“I can’t believe you tricked me into being a vegetarian, for a decade, then caved for a Whopper!”
“How dare you,” she says. “Whoppers are amazing.”
“Okay, you’re getting too good at lying.”
She guffaws. “Okay, not amazing, but the heart wants what it wants.”
“Your heart needs therapy.”
“Can we get some on the way home?” She pushes off the bed. “Whoppers, not therapy.”
“Whoppers? Plural?”
“They have veggie burgers, you know,” she says. “And we’re already so close to Asheville, and there’s a BK there.”
I stare at her. “So not only did you just call it ‘BK’ without a hint of irony, but you’re telling me you checked where the nearest one is.”
“My sister taught me to be prepared. I scouted it out when Sally and I went to hang fliers for the Blue Moon Ball.”
“That’s not ‘prepared,’？” I say. “It’s disturbed.” At her laugh, I cave. “Whoppers it is.”
* * *
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Libby gives me a look. “Congratulations. You went a full twelve hours.”
“Right,” I say. “You’re in charge of yourself. Who even cares if you’re up for it? Not me.”
She grins and jogs her huge purple purse. “I’ve got beef jerky in here, and almonds, and one of those peanut butter dipping cup things. Plus I’ll be with Gertie and Sally and Amaya. You go get those edits done so you can take time off next week and party.” Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. “Gertie’s here. Looks like it might rain—want us to drop you at the bookstore?”
Charlie agreed to take over Sally’s shift so she could focus on next weekend’s ball, which means we’ll be hammering out the final notes in the shop. We’d planned to finish reading pages last night, but that was shot to hell when Libby passed out, so we’ll be finishing our reads today too.
“Why not.”
Gertie’s muddy hatchback sits at the bottom of the hill, even more covered in bumper stickers than when she drove us home from the salon, and she’s burning incense on her dashboard. I have to literally bite my tongue to keep from momming her about how dangerous this is, not that she’d even hear it over the dissonant industrial music she’s blasting.
The thrumming mostly drowns out the rumble of thunder approaching as I climb out in front of Goode’s. Overhead, frothy black clouds are clumping up, and there’s a bite to the air as the hatchback peels away from the curb.
Through the yellowy glare on the windowpanes, I spot Charlie reshelving at the nearest bookcase, cast in reds and golds.
His lips and jaw are shadowed to perfection, his dark hair haloed by the soft light. At the sight of him, my stomach flips and something blooms like a time-lapse flower behind my rib cage. Now that I’m here, so close to the end of this book, this edit, this trip, a not-small part of me wants to turn and run.
But then he catches sight of me, and his mouth splits into a full, sensual Charlie smile, and my fear blows away, like dust swept from a book jacket.
He opens the door, leaning out as the first fat droplets of rain splat the cobblestones. “You ready to finish this, Stephens?”
“Ready.” It’s true and a lie. Does anyone ever want to finish a good book?
The back office looks irresistibly cozy in the gloom of the storm, the scarred mahogany desk covered in papers and knickknacks but meticulously arranged in Charlie’s signature style. Beside the lumpy sofa, the fireplace’s mantel and its three-deep rows of family pictures are freshly dusted, and vacuum streaks are still visible on the antique rugs. The bulky air-conditioning unit hangs silent in the window, put out of work by the false-autumn cold snap.
He moves a stack of hardcovers off the sofa, then crosses the room to take the chair behind the desk. His expression seems to tease, See? I’m perfectly harmless over here.
Except nothing about him looks harmless to me. He looks like a Swiss Army knife. A man with six different means to undo me.
This Charlie, for making you spill your secrets.
This one for making you laugh.
This one can turn you on.
This is the one who will convince you you’re capable of anything.
Here is the Charlie who will pull you into his lap to form your human barricade at a hospital.
And the one with the power to take you apart brick by brick.
“How’s Libby?” he asks.