Maybe I needed to stop overthinking things with him, making rules and judgments about who he was, who I was, and who we were together. Because if I hadn’t rolled with Charlie’s shit happens explanation of last night, we wouldn’t have had this perfect morning.
Shit happens.
He looked at me then, screwing his eyebrows together in a What is that weird expression you’re wearing all about face as he walked over with our coffees in his hands, and I didn’t even try to hold back the smile that took over my entire face.
Because I had a new motto. A new way of thinking.
Until we crossed the border and left Colorado behind, I wasn’t going to overthink anything. About Charlie, about my parents, about Zack… about anything. Every action that was going to happen, every word that was going to be said—all of it would now be attributed to shit happening.
And that would just be that.
Shit happened in Colorado.
End of story.
Eventually we left the café and wandered through town, but when it got a little crowded with tourists, we decided to go for a hike. I was glad Charlie suggested just hitting the trail behind the condo without going inside first, because it seemed like a terrible idea to be home alone with him.
Not that I thought something would happen—we’d been cool all day—but I wasn’t sure my relaxed shit-happens attitude could survive that kind of inner turmoil.
The trail was stunningly beautiful—pine trees and gurgling streams and friendly chipmunks—and hiking through the steep terrain was just as fun as it’d been the day before. On the way back, though, my legs were screaming.
“Can we sit?” I asked, pointing to a clearing with a fallen log that begged to be sat upon. “I need a break.”
“Do you want a bear to eat you?” he asked, his teasing eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.
“I want to sit, Charlie,” I whined. “My legs are tired. I will risk a bear attack.”
“No.” He stopped walking, stepped closer, and tilted his head. “We’re almost to the condo, wherein you can plop down onto the sofa and never get up.”
“Don’t say ‘wherein,’？” I said around an eye roll. “And how are you not tired?”
That made his lips turn up. “I’m incredibly fit, Glasses.”
“Spare me.”
“Do you want a piggyback ride?” he asked, full-on enjoying himself now. “I can carry you down the mountain like you’re a sleepy toddler who needs a nap, if your little legs can’t make it.”
“I should take you up on that just to punish you,” I replied, pointing a finger toward my log. “But right now, that log needs me.”
“It wouldn’t be a punishment. I’ll just consider it my workout for the day.” He turned and bent his legs. “Get on.”
Normally my brain would’ve melted down into a puddle of neurotic worries at that—What if I’m too heavy? What if he thinks I’m out of shape? Will I spontaneously combust from being attached to Charlie’s body?—but instead I thought, Shit happens.
You get tired, your friend is in great shape, he carries you down a mountain—shit happens.
I jumped onto his back and wrapped myself around him.
“Atta girl.” He laughed and immediately started walking. His pace was much quicker, meaning I’d been slowing him down, but I wasn’t going to concern myself with that thought because shit happens.
Also, was it weird that I liked how strong his grip was on my legs?
Yeah, probably, but shit happens.
“Thank you,” I said, noticing the way his neck smelled like a bar of soap, “for sparing my legs. I was surely about to die.”
“Surely you were,” he agreed sarcastically, then tilted his head. “Shhh.”
I didn’t speak but had no idea why I wasn’t speaking.
“Shit—do you hear that?” he whispered.
I said, “What?”
“Shh… listen.”
He stopped walking, and that was when we heard a cat meowing.
I looked at the trees in front of us, saying nothing, as Charlie looked above him and said, “Oh no, little guy.”
I followed his gaze upward, and holy crap—the tiniest little gray kitten was way up on a tall branch.
A very tall branch.
“Oh no,” I said as the furball kept mewling. I slid off Charlie’s back. “How’s he going to get down?”
I don’t know what I expected from Charlie, but without a word, he started climbing the tree. Thankfully, it had a knotted old trunk, but that cat was high, and Charlie was out of his mind.
“Charlie,” I said nervously. “You can’t climb all the way up there.”
“Sure I can,” he cooed, using a soothing baby talk voice so as not to scare the cat. “It’s just a little farther.”
I squinted into the sun as he kept climbing higher.
“I’m coming, little buddy, so you wait for me, okay?” he said, climbing higher still. “I’m going to get you down, get you a warm blanket and some food, okay?”
The kitten just kept meowing, and I just kept listening in disbelief as Charlie spoke to that cat in the sweetest voice. Something about his low croon settled into my belly, making me feel soothed, even as he idiotically climbed way too high in that super-tall tree.
“I know, buddy,” he said, and my heart turned to warm liquid as I watched Charlie’s entire focus settle on the well-being of that little cat. “It’s creepy as hell up here, right? But I got you, don’t worry.”
My heart was in my throat as I watched him climb higher and higher. “Be careful, Charlie.”
“I am,” he said, in the same soothing voice he was using on the cat. “Almost there.”
How did I ever think he was a jerk? Charlie Sampson had the softest, sweetest center, in spite of the fact that it was surrounded by crunchy cynicism, and I felt an odd sense of pride as I watched him move closer to the kitten.
Because how many people would just start climbing in this situation?
He got to the branch below the kitten and started talking even more. “I’m going to grab you in a sec, and I’m going to need you to not freak out too badly, okay? A scratch is fine, but please don’t leap down and hurt yourself.”
I took a couple steps over to stand directly underneath him, incredibly stressed about how high he’d climbed. Maybe if he fell on me, instead of the ground, he wouldn’t die.
He reached out, and—thank God—got the cat on the first try.
And instead of trying to get away, the little pile of fluff buried his head in Charlie’s collar as he petted him.
“Good job, buddy. Such a good boy, sitting still and waiting for me.” Charlie’s mouth was right by the kitty’s ear as he said, “You are such a good kitty.”
I watched him, dangling from the side of a tree while cuddling and nurturing that tiny little animal, and it was undeniable.
I had huge feelings for Charlie Sampson.
Shit.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Bailey
The road trip home was the same as the way there—fun, relaxed—only it had the added bonus of Charlie’s adorable cat, Puffball. A name I earned the right to give by winning the what-will-they-order-for-breakfast challenge before we’d hit the road. Charlie wanted to talk to his mom before bringing the cat home, so my mom had suggested we bring it to our apartment and he could come get it once he had permission. It was disgusting, how protective Charlie was of the cat, and I was utterly obsessed with this soft side of him.