One Golden Summer(100)

“I hope so. I want that,” he says. “I want you more than anything.”

“Good,” I tell him, setting my hand on the scruff of his jaw. “Because I love you, too, Charlie Florek.”

His smile grows. It’s sunshine shimmering over the water. It’s permanent summer.

“I love you so much it’s a little embarrassing,” I say.

His green eyes sparkle. His pretty mouth smirks.

My Charlie.

“Whoa-level embarrassing? Or crash-your-boat-into-a-rock-level embarrassing?”

“Much worse,” I tell him. “It’s so much worse.”

I kiss him once, carefully.

“You can do better than that, Alice.”

“I’m afraid of hurting you.”

His fingers thread into my hair. “It’d be worth it,” he says, and then Charlie takes my mouth with his.

It feels like all the greatest kisses in one. Like kissing your high school crush, and the best friend you’ve fallen in love with, and the person you want to stand beside for as long as time will let you. It’s the starting gun and the finish line. It’s a surge of pleasure and satisfaction and rightness that reaches deep into my soul. And even when a neighbor opens the door to their apartment and gasps, we don’t stop kissing. But eventually Charlie pulls away with a groan.

“I knew it would have been smarter to keep this to myself.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I still have at least another week before I’m cleared to have sex.”

I laugh. “Typical. You always want to take things slow.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “I’ll make it up to you for a very long time.”





53


Friday, October 10

Susie’s Birthday

The next morning, we’re woken by Sam calling to let us know that the baby was born in the early hours of the day. Both she and Percy are healthy. They’ve named her Sue, after Sam and Charlie’s mom, but they plan to call her Susie. Sam sends us a dozen photos, and everyone looks tired and happy and snuggly.

Charlie and I lie in bed, marveling at the pictures, and after breakfast, he asks me if I’ll help him shave—he’s supposed to be careful with raising his arms. I sit on the marble counter in his bathroom, and he stands between my legs. As I carefully run his razor over his cheek and jaw and neck, he apologizes for our last conversation at the lake, for pushing me away, for saying he wouldn’t stay interested, that it wouldn’t work, that he’d get bored.

“They were lies, Alice,” he says, while I scrape the blade over his throat. “It was the only thing I could think of in the moment to protect you. I didn’t want you tied down by me. But I regretted it as soon as you left. I don’t think I can ever express how sorry I am.”

For the next week, we’re inseparable. Apart from when I’m shooting or running errands, we’re together, in Charlie’s home. I know I’ll have to come up for air soon, go back to my condo, return to the pool. And I will. But not yet. Right now, we’re greedy for each other. It’s not like it was in the summer. It’s heady and earnest. There are no more barriers to what we share. Charlie is still full of teasing and smug grins, but there’s no joking when he tells me how much he loves me. I feel cherished and safe, but I also feel like I’m flying.

Charlie’s birthday falls on a Thursday in October, seven days after he’s released from the hospital. As soon as my eyes meet his in the morning, I can tell something’s changed. There’s a lightness in his gaze I haven’t seen since the lake.

“Happy birthday,” I say, my fingers skating over his cheek as we stare at each other in the pale morning light. “You’re thirty-six.”

His smile takes my breath away.

“I made it,” he says.

And I know exactly what he means. Past thirty-five. Past the age his dad was.

“You did.”

“And now you’re here. I must have done something right in a past life,” he says.

I kiss him. “You’ve done plenty right in this one.”

The more I’ve gotten to know Charlie, the clearer it’s become that for all his talk, he doesn’t think very highly of himself. So that morning as we face each other in bed, I tell him everything I love about him. There are the things I knew before. How kind he is. His smile. The way he pokes fun at me but knows when I need to be taken seriously. His aurora borealis eyes. The way he speaks to my grandmother. The time he hung up on my dad and sister. The bow of his top lip. How he follows his mom’s recipes. His honesty. His tree house. His kisses.

And there are the things I’m learning about him now. That he makes his bed every morning. That he comes to life after three sips of coffee. How he organizes his ties by color, has a large collection of fancy cookbooks and a weakness for kids’ cartoons. That he sings in the shower. That he talks to Sam every day.

“That’s a very long list,” he says. “I’m not sure it will ever sink in. It seems impossible that you could feel that way about me.”

“Then I’ll tell you over and over until you believe me.”

I’m on set until midafternoon. When I’m done, I make a quick run to the grocery store before returning to Charlie’s place. His mouth is on mine before I’ve taken two steps inside. It’s a demanding, knee-weakening kiss.