“Now who’s turning tail?” Mateo asked, almost lazily.
Charlotte, her back to Mateo, froze.
Oh boy, Jane thought, torn between making a run for it or staying to watch the show. Because what Jane knew, and what Mateo had no way of knowing, was that Charlotte had been turning tail when it came to men since the night of her eighteenth birthday, when a string of bad decisions had nearly derailed her entire life.
Jane stood there, caught between two people she cared deeply about, not sure how to help. Thankfully, Mateo’s phone went off. He looked at the screen and ran a hand down his face.
“I’m being called back into the hospital,” he said. “Trev can’t make his shift.”
“No,” Charlotte said, bad ’tude gone, replaced with something that looked suspiciously like worry. “You’re too tired. Let them call someone else.”
“I’m fine.” He gave her an unreadable look, then got back into his car and drove off.
Jane felt for Mateo, she really did, but at the end of the day, her first alliance was with Charlotte, always, and her heart pinched hard at the look on her friend’s face. Slipping her hand in Charlotte’s, Jane knew exactly what to say to the good doctor, whose greatest joy was taking care of others, to redirect her. “Let’s go inside. My head and wrist are aching.”
Charlotte gasped. “And you let me stand out here dithering on?”
“Well, I know how you love to dither.”
Charlotte snorted indignantly but slipped an arm around Jane and drew her inside.
Charlotte had bought the old Victorian to celebrate getting her residency. But burdened with heavy debt from medical school, she typically rented out three of the five bedrooms to hospital staff. Anyone of the female persuasion who needed a room qualified, from nurses to cleaning crews. She kept the master for herself and the one extra room as a den.
And a bedroom for Jane when she was in town.
For Charlotte, it was kind of the-family-you-make situation. Her parents were sweet and wonderful but lived in Atlanta. And since Charlotte couldn’t often make herself go back there without experiencing crippling anxiety and panic attacks, she’d created a home and family here in Tahoe as well.
To Jane’s shock and surprise and eternal gratitude, she was a part of that homemade family.
The house was an extension of Charlotte herself, warm and cozy, right down to the comfy furniture and thriving plants—more thanks to the high-altitude sun that came in from her floor-to-ceiling windows than any green thumb. Just walking inside, Jane could actually feel her blood pressure lowering. “That was fascinating, brand-new information, bee tee dubs. You and Mateo . . .”
“Hush.” Charlotte took the pastry and coffee. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “Promise.”
“If you’re sure, I’ll make us a big breakfast. Then we’ll split the pastry for dessert and both go get some sleep.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll help.”
“You mean you’ll watch me cook, then do the cleanup.”
Jane smiled. “Unless you want my help cooking?”
Well aware of Jane’s lack of talent in the kitchen, Charlotte shuddered. “Please, no.”
Two women were in the living room, both on yoga mats, stretching into some sort of twisted-pretzel poses. Charlotte greeted them warmly and announced she was making breakfast if they were interested.
They were.
Jane waved at them but didn’t engage, just followed Charlotte into the kitchen. “What?” she said when Charlotte gave her an amused glance while stripping off her pink down jacket. “You said the magic word—breakfast.”