One Golden Summer(48)

I photograph everything.

It’s not the summer I envisioned when we arrived in June—it’s so much better. I feel as though I’ve been wearing a heavy coat and am now finally able to take it off. I feel lighter.

I can’t deny that Charlie is a big part of the reason. I like who I am with him. I laugh until tears stain my cheeks. I say what I think, and when he senses I’m holding something in, he tells me to spit it out. I don’t have to be a perfectly edited version of myself—it’s okay to have a few bumps. And I don’t have to try. I’ve never felt this comfortable with a man. I’m not sure I’ve felt this kind of ease with anyone.

I also can’t deny the way my stomach swoops when our legs slide against each other while we’re swimming, or when I catch Charlie looking at me in a way that has me picturing how he lifted me off the floor the night we almost kissed. But just friends works. Just friends is all either of us is prepared to give.

Tonight he’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. His feet are bare, and so are mine. But I’ve already changed into pajamas, a pretty striped nightshirt that hits me above the knee. When Nan has a piece of her chocolate and excuses herself for bed, Charlie grabs the bar and sits down on the couch beside me.

“Let’s do some low-key drugs.”

“You want to get high?”

“Only if you do.” Charlie examines the package. “I don’t think a piece of this will have much of an impact on me. It’s a mild dose. Won’t kick in for a bit.”

“Sure,” I say. “I can’t let Nan have all the fun. But will you stay with me? I don’t want to go on some kind of trip alone.”

He laughs. “You’re not going to trip, but yeah, I was planning to stick around, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me.

We each break off a piece, grinning, and cheers them together.

“I don’t know if I’m high yet,” I say to Charlie forty-five minutes later. We decided to start a puzzle—a unicorn drinking from a river that I found at Stedmans—and are working on it on the floor by the fire.

“No?” Charlie’s lying on his side, his head propped on his hand. “You’ve been staring at that piece in your hand for ages.”

“Oh my god, I hadn’t noticed.” I start giggling. “Charlie, I might be a little high.”

“You might be,” he says, dimples winking.

“But I don’t feel high high.”

“How do you feel?”

I look into the flames.

“Alice?”

“Pardon?” I turn back to Charlie.

“You okay?”

“I’m just thinking. I think I feel…kind of light and floaty? And warm, which is probably because I’m sitting in front of an actual fire. But also, just like, less sharp, you know?”

He looks at me with a soft, melting gaze. “Yeah, I know.”

The firelight flickers over Charlie’s face, making his hair more golden. His smile is deep. I reach out and press my finger into one of his dimples, and he arches a brow.

“Sorry,” I say. “It was beckoning to me.”

He laughs. “You are high.” I move my finger to the other one. He lifts his brows again, amused. He looks so young.

“You remind me of when you were a boy.”

“You didn’t know me when I was a boy.”

“But I can imagine it when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

Sometimes I catch Charlie looking at me, or staring at the water, or studying his hands, and he seems so mournful, my entire body aches. He’s experienced such profound loss. But he brushes it off whenever I ask what’s bothering him.

“Happy,” I tell him. “You look happy.”

His grin falls. The dimples disappear.

“Don’t do that.” I move my fingers to either side of his mouth, trying to pull the edges back up. “Be happy.”

My efforts are rewarded with a gentle smile.

“I like how your skin is smooth, but your stubble is prickly, and your jaw is so strong. And I like how you like my grandmother.” I know how I sound, but I feel like human glitter, shimmering effervescence. Like nothing is wrong, like nothing could go wrong under this roof with Charlie. I run my finger over the bow of his top lip. “I like your mouth, too. These two mountaintops.”

“Alice,” Charlie says, sitting up, so that we’re facing each other, legs crossed. He stares at me intensely, but it doesn’t bother me that he might be able to peer into my soul. It makes me feel brave.

“Can I show you something?” I’ve been waiting for the right time to do it.

He frowns but says, “Of course.”

I get up, jelly-legged, and dig the photo out of the kitchen drawer.

“Promise not to freak out?” I ask, holding it to my chest as I return to the floor. Charlie puts a hand on my bobbing knee.

“Not much freaks me out.” He takes his hand away when I go still.

I pass him the photo, and a hurricane of emotions crashes across his face. Confusion. Disbelief. Shock.

Finally, he lifts wonder-filled eyes to mine. “I can’t believe it was you.”

I blink at him. “What?”

Charlie bends closer to the photo. “Of course it was you,” he says to himself. “It makes sense. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out.”