A Charm Like You

by Sharla Lovelace

  “I just got played by my husband of ten years, Thatcher,” I said, rising to my feet. “Someone I thought could never surprise me, shock me, hurt me. Someone who promised forever and then vomited that all over me, took my home, my pride, my everything.”

  “And you wake up every morning and let him do it again,” he said quietly.

  I physically stepped back, the metal chair scraping on the floor as my calves pushed it with me. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. After—after everything—after—

  “Excuse me?”

  “You give him that power,” he said.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I seethed. “How dare you—”

  “What?” he asked, rising from his seat. “How dare I what? Speak the truth? Gabi, you’re so terrified of being comfortable, of enjoying something real, that you’re sabotaging your own life.”

  My eyes filled with angry tears. “And why on earth would it scare me, huh? When the men I trust keep betraying me!”

  “Her real name is Gabi,” someone whispered near me, and I blinked the tears free and looked around, sucking in a breath as I remembered we weren’t alone.

  I laughed bitterly and gestured in a wide circle. “Touché.”

  “What, you’re lumping me in with that asshole?” Thatcher said, his body looking spring-loaded. “How have I betrayed you? By saying your name in a group of people who couldn’t care less? Names aren’t weapons.”

  “By pretending to be my friend, and then using everything I told you against me,” I said, my words choking on the end. “You want to know why I don’t let myself get comfortable? Because people like you worm their way into my heart and then break it.”

  Half-blinded by the hot anger swimming in my eyes, I reached down for my wristlet and keys, and snatched Thatcher’s jacket off my chair, throwing it at him. I didn’t wait to see if he caught it, I just needed as far away from him, from these nosy eyes, from the whispers behind my back as possible.

  “That’s who you’re falling for?” I heard Veronica ask as I reached the door.

  “Honey, do yourself a favor,” Aspen’s soft voice chimed in. “Let that little bird keep flying.”

  A painful laugh escaped my throat as I slammed the door behind me. Fuck them. Fuck them all. I didn’t need this, or him, or anything. I went eight months or so of friendship with Micah before ever laying eyes on her brother or my business partner. We could go back to that, and just be cordial when life dictated we be in the same place.

  I heard the door open and boots on the wooden walkway when I opened my car door.

  “Gabi!”

  I turned to slide inside, and saw his profile in the doorway. It was good that I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t want to. I’d said I was done with men, and I stupidly went there anyway. No more. I was over it.

  “Go to hell, Thatcher.”

  I closed my door and drove away, not looking back.

  * * * *

  I couldn’t go home, whatever that was. On the very remote off chance that Thatcher decided to chase me down, I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t have more of this conversation. I couldn’t—do any of it.

  Drew took one look at me, sat me down on the couch in her trailer, and handed me a glass of wine and a spoon. We curled up, knees to knees, and ate double chocolate chunk ice cream out of a carton and sat in silence till I was ready to speak.

  “You know that ugly brown music box that you were eyeing the other day when we were arranging crap?” I said, finally. “The one Bart’s mom gave me?”

  “It’s not ugly,” she said around a giant bite. “It’s eclectic.”

  “It’s ass-ugly.”

  “You have no taste,” she retorted.

  “Well, you can have it,” I said. “Since you are clearly the cultured one.”

  “Thank you,” she said, clinking my spoon with hers. “I’ll be sure to put it right here on the coffee table so you can enjoy it every time you come over.”

  “You would do that,” I said, nodding.

  “Totally.”

  I sighed, setting my glass down, the ice cream suddenly too sweet in my stomach.

  “I almost had sex with Thatcher the other night.”

  Drew let a few seconds pass. “After Rojo’s?”

  “Yep.”

  “Am I supposed to be surprised?” she said. “Why just almost?”

  “We got interrupted by Jackson banging on the door,” I said. “And opening it.”

  “You couldn’t yell at him to go away?” she asked, digging for another spoonful.

  “We were kind of on the door he was pushing open.”

  Drew looked up with widened eyes. “Hot,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  “It can’t happen anymore,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “This again? Gabi, why are you so hell-bent against having a good time with this guy?”

  “I wasn’t!” I said. “I mean, I was. And that night I didn’t stay, I left, because—I don’t know, it got real, and I wigged out, and then moving day came and—”

  I had to stop. Everything was swirling and tainted and painful about that, now.

  “And what?” she asked.

  “I—I kind of lost it in the baby’s room,” I said. “Saying goodbye—”

  “Oh, Gabi,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have closed the shop or had Dad take over, and came to help you.”

  “No,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I wasn’t alone, I had Micah. And Thatcher.” I closed my eyes and let a long breath go. “He got me through it.” My eyes filled again. Damn it, that needed to stop. “I let him get me through it.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “And?”

  “And tonight was group and I’d decided it was going to be all sex all the time, and no more feelings, and he used everything I told him to make a big point in front of everyone,” I gushed.

  “What point?” she asked.

  “He said that I’m giving Bart power every day because I won’t take a chance.” I waved my hands. “Or something like that. I don’t know, my head exploded about that time so it’s all kind of foggy.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So, big brother Roman doesn’t just want sex.”

  “Oh, hell no,” I said. “That’s just steak, and he wants potatoes and salad.”

  Drew squinted. “What?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does,” she said.

  I met her eyes, and swiped under mine. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve made this big case about Micah and the business, but you haven’t said one word about that,” she said. “But you’re sitting here crying and upset because he hurt your feelings tonight.”

  “It all goes together,” I said, not liking the turn my brain was picking up on.

  “Not really.”

  “Drew, I didn’t come over here to—”

  “You’ve caught feelings,” she said, “and so has he, and that scares the shit out of you.”

  All the air in my lungs felt like it was syphoned out with a turkey baster.

  “You—you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I breathed.

  “Gabi, I do,” Drew said, her own dark eyes misting over. “I run from that, myself. I know the look.”

  I blinked new tears free. “I’ve known him for all of two weeks,” I said. “And really only one. You don’t fall in love in a week.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But your heart can’t hurt like yours is right now unless it joined the party. And just watching the two of you fake it the other night—sure looked like his had, too.”

  My phone buzzed from my pocket, and for about a tenth of a second, I wished it was Thatcher. It wasn’t.

  “Hey, Carmen,” I said, a little concerned. Carmen wasn’t one to call me
at nearly nine o’clock at night, and knowing they’d been out of town my first thoughts were either that there had been an accident or that something was wrong with Lanie. “What’s up?”

  “Hey,” she said, her voice sounding odd. “I’m sorry it’s so late. We just got back in town and Sully went straight over to check on Bailey. He hasn’t been answering his phone. He doesn’t always, but—but I had this weird feeling—”

  I frowned. “Carmen, what’s wrong?”

  “Mr. Bailey is dead,” she said, her voice shaking. “Sully found him.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  My mind reeled, and Drew looked at me, concerned. I was speechless, and not sure why. Like my long lost great uncle had died that I didn’t know and yet suddenly knew intensely. I’d just seen him in the park, not even a week ago. I mean, he wasn’t some spring chicken, but he didn’t look ready to die, either.

  And to die alone.

  “Oh my God, Carmen,” I said. “How is Sully?”

  “He’s—I don’t know, he’s still there,” she said. “He’s with the ME, and told me to stay home and call everyone.” I could hear the tears in her voice, and the awkwardness as well. “So, I’m calling everybody I can think of, and Lanie’s asleep but I talked to Nick. Bailey wasn’t close to anyone but Sully, and had no family, so—God, why do I feel so gutted?”

  “I know, I hear you,” I said, clutching my stomach. “I feel really—like it’s personal. I mean, I lease the flower fields from him, but I only just met him last Saturday.”

  “What?”

  “Last Saturday,” I repeated. “I saw him at the park. By the gazebo.”

  “That’s not—I don’t think that’s possible,” Carmen said.

  Not possible? It was as real as the donuts I’d been holding that I went straight home and inhaled.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he was bedridden except for a wheelchair,” she said. “Sully went to see him to check if he needed anything before we left three weeks ago, and he said the ME is roughly estimating he’s been gone about that long. Just off of the state of the body. Sully said it’s—it’s bad.”

  “No, that can’t be right,” I said, standing. “I’m not kidding, Carmen, I talked to him in the park last week. And—hold on, Lanie said she talked to him there, too! I think it was the week before. He told her she looked radiant. He told me to keep the faith, that I’d get what I want eventually, or something like that.”

  “Did you touch him?” she asked. “Because sometimes touching him can make you think things—”

  “Nope,” I said. “In fact, he wouldn’t let me.”

  She sighed over the phone. “I don’t know what to say until I talk to Sully more, but he said something about a folder and tomorrow, so I guess I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  We hung up, and Drew gave me an exasperated look. “Drop a girl a bone, will you?”

  “Mr. Bailey,” I said.

  “The old man in the woods who owns the town?”

  I met her eyes. “He died.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You look weirded out,” she said. “I didn’t think you knew him other than wiring payments.”

  “I don’t,” I said, sitting back down. “I didn’t. Until—the other day. I don’t know, it’s all so bizarre.” I looked at her. “Drew, can I spend the night on your couch? I don’t want to go to the shop.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

  “I know I could go to Mom and Dad’s and have a whole room to myself and feel safe, but that would come with so many—”

  “Questions,” she finished, nodding. “Yeah, no way. I get that. It’s why I lived out of my car for the first month I was back, before I got that first apartment.”

  I frowned, my disturbed thoughts derailed by her words.

  “What?”

  She stopped and looked at me. “Shit, sometimes I forget that you were younger then and I didn’t tell you things.”

  “I don’t remember you living in your car.”

  “That’s because no one knew,” she said, disappearing into her bedroom. Coming back out with a thick blanket and a fluffy pillow, she deposited them next to me. “I couldn’t afford the apartment yet, and I wasn’t about to go under interrogation.” She shook her head. “Not then.”

  I leaned forward. “Why did you come back?” I asked, thinking it was now or never on that answer. We were actually sharing for once, and if she was ever going to tell me, it was now. “What happened?”

  Drew kept walking, checked the thermostat, put up the ice cream, grabbed her wine glass and rinsed it in the sink, all before she turned back to me and sank onto a chair.

  She gave a sad smile. “A story for another time, okay? There’s enough crazy going on tonight.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, picking up the blanket and spreading it on the couch. “There’s certainly that.”

  “And little sister?” she called over her shoulder as she toted a basket of dirty clothes to her little mini washer.

  “Yes?”

  “Our conversation isn’t over,” she said. “So what if he’s a Roman, so what if he’s part of Wild Things? So what if he spilled a few beans tonight in a fit of frustration? The guy has been cock-blocked twice with you now, his brain is not on prime operating mode.”

  I chuckled at that. I was still mad. But she had a tiny point. Microscopic, but there.

  “You have a good man circling you, Gabi,” she said, steadily tossing clothes in, her back to me. “Don’t throw that away. You don’t always get it back.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, I was up with the crows since Drew had coffee brewing by four a.m. and there wasn’t really anywhere to escape it. Therefore, me and my fuck-me boots and wrinkled sexy skirt headed home for what looked like morning-after shame. My mother was already at the shop at a quarter to five because she shared Drew’s early morning insanity. Awesome. How lucky could I be?

  Mom looked up in surprise as I unlocked the door and slipped in.

  “Gabi?” she said. “Good Lord, girl, you gave me a start. I thought you were upstairs safe in bed.”

  I grimaced with déjà vu. “I think we had this same conversation almost twenty years ago.”

  Yep, it was that same look, as her eyes scanned my appearance.

  “Well,” she said, going back to her invoices. “You’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you do.”

  “Okay,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up as I headed for the stairs. I didn’t feel like explaining why I was at Drew’s. I didn’t have the mental fortitude. “Hey, I got a call last night that Mr. Bailey died.”

  She set her pen down and shoved her glasses up on top of her head.

  “Oh no, that’s awful!” she said. “I mean, I’ve never met the man, but he’s sure done a lot for Charmed.”

  “Yes, he has,” I said. “It’s sad.” I gestured toward the stairs. “I’m gonna go wake up in the shower now.”

  “There are fresh towels,” she said. “I loaded it up last night.”

  Of course she did.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You need to start running again,” she called after me as I trudged upstairs. “You’ll feel better about things.”

  “Mm-hmm, thanks Mom,” I repeated.

  A shower and change into sweatpants, a tank top, and a hoodie, and life did feel rebelliously amazing. I was comfortable, and me. None of the rest mattered. In fact, I could just dress that way for the rest of my life, because I never needed to look like a woman again. Thatcher would stay in Cherrydale for the duration, probably avoiding crazy baggage-laden females for the rest of his years on the planet. Any other men—well, let’s just say Thatcher Roman pretty much ruined all of them for me. Even pissing me off royally,
no one would ever measure up.

  I didn’t know what that said about the whole feelings theory.

  Yes, I did.

  I just wasn’t talking about it. Ever.

  I threw on my sneakers, knowing my mother would give me a look for how I dressed for work—she was one of those dress for success people and always liked for us to represent the shop with a nicer wardrobe—but today just wasn’t that day. Today, someone had died, and it felt weird. Today was a day to just be happy to be alive. It was a fresh-faced, smile at the world, because it’s kicking you in the ass and sweats will cure anything day. I laughed to myself as I trotted down the stairs, thinking I could officially tell my mom I ran, and nearly took out the perennial magazine rack when someone was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  Someone like Thatcher.

  Micah and Leo were there, too, but—Thatcher.

  “Fuck!” I yelped, grabbing the rack before it face-planted across the tiles.

  “Gabi!” Mom said, in that eternal admonishing way that makes you feel fourteen.

  “Sorry, I—what are y’all doing here?” I managed, trying not to think how it looked like a double date, or how that made my heart speed up, and simultaneously trying not to look him in the eye.

  “You didn’t get the text?” Micah said. “Or any of mine?”

  “Text,” I echoed, patting my empty hoodie pockets. “Where’s my phone?” I spun around as if that made sense. “Crap, I must have left it in the car. What’s up?”

  “We’ve been summoned,” she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Summoned?”

  “We’re expected at the park in fifteen minutes,” she said. “Something for Bailey.”

  “Oh!” I said. “At the park? God, I sound like a parrot, I’m sorry. What’s going on?”

  “Don’t know,” Leo said, hands on Micah’s shoulders. “But we all got a text to show up, so we thought we’d swing by and see if you wanted to ride.”

  “We’re in my truck,” Thatcher said, forcing me to look up.

  That was both my downfall and my fuel, because he was glazed over, showing nothing. He was still ticked. Good. That was helpful. I cleared my throat and gave them all a once-over. They weren’t dressed up, but they weren’t as dressed down as I was.