He lifted her hand and placed it in his, then tangled their fingers together.
Charlotte sucked in a breath.
“It means,” he said, kissing the back of her hand, “let’s make ’em a little jealous.”
“Oh god,” she said, but he kept hold of her hand and pulled her toward the food table, getting in line. “You know we’re going to have to let go of each other to actually get the food.”
“We’ve got a few people to go yet,” he said. “Milk it.”
He let his shoulder brush hers, spoke to her in a low voice, his mouth close to her ear. Her palm was sweating against his, her heart pounding.
She hadn’t held someone’s hand in a long time.
“How do you know Sloane will be jealous?” she asked, turning her head to meet his eyes. He looked at her so intently, so adoringly.
Oh, he was good.
“I don’t,” he said. “But you’re fun to hang out with, so it’s worth a shot.”
“Fun?”
“Fun,” he said, then tilted his head. “Not used to that adjective?”
“To describe me? Not at all.”
“All the more reason to loosen up a little here. We’re just having fun, Charlotte. That’s it. Serving the true purpose of Two Turtledoves, as the founding romantics intended.”
Charlotte laughed, let herself lean against him. Hewasfun, she knew that. And kind and safe. But then she made the mistake—or was it actually a great decision?—of resting her cheek against his shoulder and looking out at the dining room.
Brighton was staring at them from where she sat with Manish, Elle, and Adele, her eyes wide, her mouth open a little. She looked down as soon as Charlotte caught her.
Charlotte turned back to the food, the line moving up. Her heart was pounding and felt three times its normal size. But she also felt…she wasn’t sure.
Vindicated.
No, that sounded too petty.
Maybe…satisfied?
That was it. She felt satisfied. Relieved, even. Because for that split second when she and Brighton watched each other, Brighton looking ever so slightly shocked, and Charlotte didn’t feel like the unlovable, leavable person she’d felt like for the last five years.
She smiled at Wes, then lifted their joined hands and kissed the back ofhisfingers before separating so they could get their dinner.
Forty minutes later, Charlotte washolding a tiny pastry bag full of icing while “Jingle Bell Rock” played in the background. She sat across from a very attractive man with auburn hair and freckles who was sneezing so often that she worried about the sanitary state of the large cookie they were supposed to be decorating.
“So what do you do for work?” the man—Jack—asked as he blew his nose into a handkerchief covered in tiny Christmas trees.
She pressed her lips together and sighed through her nose, catching Wes’s eye at the table where he was stationed. He looked completely panicked. Not only did Charlotte hate small talk with strangers more than anything else in the world, but the euphoria she’d felt earlier with Wes had totally worn off. Moreover, she’d failed to realize until this moment that this horrid event would eventually pair her with Brighton. In this first round, she was fixed at a table, people moving around her, and it looked like Brighton was currently two people away.
“I’m a violinist,” Charlotte said, wincing as Jack folded his handkerchief to reveal a clean side. She’d always abhorred the idea of handkerchiefs, despite their benefits to the environment.
“Oh, well done,” he said. “You any good?”
“I am good, yes,” she said right before he sneezed again. “Are you okay?”
He dabbed at the corners of his eyes. “Fine, fine, sorry. I’m not sick, I promise. I sneeze when I’m nervous. Makes going to the dentist a real adventure.”
Charlotte offered a sympathetic smile, glad her own nerves didn’t manifest themselves in a similar manner—she’d be a sneezing mess half the day. Instead, her anxiety held her posture so tight and straight she usually gave herself a headache.
