“And when I left…” Charlie hesitated. She’d never really talked this openly about her sex life with Sherry—it had always seemed off limits, as if their age gap made it a taboo subject.
“You kissed her.”
Charlie glanced at her sister.
“What? It’s not a surprise. Sounds like the whole day was leading up to it.”
Shaking her head with a smile, Charlie felt a small sliver of shame crawl through her at the thought of not giving her sister enough credit. “Yeah.”
“And? Then what happened?”
“Nothing. I came home and we barely spoke all week. I realized that she was avoiding me, so yesterday when I brought pies over, I called her on it.”
“What did she say?”
“She shut me right down. Said she couldn’t do this with me again and that kissing me had been a mistake.” She did her best to sound nonchalant and unaffected, even lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. See? Doesn’t matter. Didn’t hurt at all. But she felt her heart squeeze simply at the memory. Emma’s face, the determination in her expression, the hardness of her dark eyes.
“Can’t say I blame her.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Sherry sat up, slid to the edge of her chair. “Charlie. Did you hear the part about how you broke her when you left?” A few seconds passed, and then Charlie looked at her, swallowed hard, and nodded. Sherry sat back again. “If I was her BFF, I’d tell her to run as fast and as far away from you as she could.”
Wow.
Charlie swallowed again as all the words flew out of her head. She turned her gaze to the fire and said nothing, even though her head—and her heart—were full. But not of good. No, they were full of awful things. Regret, shame, sorrow, regret, sadness, depression, regret.
So much shame. So much regret. So much wishing that she could go back, do things differently.
My kingdom for a time machine.
* * *
“Did that dough do something to make you mad?” Bethany gestured to the ball Charlie was kneading—way too firmly—as she walked by with a tray of scones.
“Damn it.” Charlie scooped the dough up and tossed it in the trash where it joined that last ball she’d worked too hard and melted all the butter in. Sandy was going to fire her ass if she kept wasting ingredients like that. With a loud groan born of frustration, she started over again.
Anger and self-deprecation had simmered within Charlie since the fireside chat she’d had with Sherry on Saturday night. It was now Wednesday, and those feelings hadn’t dissipated at all. Instead, they had bubbled steadily, simmered, reminding her of the awful things she’d done, continually telling her that she was selfish. It wasn’t healthy—she knew that. She should probably find a therapist to help her deal with the self-loathing that now seemed to color every thought she had. She knew that, too. But for now, she beat pie dough into submission. Hey, it was something.
She wouldn’t call herself an overly confident person, but she did okay. She tried new things. She knew what she was capable of and was willing to step out of her comfort zone if need be, but her conversation with Sherry had stuck with her like no other in her life. She could be standing in the shower, minding her own business, and something Sherry said would suddenly echo through her skull as if she was in a cave.
I lost two sisters, thanks to you.
She’d have no choice but to sit with that for a while until she’d be blow-drying her hair and it would happen again.
And then there was Emma. You wrecked her. You know that, right?
Tipping the mixing bowl over for the third time, she rolled the dough up and began to knead, being very careful to go slowly, gently. She didn’t want to ruin this batch.
You were so selfish. You just did what you wanted to do, so you could have what you wanted to have.
She swallowed hard as her eyes welled up.
“I’m loving the idea of a flavor of the month,” Sandy said, her voice light and cheerful as she entered the kitchen. “Don’t you?”
Charlie nodded, pasted on a smile, and hoped she looked excited about Sandy’s new idea to feature one particular kind of pie every month.
“Apple was a good call for July. I’m thinking key lime for August. Something fresh and light for those humid days, yeah?”
She nodded some more, not trusting herself to actually speak words. The lump still sat lodged in her throat.
“Awesome.” Sandy squeezed Charlie’s upper arm and was off to the other side of the kitchen to make a batch of snickerdoodles. Thank God, because Charlie wasn’t sure how long she’d have been able to hold it together if she’d been forced to actually use her voice. She caught herself just before overkneading this third batch of dough, split it up, wrapped it in plastic, and tossed it in the fridge to chill while she started on the apples. Her jaw ached from clenching it, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. Sherry’s voice still spoke to her, and every time she said that one, devastating line, her head dropped a little more.
If I was her BFF, I’d tell her to run as fast and as far away from you as she could.
Charlie cleared her throat, blinked away tears, and focused on the apples.
Chapter Nineteen
“I can’t, Sabrina. For the third time.” Emma tried hard to hold on to her temper, but Sabrina had changed tacks. Now, instead of being constantly snide, she pivoted to the opposite approach and asked Emma on a date. Emma had politely declined, but Sabrina kept asking, and at this point, the continued attempts to spend time with her were starting to grate. And when she thought about that, she knew how selfishly cruel she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from that attitude. She didn’t need this today. She was already completely stressed out.
“Why not?” It was just before three in the afternoon and they were behind the bar. Thankfully, no customers were there yet. Sabrina tossed her bar rag down on the surface and folded her arms over her chest in a stance of determination.
“Because I can’t,” Emma snapped.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Look.” Emma set down the pad of paper she’d been using to keep track of her liquor order, even though Dani was out of town this week, and parked her hands on her hips. “I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want anything serious. I stressed the word casual. You said you were okay with that.”
“I did. I know. I was.” Sabrina’s expression softened just the smallest bit.
“Then what do you want from me?” Emma held her arms out to the sides, palms up.
Sabrina looked at her for a long time before tearing her gaze away, reaching behind her back, and untying her apron. “I didn’t think it was that much,” she said quietly. “But it’s obviously more than you’re willing to give.” She set her apron on the bar and gave Emma a sad smile. “Take care of yourself, Emma.”
“Wait.” Emma watched as Sabrina rounded the bar and walked across the floor toward the door. “Sabrina. Come on.”
But Sabrina didn’t look back as she pushed the door open and left EG’s, her job, and Emma behind.
The door was stopped from closing all the way by a white-sneakered foot, and then it was hauled open again, and Charlie stood there with three pie boxes in her arms, her gaze following Sabrina’s retreating form.
Oh, perfect. Just what I need.
Emma sighed, took the rag Sabrina had tossed onto the bar, and began wiping down the surface. After a moment, Charlie came in. Her approach was a little bit tentative now, Emma noticed. It had been for the past week. She used to come strolling right in. Now, it was as if she was hesitant. Unsure. Navigating a field of land mines between the door and the bar. Not quite bracing for a blow, but almost.
She had done that to Charlie.
Dani had gotten in her head, and it was a good thing, really. Right? She couldn’t risk letting Charlie in again, not after the last time. No, Dani was right. Charlie was unr
eliable and would just hurt her again. That comfort? That familiarity and warmth she felt with her? The desire to talk to her, to share her day, her ideas? She just had to ignore those things. They would get her nowhere. And they’d go away eventually. Wouldn’t they?
“Everything okay?” Charlie asked, her voice quiet, as if she was afraid she’d disturb something.
Emma sighed loudly, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the bar, not looking up. “Well, my produce order came in all wrong, my landline is on the fritz, as is my internet connection, so reservations are a mess. I don’t know where the hell the phone company is. And my bartender just quit. It’s a banner day so far.”
Charlie set the pies down on the bar. “Well, that all sucks. I’m sorry.”
She lifted her head, and it registered immediately how cute Charlie looked. She wore worn denim shorts with a frayed hem, a hole near the pocket, and what was likely a smear of batter on one leg. Her white T-shirt also had a smudge, this one on the shoulder and light blue, so Emma guessed frosting. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and it seemed like the day had fought with it because several strands had escaped and now skimmed along Charlie’s face or hung in tiny blond ringlets at the nape of her neck.
Another sigh and Emma stopped wiping as she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket. “I’m sorry. None of this is your problem.” She pulled the phone out, hit the notification on her Facebook Messenger, and squinted at the words.
It felt like everything stopped moving then.
Her lungs stopped.
Her heart stopped.
A lump formed in her throat, but she couldn’t swallow it down because her body wouldn’t move. There was no air. No sound. What the hell was she reading?
“Emma?” Charlie’s voice sounded far away, as if Emma was underwater and Charlie was calling her name from the surface. She blinked rapidly and Charlie called her name again. “Emma?”
The world came back in a rush, a whooshing sound filling Emma’s head. She was surprised to find Charlie standing right next to her behind the bar, hand on her back, eyes wide with concern.
Blinking rapidly seemed to be the only thing she was capable of in that moment, so that’s what she did. Turning her head, she met Charlie’s eyes and blinked some more, still no words, still nothing solid to hold on to. Was she drifting? Floating away, untethered? It sure felt like it. Was she a balloon?
“Sweetie? Let me see.”
She felt Charlie taking the phone out of her hand, knew she was reading the message, watched Charlie’s beautiful hazel eyes widen in…what? Shock? Disbelief? She read it a second time through, and Emma kept watching her, waiting for Charlie to explain it. To make some sense out of it. Charlie read it through one more time, then gave a nod.
“Okay. Here, come with me.” Charlie took her arm and led her out from behind the bar, through the kitchen doors. Alec looked up and his concern was instant. Same for Jules, who had just arrived, apparently, and was tying her apron around her waist. Charlie held up a hand with one finger at them, silently telling them to give her a second. They reached a small desk area in the back corner. “Sit down right here for just a second, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Emma watched as Charlie crossed the kitchen to Alec, gestured for Jules to join them. Her hands moved. Up, down, point, around. Charlie was an animated talker, talked with her hands. She always had. Emma couldn’t hear everything Charlie said. Her head still felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton. Alec nodded. Jules nodded. Alec pointed, gestured, nodded some more. Then Charlie pulled out her phone, did some typing, handed it to Alec. Alec did some typing, handed it back. Then Charlie surprised Emma—and Alec, judging by the look on his face—and hugged him.
“All right. Come on.” Charlie was back, gently pulling her to her feet. She led her out through the back door and to the steps that went up to her apartment. Emma turned to look at her, and what she saw on Charlie’s face stole what little breath remained in her lungs. Reached right in and pulled it out, that expression.
Concern.
Determination.
Love.
“Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”
She let herself be led upstairs.
* * *
Charlie had never seen Emma paralyzed before. Not as kids. Not as teenagers. Not even as college girls. Emma was always the stronger of the two of them. The one who never froze. The one who could put her emotions aside and act logically. Be practical. She’d always been the lead. Charlie was the emotion. Emma was the logic.
But paralyzed was exactly what Emma was now. She sat on the bed, a small carry-on bag on the floor at her feet, exactly where Charlie had left her twenty minutes ago when she’d run home to throw her own stuff in an overnight bag and then had sped back. Emma hadn’t moved an inch.
She had Emma’s Facebook Messenger message memorized, she’d read it so many times.
Dear Emma—
I’m so sorry to send this in a message, but I don’t have your personal phone number and I couldn’t get through on your restaurant’s number. My name is Zaya Grier and I am married to James Grier. Your father.
Charlie had gasped the first time she read it.
It breaks my heart to tell you that he passed away yesterday of a massive heart attack. I know you haven’t had any contact with him, but not a day went by when you didn’t cross his mind. He thought of you so often and he loved you very much. I have no idea if any of this matters to you. I know you have a business to run and a life, but I thought you should know. He would want you to know.
Zaya had left her number, along with the time, date, and location of the services, which were tomorrow afternoon, and Charlie knew instantly that Emma needed to go. Not just that she needed to, but that she wanted to. She had no idea how she knew this, but she did. She felt it in her heart more solidly than almost anything else. Emma needed to do this. If she didn’t, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
Emma hadn’t fought her on it. Yet. She was still in some kind of emotional shock.
“Hey,” Charlie said softly as she touched Emma’s arm. “You ready?”
“Is this a good idea?” Emma’s voice held no accusation, no anger. It just seemed like an honest question.
She took a seat on the bed next to Emma and studied Emma’s hands as she talked. God, those hands—she’d loved them so much at one time. “I think it is a good idea, yes. Because I think if you don’t go, you’re going to have so many questions and so many regrets. It’s going to be tough. That’s a given, and that’s why I’m going with you. We’ll face it together, okay?”
Charlie hadn’t taken any time at all to think about it. It never occurred to her to wonder if she was the right person to accompany Emma on this trip because she knew—somehow, some way, she just knew—that she was. Didn’t matter that she was the ex. Didn’t matter that they hadn’t parted amicably. Didn’t matter that she’d shattered Emma’s world and left her to pick up the pieces all by herself. None of that factored in. All she thought was that Emma needed to do this and she, Charlie, still knew her better than anybody.
They’d do it together.
Emma swallowed audibly, then inhaled slowly and deeply. She blinked several times as she exhaled, then turned, held her gaze, those dark, dark eyes of hers boring into Charlie’s as if searching for…something. Then Emma gave one subtle nod and said simply, “Okay.”
“Good. Uber Tom is waiting. Come on.”
They picked up their bags, locked Emma’s apartment, and headed down the stairs. Emma did a little stutter-step at the door to EG’s, but Charlie touched her on the arm.
“It’s okay. Alec has everything under control, and he has my number in case he needs anything.”
“He’s a good guy,” Emma said but hesitated still, before finally managing to pull herself away from the door and toward their waiting ride.
“He stepped right up,” Charlie said, remembering the sadness in his eyes when she’d told him what had happened and how it m
ade her wonder if he’d lost his own father at some point. She recalled how eager the sous chef had been to help and what a relief that had been. Once ensconced in the back seat and on their way to the airport, she turned to Emma. “I told Sandy what happened so I could take a couple days off, and I told my mother when I ran home.” She paused. “I didn’t contact your mom. I thought it should come from you. When you’re ready. I wasn’t sure what to say to her.” She lifted one shoulder.
Instead of freaking out, though, Emma simply nodded. “Okay. I’ll call her at some point.”
She thought Emma should call sooner rather than later, given they were headed out of town with zero warning, but she kept that to herself. Emma had enough on her plate at the moment.
They were quiet for much of the drive, looking out the window at the summer lushness of the passing green, trees in full bloom, electric blue sky, and bright, cheerful sun. It certainly didn’t feel like a death had occurred. A woodchuck sat up on the side of the road as they passed. A hawk circled overhead. And then Charlie felt it.
Emma’s hand on hers.
She turned her own hand over and entwined her fingers with Emma’s, looked at her, smiled.
“Thank you,” Emma said softly, her eyes wet.
“You’re welcome,” she said back.
Chapter Twenty
“I don’t know how you managed all of this,” Emma commented as she tossed her bag onto one of the queen beds in a hotel room in downtown Nashville. It was late, as their flight had not been a direct one, and they were both tired. “You had, like, zero time. Do you have magic powers I don’t know about?”
Charlie smiled. “Well, it has been a few years since you’ve seen me, and New York does change people…” She let the sentence dangle, glad to be at least the tiniest bit lighthearted.
“True.” Emma yawned widely, stretched her arms above her head, which made her shirt ride up just enough for Charlie to see a peek of skin.
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