Breaking through, p.5
Breaking Through, page 5
Sam wanted to be pissed at Sawyer for what he’d said, but it wasn’t as if his brother was wrong. He really needed to lighten up. He was going on a date with Jane, not marrying her. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay, thanks... for the beer and the pep talk.” Sawyer smacked Sam’s shoulder, then walked away. As he crossed the bar, half the women in the room swiveled their heads to follow his path. Still, Sawyer seemed utterly oblivious to the attention. Sam shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. His brother was really, truly blindly in love.
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind when Sam saw a familiar face that made the beer turn sour in his gut. Celine. Sawyer’s ex-wife. Sam shot to his feet, some part of his brain telling him to run interference, but it was too late. Sam saw Celine’s eyes narrow in Sawyer’s direction. She turned and whispered in the ear of the woman she was with. Sam couldn’t tell if it was the same one Celine had been cheating on Sawyer with, but at the moment, that seemed the least of their worries.
Celine and Sawyer had not had a clean break. After a late-term miscarriage, their marriage had eroded like a riverbank, chunks falling away in various torrents. The final straw had been when Sawyer learned Celine had been sleeping with a woman she worked with for nearly a year. The divorce had left a scar on his carefree, lighthearted brother. He was heavier after that, weighted down by the grief and guilt of it all. Sawyer had blamed himself for Celine cheating. He thought he had gone too far inside himself after the death of their child and hadn’t given Celine the support she needed. They’d all tried to convince Sawyer none of it had been his fault, but Sam wasn’t sure Sawyer had ever really believed them. It was a long time before he saw a hint of the old Sawyer. It wasn’t until Sawyer had first told Sam about a woman he’d met. A woman named Carmen.
Sam still made a beeline across the bar, striving to cut Celine off, but she was tugging the other woman in Sawyer’s direction. Sam saw the moment Sawyer’s gaze landed on Celine. His features went blank and cold, a stillness that Sam had never seen before.
Sam reached Sawyer’s side almost at the same time as Celine and her partner. Sawyer’s only acknowledgment of Sam’s presence was to pass him the second beer he held. Sawyer raised the other one to his lips, took a long pull, then lowered it. “Celine,” he said with a tip of his head. “Margot.”
“Hey.” Celine ran her gaze up and down the length of Sawyer, then cocked her head. “You look well.” She gave Sam a cursory glance and a slight nod. The other woman, Margot, looked about as comfortable with the moment as Sam felt.
“Just got back from the Bahamas,” Sawyer said.
“How nice. Old Dan actually let you take a vacation? You never got those when we were together.”
“That’s not true. He allowed it. When we went on our honeymoon,” Sawyer said. It took a moment for the words to sink in, then Celine’s gaze flicked down to Sawyer’s ring finger.
“You got married.” It wasn’t a question. Sam noticed Celine’s hand go to Margot’s. “We are engaged too,” she said in a rushed, too-high voice.
Margot’s eyes snapped to Celine’s face. “Wh—” she started, but Celine planted a firm kiss on her mouth, shutting her up.
“Congrats,” Sawyer said, tipping his beer to them in a semblance of a toast. “When’s the big day?”
Celine shrugged, still ignoring Margot’s flabbergasted expression. “We haven’t picked yet. We are just enjoying the glow of being engaged, you know?”
“Sure,” Sawyer said. “And I’m enjoying the glow of a fucking great honeymoon with my beautiful wife. Cheers.” He smashed the neck of his bottle, a little too hard, against the tumbler Celine held, then turned and walked away. Sam stood still for a second, looking between the two women’s shocked expressions and Sawyer’s retreating back. “Uh, well. Nice to see you, I guess,” he said. Celine scowled, and Sam turned and followed his brother.
CHAPTER 7
“Do you want to come up and have a drink?” Jane slid a hand over Sam’s arm. Sam had enjoyed himself at dinner despite the thoughts of Charlotte winking at the edges of his consciousness. Jane was beautiful. With waves of glossy blonde hair falling down her back and her cheeks flushed pink from wine, she seemed younger, more carefree than she did when she was at work. Swallowing, he pushed away all thoughts of unruly dark curls and nodded.
“I’d like that.” He turned his hand over and caught her fingers. She was tall. She only had to stretch an inch or so to press her lips against his. Sam had been bent slightly at the waist when he’d kissed Charlotte, even though she’d been on tiptoe. Sam growled at the memory and pulled Jane’s lithe form against him, deepening the kiss, forcing thoughts of Charlotte from his mind. Charlotte didn’t want him, and damn, he was sick of being lonely. He forced himself to remember Sawyer’s words. This didn’t have to be a big deal. It was a date. It was sex with another consenting adult.
Beneath his hands, Jane’s body was foreign, long, slender, and firm. Sam skimmed his palms over her shoulders, down the length of her back, and gripped her ass cheeks. She let out a little whimper against his mouth, and he caught the sound, savoring it.
Plunging his tongue between her lips, Sam pressed harder, backing her toward the door of her apartment building. He was rough, but before he could slow down, Jane responded by twisting her fingers into the back of his hair until he hissed in pain. Heat unfurled down through Sam’s limbs and straight to his groin in a painful stab.
When they broke apart, Jane pulled him through the door by the hand. Kicking off her shoes, she shoved the door shut with her foot without taking her eyes from his. “Make yourself at home. I’ll pour us a glass of wine.”
Sam stood in the entry, head tipped, observing the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the kitchen. Then he glanced around. The first word that came to mind was sterile. It was white. White walls with intermittent splashes of colour, primarily red. It reminded him of a scene from Dexter. Two white leather chairs sat a perfectly measured length from each other, and the pale wood floors reflected the light from the stainless-steel ceiling fixtures. The scene was like a wave of cold water on his neglected libido. He hoped she would bring white wine. Sam was not about to sit on anything in this room with a glass of red in his hand. It would terrify him.
An explosive sneeze echoed through the kitchen, followed by two more in rapid succession. “Sam?” Jane appeared, her brows inching up when she saw he was still hovering near the door. “Do you have a dog at home?”
“No.” He stepped forward and tentatively accepted the glass of red wine she held toward him. As he brought it to his body, he kept a close eye on the liquid’s proximity to the rim. “Do you?”
“No.” Jane sniffed. “I’m extremely allergic. That’s why I asked. My sinuses are staging a full rebellion.”
“Oh.” Shit.
“Oh?”
“Shit.”
“Shit?”
“I volunteer at the SPCA on my days off. There must be hair on my jacket.”
Jane stepped back so fast he may as well have announced he had Spanish influenza.
“I’m sorry.” Sam held up his hands. “Can you take something?” It seemed wrong to ask, but hormones rushed through his body, insisting he attempt to salvage the evening.
Jane shook her head. “I have nothing for them. I ran out and don’t have more.”
“And presumably a person is safe in their own home from hostile dander intrusion.” He groaned and smacked the heel of his hand gently against his forehead.
They stood in silence for a moment—well, Sam was silent. Jane sniffed and sipped her wine. Then she turned to him, her eyes taking on a twinkle. “Well, there’s one thing that may help?” Her smile had a way of lighting her features. The often severe façade stretched and shifted to reveal a glimpse of the soul behind. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. A shift in her posture told him it was an idea he would be on board with.
“What’s that?”
“We could get you out of those clothes and into the shower.”
CHAPTER 8
“So, Chuck, tell me more about yourself. What do you do when you’re not slinging breakfast at the yummiest place in town?” Charles leaned his forearms on the table, studying her. Charlotte picked at the warm circles of bread in the basket the server had set between them, trying to ignore his casual use of her nickname. She couldn’t explain why it bothered her. She’d been the one to tell him about it.
“Nothing makes me go blank faster than a question like that,” she admitted with a forced laugh. She pulled a deep breath and rolled her shoulders. “It’s like that question is one of those old felt erasers and just wipes the chalkboard clean when someone speaks it.” She mimed a wiping motion in front of her forehead.
Charles grinned. “At least I know you aren’t too young for me since you remember chalkboard erasers.” He settled back in the chair and gave her a gentle smile, seeming to pick up on her unease. “Let’s start with the small stuff. I’ll match you. Answer for an answer.”
Charlotte jerked her head in a nod. “All right, shoot.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Charlotte Marie Baker. You?”
“Charles Thomas Walston.”
Charlotte snorted. “How extremely English.”
“Isn’t it just? Parents were both from London. We came over when I was five. Your turn.”
“My dad’s side has been in Canada for decades, I suppose with a name like Baker. If we go back far enough, I’ve some English as well. My Mother was Cuban. She moved here and married my father when she was twenty-five.”
Charles’s smooth brow creased. “Was?”
“She... she passed when I was a couple months old.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. Can I ask what happened?”
Charlotte closed her eyes. It wasn’t until her twentieth birthday she learned the truth about her mother’s death. The knowledge had done little besides unsettle her. She questioned things she’d never had cause to doubt before. “I’d rather not talk about that right now.” She smiled to ease any rudeness in her words.
Charles nodded. “I understand.”
The server returned to refill their waters and uncork the bottle of Malbec they’d ordered.
Charlotte took a hasty swallow as soon as the wine was in the glass in front of her. Then she resumed her assault on the bread, mind scrambling for small talk fodder.
Why was she so nervous? She wasn’t a shy person by nature, but it had been eons since she’d been on a date. She took another drink, determined not to botch the evening.
“What do you do for a living?” She asked.
“I’m a lawyer.”
That explained the smooth hands. “That must be exciting.”
“I deal with a lot of parking ticket disputes, questioning people about their divorces, and listening to people arguing about minuscule amounts of money.” He flourished his hand in the air in a motion like he was writing. “Sometimes people pay for my signature. It really gets the blood pumping.”
“Well, it’s always great to be passionate about what you do.”
Charles snorted, deftly turning the conversation back to Charlotte. “Tell me about your passions. Is serving food one of them?”
“In a way. Food is, definitely.” Charlotte chewed at her bottom lip. “What I really want is to open my own bakery.”
He nodded, indicating that she should keep talking.
“A small place. With daily specials that people line up for in the morning. And a kick-ass cup of coffee, of course.”
“Amen to that.”
“And when the shelves are empty, I’ll plaster a sign on the door saying we’re closed for the day. People will forgive my eccentric and quirky business habits because of how mind-blowing my products are.”
“I think it’s a great idea. There is no doubt in my mind you would pull it off.”
“Thanks, I wish I could say the same.”
“What are you scared of?”
Charlotte gave a wry laugh. “Gee, I don’t know. Failure, humiliation, bankruptcy. To name a few.”
“And if none of those worst-case scenarios came true?”
“Then I’d be living the dream, wouldn’t I?” Charlotte said with a grim smile.
Charles raised one of his dark brows. The expression clearly expressed he thought her answer was right there in her question.
“I’ll tell you what.” He took a sip of wine, then smiled across the table. “You make gluten-free brownies, and you’ll have at least one loyal customer for life.”
“Gluten-free?” Charlotte gasped, clutching her hand to her chest.
Charles hung his head. “Alas, it is true. I’m one of ‘them.’ Is that a deal-breaker?”
“It could be.” Charlotte spun the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “I have to be honest; you’ve moved down the list a few notches.”
“Hmm.” Charles’s face remained thoughtful, but there was a playful twinkle in his eyes. “I better step up the old romance game to come back from this one.”
“Wait, a damn minute.” Charlotte glanced down at the empty breadbasket. “Does that mean I ate all the bread?”
***
He kissed her goodnight. A pleasant enough kiss. Firm and expertly timed. Charlotte closed her eyes, waited for her toes to curl in her shoes and her heart to skip and bump against her ribs. A gentle furl of warmth uncurled in her belly, but that was the extent of it. No fireworks. No fading of the world around them. Charles paused, probably waiting for an invitation upstairs, but Charlotte only smiled and squeezed his arm.
“Thank you again. That was nice. I had a lot of fun.”
A slight shadow of disappointment crossed Charles’s grey eyes. “It was. Though I was going for more than nice.” He smiled to show he was kidding, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Can I call you?”
“Yes, please do.” Maybe next time, once they knew each other better, things would improve. Maybe she wouldn’t be so awkward. A little nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Carmen popped up in the back of her mind. Maybe Charles would turn into Sam, and then all would be well. Charlotte mentally told the voice to stuff it and smiled. “Well, good night.”
“Goodnight, Chuck.”
Again, the nickname rankled her. That name had people who were allowed to use it, the Stevensons, Carmen—not strangers. She shook her head as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. What was wrong with her?
When she got out of the shower, there was a text from Carmen waiting.
Please report on the date.
Shaking her head, Charlotte punched out a quick response.
Pleasantly mediocre.
She dreamed of Sam that night. His silky curls and the rasp of his five o’clock shadow as he ran his lips down her neck and chest. Around midnight, she came awake with a gasp, the images blazing behind her lids and her body trembling. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered and stuffed her face into her pillow.
CHAPTER 9
“We are all doing Christmas at Dan and Alice’s this year. Did they tell you?” Carmen inhaled the steam from her cup and sighed. “I love coffee,” she murmured, more to the mug than to Charlotte.
Charlotte chuckled and propped a hip against the table where Carmen sat. “Heck ya, Sista.”
Carmen cocked her head, tearing her eyes away from her cup long enough to glance at Charlotte. “To the question or the statement?”
“I concur with both. October is a tad early to be talking about Christmas, though, isn’t it?”
“Christmas at the Stevensons’ is the best time of the year. No reason we shouldn’t be excited about it.”
Charlotte nodded. “Alice is the queen of Christmas. She gave me the first Christmas present I remember getting. A stuffed Care Bear. I still have him on my bed. He’s a little worse for wear, and he’s seen things he shouldn’t have been privy to, but old Tender Heart has been a constant companion these long years.”
“Ah, Care a Lot. Those were simpler times.” Carmen sat back in her chair. “You’re mentally prepared to see Samuel, then?”
“As prepared as I ever will be. Not sure if I’ll punch him in the face or jump his bones in front of everyone.” She shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess if you’d like to get ahead of the game and start a betting pool now.”
“Please don’t do either. Well, you can jump his bones but not in front of us. I, unlike Tender Heart, have a say in the matter, and I don’t wish to be subjected to that.”
“Time will tell, my friend.” Charlotte stabbed a fork into Carmen’s omelette, glanced around the café, then scooped a healthy bite into her mouth. “Why can’t I get this figured out?” she mumbled.
Carmen gave her a look that clearly said, because you’re an idiot, that’s why, but out loud, she said, “Because you refuse to talk to the man like a normal adult.”
Charlotte tapped a finger against her chin. “I don’t see the issue.”
Carmen released a long-suffering sigh. “I didn’t think you would. That would just be asking, too. Oh—” She jerked her chin toward the other side of the restaurant. “That man is trying to get your attention.”
Speed chewing another stolen bite of eggs, Charlotte turned to the man in the corner with his back to the wall. “What do you want?” she barked, then flashed the old-timer a grin.
“Hey, kid, you going to chat all day, or are you going to get back to work?”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a kid?”
“Uh-huh, all I know is, I’ve got socks older than you.”
“You should buy new socks,” Charlotte countered, “and why do you even need the coffee? I’ve seen how much cream and sugar you pour in there. You may as well have a milkshake.”
The man grinned, his eyes nearly lost in the wrinkles and mirth that changed his entire countenance. “Don’t be mean to me. I’m old and feeble.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from inching across her face as she turned back to Carmen.
