"You're good at this," I tell him.
"Handing you a spatula?"
"Being in someone else's space without making it feel smaller. Most people take up too much room."
"You're the opposite. You give everyone room and never ask for any yourself." He says it gently, without judgment, and the observation makes my hand still on the spatula.
I flip the pancakes and scramble the eggs, and we eat at my small table by the window. The morning light has shifted from gray to gold, filling the kitchen and catching the steam from our mugs.
Charlie eats the way he does everything, leisurely and with appreciation. He compliments the eggs, which are just eggs, and he asks about my schedule for the day. Our conversation drifts with an easy, natural flow, and it’s impossible to ignore how his bare foot rests against mine under the table. Every time our eyes meet, the intimacy of this moment sizzles through me like a low current.
I'm clearing the plates when my phone buzzes on the counter. But the name on the screen makes my stomach drop.
Derek.
The message preview shows the first line before I can look away.
Hey babe, I'm going to be in the?—
I flip the phone face-down on the counter. The motion is too fast, too sharp, and I know Charlie caught it because his posture shifts from relaxed to alert in an instant. He doesn't say anything, just picks up his coffee and takes a sip, his gaze level on my face, waiting.
My jaw is clenched, and the easy warmth of the morning has been shattered by a name I haven't seen on my phone in a while. The last time Derek texted me, almost a year ago, I deleted the message without reading it.
"Everything okay?" Charlie's voice is measured, giving me room the way he always does.
"Fine." The word comes out clipped, and I wince at the tone of my own voice. I rinse the plates and set them in the rack, trying to release the tension radiating from my shoulders.
Charlie sets his mug down and crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. He doesn't push or reach for my phone. He just stands there quietly.
The silence stretches. I spent the night with this man, woke up in his arms. And now I'm shutting down over a text message from someone who stopped mattering a long time ago.
I spin around and settle against the sink. "His name is Derek. He's my ex-boyfriend."
Charlie's expression doesn't change. He holds my gaze with the same calm look, and I can see him processing, filing the information without reacting to it. "How long ago did you break up?"
"Five years ago, right before I took the job at Willow Sage." It's been an eternity since I've spoken his name out loud or even explained our relationship to anyone, and the syllables feel foreign in my mouth, like a language I used to speak and deliberately forgot. "We met in my sophomore year at college and dated until graduation. He was charming at first, the way certain people are when they want something from you."
"What did he want?"
"Control, I guess. He wanted to manage every part of my life, who I spent time with, how I dressed, how much I studied, while he did whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted." I shake my head. "I caught him with my college roommate, my best friend at the time, at our graduation party. That's how it ended." My jaw tightens. "Narcissistic is the word Tabitha uses. I showed her his texts once, and she said he reminded her of a snake wearing a nice suit."
The corner of Charlie's mouth twitches, and I can tell he's filing Tabitha's assessment away with approval.
"After I ended it, I drove here with that job offer from Isabelle. I haven't seen Derek since then, but that doesn't stop him from texting and calling. It’s always casual, acting like we're still in each other's lives and I just haven't caught up to that reality yet. I never answer, but it doesn’t make a difference."
"How often does he reach out?"
"It depends. Every few months or sometimes longer. The messages are always the same. Breezy, friendly, as if nothing happened. He never acknowledges that I've asked him to stop." I pick up my coffee mug and take a long sip, letting the heat ground me. "He's harmless, Charlie. Annoying and intrusive and completely incapable of hearing the word no, but harmless."
Charlie is quiet for a moment. His arms are still crossed, and his expression has gone still the way it does when he's working through something. He's not angry, or if he is, he's keeping it well below the surface. What I see instead is something more deliberate, a careful attention that takes in everything I've said without rushing to a conclusion.
"You don't owe me an explanation," he says eventually.
"I know I don't." I set the mug down. "I'm telling you because you're standing in my kitchen, and a text from my ex just lit up my phone. I'd rather you hear the truth from me than fill in the blanks yourself."
The corner of his mouth curls and something loosens behind his eyes. "I appreciate that. And I'm glad you told me."
"There's nothing between us. He's just a man who can't accept that his interest isn't mutual."
