CHARLIE
Itossedapairofjeans into my duffle bag, followed by two of the cleanest t-shirts I could find in my laundry rotation, then paused, hand hovering over the drawer. It was supposed to be one night. That was the plan. Long enough to make sure Tally didn’t pass out, crack her head open, and bleed all over the pristine penthouse floors. Then, I’d head back to my studio, my apartment, my routine. Check in on her from time to time. Easy.
But instead I was packing like I was moving in. The longer I stood there, the more ridiculous it felt. Tally was an adult, and she probably didn’t want me hovering.
But, God help me, Iwantedto be.
I shut the drawer a little harder than necessary and dragged a hand down my face.
I sighed and turned my attention to my art supplies, twisting the caps on a few acrylics to make sure they wouldn’t dry out overnight. The movement felt mechanical—if I kept my hands busy, my brain wouldn’t spiral into all the places it was clearly trying to go. I stacked the jars neatly along the edge of the worktable, lined up my brushes, and adjusted the lamp even though it didn’t need adjusting—still too much noise rattling around in my head.
My phone buzzed across the table, sliding an inch on the wood before stopping. Sutton’s face lit up the screen, grinning like a maniac, her River Rats cap on backward like she was the damn mayor of minor league baseball.
I smirked and tapped answer, propping the phone up against a stack of sketchbooks.
“Charlie Pruitt’s Babysitter’s Club, at your service.”
“Nice,” Sutton said, the sound of chopping echoing in the background. “You two are moving in together already? I knew I saw sparks flying.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the phone like I might physically throttle her through it. “I’m not moving in with her. It’s just for the night. She’s not feeling great. Again.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t even try to hide the smugness in her voice as she looked up from her prep work. “So why do you look like you’re packing for a cross-country road trip?”
I exhaled hard through my nose. “What if I need extra socks?”
“While you’re four floors away from your own apartment?”
I paused, really unsure of what I was even doing in the first place. “What if there’s a sock-mergency, and suddenly we need eight pairs of socks?”
“Mm, valid,” Sutton said. “This is, after all, from the guy who once reorganized my entire pantry, half-drunk, at two in the morning because you ‘saw the beginnings of a system failure.’”
I ignored that and reached for the zipper on my duffel instead. “She reallyisn’tfeeling well, and even though the doctor assured us it was normal, I don’t want to take chances and end up on Doyle’s shit list in case something happens to her and I’m out drinking with you idiots.”
There was a pause. The sound of chopping stopped.
When Sutton leaned closer to the camera, I could already feel it coming, the slow, surgical look she got when she was about to rip you open and lay all your tender insides out on the table.
“Charlie,” she said, sing-songing like she was revving up for a takedown. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
She grinned, all teeth. “The furrowed brow. The pacing. The whole emotionally constipated dad-from-a-90s-sitcom vibe. Pretending there is anything more fun in this life than going out to the bars with me and Lee. It’s giving ‘nervous about catching feelings.’”
“Jesus, Sutton—”
“I’m just saying,” she interrupted, holding her hands up in faux surrender. “If you were feeling a little… warm and fuzzy about Savannah’s newest houseguest, you should probably know something. I didn’t want to tell you the other day because I wasn’t sure, but…”
I paused, one foot on the edge of the rug, waiting.
“She’s seeing someone.”
I blinked. “What?”
“She is,” Sutton said, clearly loving every second. “Ryan and I saw her at Savannah Coffee Roasters last week. Some guy was with her—very cozy. Hand on the bump. You know. Realdoting father-to-bevibes.”
My jaw tensed. “Why would I care about that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, all fake innocence. “Maybe because you packed like you’re moving in with her and haven’t unclenched your jaw since she rolled into town? Or maybe it was the phrase… ‘The doctor toldusit was normal’?”
