Chapter Eighteen

Charlie

It’s just dinner.

Everyone has to eat. It’s a basic human function, and talking with Owen is harmless. Because that’s all we’re going to do. Talk. So what if seeing him standing at the door this morning in nothing but boxers got me all hot and bothered. It doesn’t matter. And if I divert my thoughts, I almost forget how good his cock felt inside of me.

How the sex was good almost every single time. How Owen took his time with me. Was more concerned with pleasing me than enjoying it himself.

Our first time was painful, and I didn’t realize how well-endowed Owen was back then since I’d never seen another penis before. We had sex for the first time together after our senior prom—cliché, I know.

It hurt, probably only lasted five minutes, and had me freaked out for a week that I was pregnant. I didn’t want to get pregnant in high school, but once I was in college, everything was fair game, and once we started, we couldn’t stop.

“All right,” I tell Tulip, dropping down to the floor. The bedroom door was open when I got home, and after a moment of panic that I was going to find Tulip’s dead body chewed up and bloody on the floor, I found her shivering in fear under the bed. “You get a little break from the dogs. I know you don’t like new places, but at least nothing will chase after you.”

Not wanting to drag her out and hurt her broken leg, I end up moving the bed to get to her, and carefully put her in the designer pet carrier I bought back when I was working in New York. I enjoy fine things and don’t see anything wrong with indulging yourself every now and then if you can afford to do so.

There were several other female lawyers at my firm, one closer to my age and the others all older than me. They were all about designer suits and having the latest trends. I thought I was fashionable until I moved to the city and was quickly reminded that “designer” meant different things to the girl from some small town in Indiana and someone living in New York.

I made good money at my job there, more than enough to indulge, and it still sickened me a bit the first time I bought a two-thousand-dollar purse. But then I got compliments on it from the girls at work.

The next month I bought a three-thousand-dollar one.

I shake my head, not having time to bring up every stupid thing I did in the past and feel regret and shame. No, I’ll save those thoughts for when I’m lying in bed at night trying to sleep. Memories from high school and college will come rushing back too, I’m sure, and I’ll regret that stupid answer I gave in my psychology class all over again.

“It’s not a long drive, at least.” I gently pick up the carrying bag and go down the stairs. I packed myself an overnight bag with the intention of driving past the bed and breakfast on the way home from dinner.

There was one room open as of this morning, and it’s not like Eastwood is a happening place. I can’t see it filling up, and just one night away from barking dogs will do Tulip and myself some good. Plus, everyone at the house will be thankful for a night of peace.

Setting the carrier on the passenger seat of Dad’s old Mustang, I pull the seatbelt over and loop it through one of the straps, just in case. Then I fire up the engine and drive to Owen’s house.

It’s just dinner.

Everyone eats.

Owen eats. I eat. Owen was really good at eating—stop it.

It’s just dinner.

Pushing my shoulders back, I make a promise to myself right then and there that no matter what Owen throws at me, I’m not going to bend. There’s no point, even though having him bend me over sounds like a good time.

Wes and Scarlet are pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, following behind Jackson on his bike. They wave as I drive by. I wave back and feel a tug on my heart. It’s one thing to resist Owen, but damn him for having such a nice and welcoming family.

I turn on the radio, only able to get the local country station to come on. Singing along with Luke Combs, I roll down the window and welcome the warm breeze through my hair. The drive to Owen’s ends too soon, and I have to repeat my it’s just dinner mantra over and over in my head.

I didn’t plan on coming. I know better than to put something tempting in front of me. But then I ran into Quinn, who did such a good job of talking Owen up I’m starting to seriously suspect her of witchcraft. The next thing I know, she’s giving me his number and I’m agreeing that dinner and catching up would be nice since I didn’t really get to do it Sunday.

It made sense at the time. It doesn’t make sense now. I put the car in park and kill the engine. If she’s not a witch, then she’s a Jedi who can pull mind tricks. Yes, that has to be it. Because something starts to build inside of me as I look at the perfectly manicured lawn. I blink and now I know a curse has been put on me because I see a flash of Owen standing on the covered front porch, a baby in his arms again.

Shaking my head, I make a mental note to burn sage or throw salt or whatever it is I need to do. Because I can’t let Owen hold me spellbound.

The wind picks up right as I walk up the steps to the front porch. The smell of rain blows in over the horizon. It’s fresh and reminds me of home. I pause before going up the last step to turn my head and feel the breeze in the air. There’s something else in it, a slight electrical charge that promises a storm.

It sounds weird, I know, to say I can sense storms like that. But it’s been scientifically proven that some people are more sensitive to the change in pressure and the electrical charges in the sky. I’ve always been one of those people, and bad storms give me terrible anxiety.

Growing up in the Midwest should have made me accustomed to bad storms. It should have taught me that tornadoes are inevitable, and as long as you’re smart and know how to hide, you’ll be okay.

But instead it left me with an almost panic-attack like reaction that makes me want to throw up, cry, and run around screaming at the same time. Yes, I’m thirty years old and scared of storms. Call me pathetic if you will.

Though technically, thunderstorms are okay. I enjoy them, really…as long as there’s no threat to my roof being torn off and my house turning into that one infamous barn scene from Twister.

I go up the last step and ring the doorbell, readjusting Tulip’s carrying case on my arm. She’s a small cat but is surprisingly heavy when she’s being carried like this. Only a few seconds pass before Owen opens the door.

He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair is messily styled, and the perfect five-o’clock shadow covers his strong jawline. Light from the setting sun reflects off his chocolate eyes, and his whole face brightens as he smiles at me.

“Hey, Charlie. And Tulip.”

“Hey,” I say back, hating that I find it kind of cute that he remembered my cat’s name. “I have her stuff in the car.”

“Her stuff?” he laughs, stepping aside to let me in.

“Yeah, a litter box and food and water bowls.”

“Glad you came prepared.” He takes Tulip from me, and I dash back to the car to grab Tulip’s bag. I’m tempted to bring my overnight bag in with me, giving myself permission to stay the night here.

And by stay the night I mean have sex with Owen.

I shake that thought right out of my head, telling myself I don’t remember what his thick cock looks like. I have no recollection of that vein that runs down his shaft or the way his balls feel in my hands.

Owen shuts the door behind me once I’m in the house, and the smell of whatever he made for dinner wafts through the house.

“Dinner smells amazing,” I tell him, taking off my shoes. It’s a habit of mine to take off my shoes as soon as I’m inside a house. Owen isn’t wearing any, and I hate how something as meaningless as shoes can cause me so much stress. Take them off or leave them on?

Once I went to a party in college and was the only one who took off their shoes. I didn’t realize until halfway through—dammit. I’m doing it again. I’ll save that random embarrassing story for another day, waking me from a dead sleep or something

“Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells.” Owen sets the carrier down and bends over, unzipping the top so Tulip can get out.

“She can’t jump,” I tell him. “Her front leg is broken.”

“Awww, poor girl.” He gently takes her out and to my surprise, she doesn’t hiss at him. I think she’s so shocked and upset to be somewhere new again she’s not even reacting. Or maybe she just likes him.

“Thanks again for letting me bring her. Those dogs want nothing more than to play with her until she’s dead. She’s getting up there in age, and I worry about what the stress will do. And I know, I sound like a crazy cat lady. But with my work hours and living in an apartment, a dog wasn’t really an option. Plus she’s a nice cat.”

Owen chuckles and sets Tulip on the area rug in the foyer. “It’s okay. I like both cats and dogs. Cats are easier.”

I nod in agreement and then set up Tulip’s stuff in the bathroom downstairs. I wash my hands and meet Owen in the kitchen. The table in the breakfast nook has been set, and I’m almost afraid to look and see how much—or little—effort he put into this.

I don’t want candles and wine.

But I hope for more than a frozen pizza and cans of pop.

What I get is a perfect mixture of both. There is a bottle of red wine on the table, but there aren’t any candles or even flowers.

“Is that chicken tetrazzini?” I ask, looking at the dish on the table.

“It is,” he tells me and pulls out a chair for me to sit. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” I take a seat, mouth watering as I look at the pasta in front of me. Owen takes a seat across from me and pours us both wine. The last thing I need is anything clouding my judgment, but dammit, this red goes so well with the pasta.

“I’ve never made it before,” Owen confesses. “So if it’s not good, let me have a redo another day.”

My fingers wrap around the stem of my wine glass. “Is that your way of saying you purposely sabotaged dinner to get me to come over again?”

“It wasn’t, but now I’m wishing I’d thought of that.” His eyes flash and that grin takes over his face, fanning the old flames that I’m trying so hard to stomp out. I take a drink of wine, fully knowing how flammable alcohol is.

“That dress looks good on you,” Owen tells me as he starts to dish out dinner. “You always liked fruit patterns.”

My eyes go to my dress. It’s an off-the-shoulder white dress, with a pattern of printed lemons on it. My heart jolts in my chest, and a weird sensation takes me over. It’s been so long.

We’ve put years between us.

And even more miles.

Yet every little thing comes rushing back right to the surface. The love we had for each other. The way we knew each other better than we knew ourselves.

The pain.

The absolute heartache.

Crying until my eyes were so red and swollen I had no tears left.

“I do, and I don’t really know why. Though, right now lemons are kinda trendy. Pineapples still are too, which I like. They’re cheerful,” I supply with a shrug. Owen puts a big serving of chicken and pasta on my plate, and I take a piece of garlic bread from the bowl in the center of the table.

Swallowing down another mouthful of wine, I set the glass back on the table and tell myself it should stay there the rest of the meal.

“This is amazing,” I tell Owen after I’ve taken a few bites of my pasta. “It tastes just like something I’d order back in the city.”

“Do you miss it?” he asks.

“The pasta? Or the city?”

“Both.”

“If I can have this at least once a week,” I start, using my fork to point to the food on my plate. “Then no, I wouldn’t miss the pasta. And the city…not at all. It wasn’t for me. I’m not a city person.”

“No, you’re not. Though I suppose you get more cases and more interesting ones in the city as opposed to here.”

“Oh, for sure. It’s a lot faster paced and so much more competitive there too. I kind of miss that, but the city can be hard to live in. Not everyone is terrible like some movies make it out to seem, but I did work with a few of the most entitled, stuck-up people I’ve ever met.”

Todd included.

“You’re home now. You can breathe easy.”

I take another bite of pasta and nod. “So, other than the bar, what else have you been up to these last few years?”

“That’s pretty much it. We put a lot into Getaway to get it started, and then again recently to turn it into more of a bar and grill instead of just a bar.”

I nod, feeling like this conversation is contrived and I’m pretty sure I’ve already asked him this.

“How is it at home with everyone under one roof?”

I reach for my wine again. “It’s a struggle, and I feel bad saying that.”

“Why do you feel bad?”

“It reminds me how privileged I am when I’m complaining about how hard it is to live in my parents’ three-thousand-square-foot house with clean water, air conditioning, and a fully stocked fridge.”

“Good point. But you’re allowed to recognize that it’s not easy as well. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Yeah, I know. I still feel bad complaining about it, though.”

“You could just stay here and you won’t have to feel bad,” he suggests.

I cock an eyebrow. “Nice try.”

“I really don’t see the harm in it. I have no dogs to terrorize your cat. And my bedroom is down the hall so when you change your mind in the middle of the night, I’m only a few yards away.”

“I’m not changing my mind. Been there, done that fully applies to us, Owen. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.”

“It can start again.” He leans forward, dropping his eyes to my cleavage. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

I swallow hard and somehow that damn glass of wine ends up in my hands again. “Miss what?”

Smirking, he runs his eyes over me, and I know I just asked the worst possible question. The next best thing to having sex with Owen is hearing him describe it to me.

“You think I haven’t enjoyed sex since we’ve been together?” I blurt and take another gulp of wine. “I have. Multiple times.”

“And I have too. Many, many times. Yet no one compares to you, Charlie.”

Dammit, Owen. I glare at my wine, which is almost empty, and set it back down. Owen refills my glass, and my body is reacting to memories of him. Owen was my first and only for so long. It took me a long time to get back into the dating world after we broke up, and my next sexual encounter is something I actively work to repress.

My friends convinced me a one-night stand was all I needed to get Owen off my mind. So we went out, I got drunk, and I went home with someone. The sex was good, but once I sobered up and realized what I did, I was totally that girl who cried after sex.

“Tell me then, was Todd as good as me?” Owen’s top teeth sink into his bottom lip for just half a second. It’s playful and sexy, and I honestly don’t know if he’s aware of exactly what he’s doing or not.

“He was good enough for me to accept his marriage proposal,” I retort, and the words fall flat. Dammit. It sounded much better in my head. I shove a forkful of pasta in my mouth to keep me from saying anything more.

Todd and I had a good sex life at first. Kind of. There was a lot of pounding and him fumbling around my vagina, not quite able to find my clit without me guiding his fingers. And then he’d rub it too hard or too fast, but hey, he got the job done most of the time.

“I suppose I should apologize,” Owen goes on, and that cocky grin shouldn’t turn me on like this. “I set you up for disappointment.”

“You’re awfully full of yourself for someone who’d only slept with one person at the time.”

He picks up his own glass of wine and takes a drink. “You’re saying I didn’t satisfy you then?”

I exhale heavily, shaking my head. And there’s that magic wine glass appearing in my hands again. “Life is about more than sex, you know.”

“Oh, I do. Sex just makes everything better.”

Rolling my eyes, I focus on my food. Maybe I should sleep with Owen. Get it out of my system. I’m an adult and can hook up with whoever I want. I look across the table at Owen, feeling the wine start to hit me and make me think having sex is a good idea.

And then a weather alert on both our phones go off, warning us about a severe thunderstorm.

“So,” I say and change the subject. “Has Danielle been to the doctor yet?”

“She goes tomorrow.”

“That’s exciting. I hope everything is good.”

“Me too. That’s going to be one good-looking kid at least. Hopefully he’ll look more like his uncle than his father.”

I look up from my food to see him smiling. “You guys share like ninety-nine percent of the same DNA, right?”

“According to science we do.”

“So your kids and Logan’s kids will technically be cousins, but they’ll be as related as siblings?”

“Maybe?” Owen’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Archer would know, though I suppose it doesn’t matter until I have a kid of my own.”

“Do you want kids?” I ask carefully, twirling a noodle around my fork.

“Yeah, I do,” he replies with no hesitation. “I told myself I didn’t want one, but that was only because the one person didn’t want me anymore. Then I saw you and now things are different.”

“Really?”

“I told you, I’ve changed.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling my resolve crumble. A loud clap of thunder rattles the windows, and it reverberates deep within my soul.

“Have you changed?” he asks carefully, and I know what he’s asking. He wants to know if I still want to get married and have babies. I haven’t changed much in that aspect. Starting my career was important to me, but I always imagined I’d do both. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge.

“I have,” I say quietly, right as another boom of thunder sounds above us. My stomach flip flops, both from the storm and the direction our conversation is going. Owen, sensing my discomfort, gets up and brings a cake over to the table.

“You still like red velvet cake, right?”

Swallowing my emotions, I force a smile. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good. Because I do too.”

He serves me a slice once I’ve finished my pasta.

“So tell me,” I say as I stick my fork into the cake. “Has there been any good drama in Eastwood lately?”

“Tons. Owning a bar gives me prime people-watching vantage points. Remember Lizzy Mitchel?”

“Yeah, she was such a stuck-up bitch in high school.”

Owen laughs. “She’s having an affair with a much younger man.”

“Ohhh, that is good drama. And I didn’t even think of that, but you’re right. Bars are the place to be to witness drama and hear gossip.”

“The sad, lonely, and desperate are good for business,” he says with a laugh. “Do you talk with anyone from school anymore?”

I shake my head. “I lost touch with most of them during law school. I’m friends with Annabeth on F******k, and Cheryl and I follow each other on I*******m. It’s kinda weird when I think about it. We were so close then. What about you?”

“Logan and I still hang out with Jake and Tom.”

“How are they?”

“Pretty much the same as they were in high school. Tom got married two years ago, though.”

“It is weird how you grow up and go your separate ways,” I say.

“That’s one of the good things about having a twin. It’s like a built-in friend I can’t get rid of.”

I laugh and take another bite. He tells me about more drama he’s witnessed over the years as we finish dessert. Once we’re done eating, I help him clean up the dinner dishes. We get along well and being together feels natural. I don’t realize we’ve slowly been washing the dishes for nearly an hour until I look at the clock, surprised to see how late it’s gotten.

“I should get going,” I tell him, drying my hands on a dishtowel. “I have to work in the morning.”

As if right on cue, a huge clap of thunder rings out, making me jump. Lightning flashes and heavy rain falls down. The power flickers twice before the whole house goes black. Silence fills the dark, and I let out a shaky breath.

“Maybe you should stay.” Owen turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it upside down on the counter. “At least until the storm passes.”

“Yeah, good idea.” I turn around, squinting in the dim light for my own phone. It’s still in my purse, and I take it out to check the radar. The worst of the storm is yet to come, and it makes my stomach tighten just looking at the yellow and green on the map.

Wind howls outside and the siding on the house groans in protest.

“If it’s not safe for you to drive, you can stay here,” Owen offers. “As a friend, of course.”

I look up, swallow hard, and open my mouth to tell him no. But something strange happens again, and this time, nothing comes out. I snap my jaw shut and stare into his brown eyes, unblinking.

“Charlie?”