I laugh, then turn my attention back to Nan.
“Do you mind if I spend the night at Charlie’s?”
“Of course not,” she says, setting her cup down.
The next time my eyes travel to the Floreks’ dock, I see him standing there. Charlie waves, and we wave back.
“I told you,” Nan says, smiling over the water.
“What’s that?”
She glances at me. “Good things happen at the lake.”
46
Charlie brings Nan takeout from the Tavern for dinner. He tells her our plans for the evening as he piles her plate high with braised red cabbage, mashed potatoes, and pork schnitzel. According to him, he’s teaching me how to make his mom’s pierogi. Nan and I exchange doubtful looks.
“We’re cooking?” I say on the way to his house.
“Oh, we’re cooking.” He flashes me his sex eyes, and I snort.
I’m wearing my slinky green dress and have packed nothing but a toothbrush and tomorrow’s clothes. I didn’t even bring my camera. I’ve been waiting all afternoon to get my hands back on Charlie. For all his talk about bedroom moves, I doubt I can wait to get upstairs. But then he leads me inside, straight to the kitchen. There’s a five-pound bag of potatoes and a sack of flour on the counter.
I glance at him. He’s wearing jeans on his bottom half, a T-shirt on the top. His lips are still a little swollen and his face is a lot smug.
“We’re actually making pierogi?”
“Like I said.” His gaze tours the length of my body, and when it returns to my face, it’s dark with promise. “Though I didn’t tell your grandmother my other plans.”
“Which are?”
“Eat. Swim. Et cetera.”
“I thought you needed to wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming.”
He stalks across the room toward me. “I didn’t say what I was eating.”
I pull a face despite a singular throb of desire between my legs. “You’re terrible.”
“You have no idea.” Charlie kisses me once, quick, his thumb skimming over my bottom lip before he moves around the counter. “You peel the potatoes.”
My hands tremble as I work. Charlie is kneading dough, his forearms flexing in a way that would make me think of naughty things if I weren’t so tightly wound. I can’t keep pretending. I need to tell him how I feel. It’s not fear that’s making me antsy. I’ve seen how Charlie looks at me. I’m nervous, but I’m also excited.
“We’re going to end up with a restaurant’s supply of pierogi,” Charlie says as he covers the dough. “Maybe we can freeze some for you to take back to the city.”
I hum. We’re cooking together, talking about freezing leftovers. We’re friends, but we’re already so much more.
Charlie has music playing over the speaker on the counter—his dock rock mix. Classics that my friends might play ironically but that Charlie embraces. He doesn’t like anything ironically. He’s singing out of tune, and I realize that this is something else I admire about him. He’s unapologetically him. He catches me staring and winks.
“Forever Young” begins to play, and I laugh. Until the end of time, I will associate Rod Stewart with this summer, with this night.
I’m finishing the potatoes when I feel Charlie at my back. He kisses my neck, slips the strap of my dress down my shoulder.His lips follow. A hand coasts over my waist. Lower. I prod him with an elbow.
“We’re cooking, remember?”
“Sorry,” he says, though I can hear him smiling. “I love this dress. And I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Same.” I turn my cheek to look at him. “I wanted to call you. I wanted to talk to someone about how great it was.”
