can fix that.”
I tapped my knuckles on the bar, nodding to the bartender down at the other end of the bar. “Another one when you get a sec, Walt.”
The old man saluted me, tossing a wink in Charlie’s direction as he pulled a fresh glass from the shelf. We watched him fill it from the tap, though my eyes were mostly on her rather than the beer. Once it was in front of her, I thanked Walt and held my glass up.
“Happy Friday,” I said, clinking my glass to hers.
I watched her face as she took the first sip, expecting her to grimace at the bitter hops, but she just licked the drops that were left on her lips and sat the glass down in front of her, one hand hooked around it.
“You like it?”
“It’s bitter, like you said, but I like the flavor.”
“Charlie Reid, an IPA lover. I never would have guessed.”
“Pierce,” she corrected. “You know, you’re lucky we don’t have a wrong last name jar like we have a swear jar at school. You’d be broke by now.”
Shit.
I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me with a smile.
I couldn’t get over the fact that she was in jeans. It was the first time I’d seen her not wearing a skirt since the first day of school. I tried not to check her out, to notice the way the denim hugged her thighs, or the way her blouse dipped down to show her modest cleavage with the way her posture was on the bar stool.
The woman just reminded me she was married, and I couldn’t stop staring at her like she was coming home with me. It was the kind of thoughts I’d fought against when we were younger, when her bare legs swung from where she sat on my piano, her young eyes wide as they watched me with adoration. She’d always made me feel like I was worth more than I really was, like I was the only boy to ever catch her eye at all.
I cleared
my throat, shaking the memory away. “Speaking of which, I thought you had a date tonight.”
Charlie had started to take another drink when I mentioned the date, and once the words were out of my mouth, she tilted the glass up farther, chugging down more than half her beer in one fell swoop.
There was the grimace I’d expected earlier.
She sucked a breath through her teeth, shaking out the burn from chugging as she placed her glass back on the bar. “Yeah, well, so did I.”
A strand of her hair that had been tucked into the top of her bun fell forward, and she swept it back behind her ear, not bothering to pin it up again as her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. I ached to reach for her, but reminded myself it wasn’t my place.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a moment. I wasn’t sure what else there was to say. I didn’t need to know what happened to see that whatever it was, she’d been hurt by it. And I hated seeing her that way. “Want to talk about it?”
“Honestly, I really don’t. Can you talk, instead?”
I scoffed. “Come on, don’t you know who you’re sitting next to? Can I talk…” I joked.
Charlie smiled as I jumped right into the story I was going to tell Blake about Mrs. Garrett, and before she’d even finished that first beer, I had her laughing. We ordered another round as soon as she’d polished off the one in her hand, this time opting for a citrus wheat ale from a brewery in Georgia. It went down even easier than the first beer, and before I knew it, we were four beers in. I switched to water after that, knowing I’d need to drive eventually, but Charlie ordered another round.
There was something different about her that night, and it wasn’t just her jeans. I could feel her slowly opening up to me, slowly letting me in, and the more she gave me, the more I wanted. If she offered me a smile, I begged her for a laugh. When she gave me a sentence, I pried for a paragraph.
What He Doesn't Know (What He Doesn't Know Duet Book 1) Page 7
