“I haven’t seen one of these in years,” Charlie said, taking it from me. “Probably not since I downloaded songs from Napster and burned them in 2009.”
“Illegally?” I teased him.
“I was in college,” he said, reminding me that he was a few years older than me.
“Right.” I smirked at him. “Even though this CD is illegal contraband, I watched it in my aunt’s old office, but don’tworry: I won’t show any information to you unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Anything helpful?” Charlie asked, ignoring my holier-than-thou tone.
“Honestly, I have no idea.” I put both elbows on my knees and dropped my head in my hands. “It’s like I drank from a firehose of information tonight, and I can’t quite organize the details into a clear through-line.”
“That’s a good way to put it.” Charlie leaned back onto the bed. “This isn’t the weekend I expected,” he finally said, in a near whisper.
I looked into those eyes that I loved… er, um, liked. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I hoped that in the low lighting, he wouldn’t be able to tell.
“What did you expect?” I asked, genuinely curious, as I dared to lie back on the bed next to him. From my lower angle, I turned my head toward him, noticing the stubble lining his jaw.
We didn’t have luggage or a change of clothes, and despite the fact that Charlie and I had spent as many nights together as we could, this strange place and our lack of normalcy made us awkward. Still, there was something between us, some fine thread that tugged at the core of me, nudging me toward him. If he would only let down his guard.
Charlie sat up for a moment, took off his shirt and his belt, and placed his holster on top of the end table. When he lay back down, he was on his side and turned toward me. He put out a hand and as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, my body shivered at his touch.
“I was hoping for something more like you and me, and a pint of Phish Food,” he said, his voice low. “A show at my place.”
“What show?” I asked, drawn to his alternative universe. I wanted to hear what could’ve been.
“Maybe the BBCPride and Prejudice? It would have to be one of those British romances where I can only understand every other word.”
“That’s what subtitles are for,” I reminded him.
“Right.” His hand trailed across my cheek and down my neck to the bare skin on my arm. “But it wouldn’t really matter since we wouldn’t make it past the opening scene.”
“The inciting incident,” I said softly.
“As one of them insults the other very politely, we’d be… otherwise engaged.” Charlie said the last two words with an accent that came out more Cockney than posh.
I laughed despite this weekend and the bizarre way it was unfolding. Charlie’s warmth, that’s what I’d been missing. This closeness, this way of understanding one another, this laughter. All of the missteps and my encroaching jealousy fell away as soon as we were alone together.
Charlie studied my lips as he continued his aristocratic charade. “Since your lady’s maid hasn’t made an appearance this evening, I’d be delighted to help you off with your outer garments.”
I chuckled despite it all and moved closer to him, almost collapsing into him as I inhaled his cedar scent.
If only it could be like this, if only he could avoid becoming so absorbed in his work that he almost switched personalities; if only I could squash my instinct to always question his motives, then this could work. But that was a big ask on both of our parts.
Regardless, I had him—what I’d come to think of as “the real Charlie”—until dawn. I didn’t want to waste the few hours, so I kissed him long and hard, waiting for his hands to slip the fabric from my skin.
PART III
Saturday
Morning
TWENTY-ONE
Charlie was asleep almost as soon as he lay his head on the pillow next to mine, and I followed him into that sweet abyss in what seemed like seconds. My conscious and subconscious were churning over so many things as my eyes closed: that I needed to be alert and awake enough for Mr. Finch’s will reading downtown where Savilla was about to find out I was her half-sister, that Lacy and I needed to find Brett’s email password before midnight tonight, that Monday’s decision about the fellowship recommendation was less than forty-eight hours away. And that didn’t even include solving a murder.
Death becomes familiar when you’re a vet. Between both my medical training and the personal experience of watching Momma fade away, I’d learned to accept its inevitability. Still, the harrowing events of the day came out in my dreams, manifesting the fear and uncertainty I hadn’t yet been able to vocalize. I competed on a reality show in which I had to eat a bowl full of bugs while treading water. It was almost a relief to awaken to semi-normal anxieties seven hours later, around 11 a.m.
I woke to the sound of the door closing and sat up straight, gripping the sheets to my bare skin and calling out the firstthing that came to mind. “Who goes there?” Apparently I was a maiden living in a medieval castle.
