‘Better than good. You fixed me.’ I stretch my arms, testing the movement. Barely a twinge. ‘Might have to prescribe that treatment more often.’
Her lips twitch, and she scoops up the last bit of beans with her crust. ‘Mm. I’ll bill you for my services later.’
‘I’m already paying you. And I’d say I added a generous tip last night.’
Her throaty chuckle makes me grin wider. ‘Your ego is the size of Scotland, MacRae.’
I lean back, elbows wide, fingers clasped at my neck. ‘Can you blame me? Fixed my back and got the girl. Feeling a bit invincible, to be honest.’
‘Beans on toast,’ she scoffs. ‘I was hoping for your spaghetti and meatballs.’
Charlie’s giving me this look like she’s just dropped the mic. I feel it low in my gut, satisfaction settling there. I almost forgot about that cooking show.
‘What, you think I’d waste gourmet on you when I know you’ll eat me up either way?’ I toss out, a little cocky, and aye, that earns me a squint.
‘Gourmet? You made spaghetti with tinned tomatoes.’
‘Fancy tinned tomatoes,’ I correct. ‘Organic.’
She rolls her eyes and sets the plate on the bedside cabinet. Then she leans back.
‘Maybe I’ll whip up some pasta for you later.’ I inch closer until I’m right up in her space. ‘If you’re good.’
Her mouth forms a teasing slant. ‘I’m always good.’
‘Debatable.’ I steal a slow kiss, tasting ketchup and that faint sweetness that’s Charlie. ‘But you have potential.’
She laughs, and it’s like every knot in my chest unravels.
Christ, I’m done for.
I’d make her spaghetti every day for the rest of my life if it meant hearing that sound on repeat.
She pulls back to look me in the eye, and I see it coming before she even says it. That guarded look. I steel myself, try to hold on to the warmth of her laugh like it’s enough to drown out whatever she’s about to throw at me.
‘Brodie…’ She hesitates, biting her lip. ‘I’m all in with you. I am. But we can’t let this get out. Not yet. I’m not ready for anyone – Callum, my father, the public – to tear this apart.’
It lands like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. My first instinct is to throw it straight back and say,Fuck that, I’d fight anyone for this. But I swallow it down, let it settle under my ribs, where the ache of her words burrows in.
‘Right.’ I try to make it seem easy. ‘Secret. Under the radar. Whatever you need.’
She watches me and searches my face like she’s not sure if I mean it. I reach out, trace my fingers over her jaw, and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
‘It’s fine, Charlie. We’ll keep it quiet for now.’ I make it sound like it’s okay. I want it to be. ‘One day you’ll be ready. You’re worth waiting for.’
Her shoulders ease a little, and she leans into my touch. But it doesn’t stop that hollow feeling from creeping in. I’m already bracing for the hit when she decides she’s had enough of me.
Me? I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could. But if she needs space, needs time to adjust, I’ll give her that. Even if it feels like ripping my own heart out. Even if it means playing pretend that this is casual when it’s anything but.
Because I’d do anything to keep her.
I push off the bed, fighting the tightness in my chest, and go to mist the plants. Anything to give my hands something to do other than grab her, trying to slip under her skin. Charlie shifts behind me, probably watching my arse, and I can’t help the grin that creeps up on me.
‘What are you, a houseplant whisperer?’
‘Can’t leave them to fend for themselves. These beauties need attention.’
She clicks her tongue. ‘Should I be jealous?’
