She looked up at him through those dark lashes. “Shane said the same thing.”
“Shane's a smart guy.”
“Sometimes.” A ghost of a smile. “When he's not being an idiot.”
“Want to grab dinner?” Ben asked, even though what he really wanted was to take her home and hold her until that tension in her shoulders finally released.
If he was being honest, he wanted to do so much more than that. He thought of all his fantasies, and how each one of them would remove every last bit of tension as she moaned his name.
Charlie’s lips parted ever so slightly as she met his gaze. Her cheeks flooded with color and he noted her breaths speeding up.
“No. Just take me home,” she whispered.
Ben opened the passenger door for her. “As you wish, Princess.”
Charlie ledBen up three flights of stairs to her apartment. Just before they went in, a door across the hall opened and a woman who looked at least a hundred poked her head out. She had perfectly coiffed dyed red hair and sharp, curious eyes that immediately locked onto Ben.
“Oh! Charlene, dear, you have a guest!” The woman's smile was warm but calculating.
Charlie sighed. “Hi, Mrs. Calhoun. This is Ben. Ben, this is my neighbor, Mrs. Calhoun.”
“A gentleman caller!” Mrs. Calhoun clasped her hands together. “How wonderful! I've been telling Charlene she needs to meet a nice young man. You look very nice, dear. Are you nice?”
Ben's mouth twitched. “I try to be, ma'am.”
“Wonderful! Well, I won't keep you two. I'm sure you have... plans.” She winked and ducked back into her apartment.
Charlie groaned quietly as she unlocked her apartment door. “I'm so sorry. She means well, but?—”
“She's going to ask you all about me next time she sees you,” Ben finished as he walked into Charlie’s apartment.
“Exactly.” Charlie looked mortified as she closed the door behind them. “She's the building gossip, but she's harmless. Just very... interested in whether I've 'met a nice gentleman yet.'“
Ben grinned. “Have you?”
Her expression softened. “Yeah. I think I have.”
Charlie's apartment was exactly what Ben expected.
She lived on the second floor of a well-maintained building in a quiet neighborhood. The security was good—locked entry, cameras, solid doors with deadbolts. Charlie unlocked hers andheld it open for him, Flo padding inside first. Charlie took her shoes off and put them on a low wooden rack. Ben followed suit.
“Let me get Flo settled, then give me five minutes to change into something that doesn’t smell like a two-hour plane ride.”
The space was small but efficient. Living room with a couch and a recliner, both in denim blue. Kitchen visible through a doorway. No clutter, no dishes in the sink, throw pillows precisely aligned on the couch. Everything was military neat.
Except for the dining table near the window.
A large Moleskine sketchbook lay open, its pages filled with a sketch of the St. Vrain. Terracotta-colored Conte crayons broken into different-sized pieces and shapes were scattered across the surface. Fine-tipped pens and markers stood in a cracked mug with brushes of all sizes.
And tacked to the wall above the table, a single drawing.
Ben moved closer while Charlie got Flo settled with fresh water and food. The drawing was done in colored pencils, the strokes confident and sure. It showed the St. Vrain River near Riversong, late afternoon light turning the cliffs red and the water golden. Green and brown Cottonwoods lined the near side of the bank. A small figure sat on a rock by the water's edge.
The detail was incredible. Ben could almost hear the water, smell the summer heat, feel the stones under his hands.
“That's—” He stopped, throat tight.
“The St. Vrain.” Charlie came to stand beside him. She'd taken off her jacket, was down to a black t-shirt and tactical pants. Somehow she looked both more vulnerable and more herself.
