His eyes soften. His smile is golden. It’s the look from the photo. The one I’ve failed to recognize until today.
“You could have,” he says. “I’m happy to talk about my sexual prowess any time. Angles, depth, speed, favorite positions.”
I laugh and elbow him again, and he spins me around, kissing me so deeply, I drop the vegetable peeler on the floor. Charlie groans into my mouth. It sounds like relief and longing and hunger. Usually our kisses grow more and more frenzied, until we’re clamoring for each other, but this one moves the opposite direction. Charlie holds my face between his hands. I open my eyes to find him staring at me in the way no one has before.
Only him.
He taps my hip, smiling. “Back to work, slacker.”
We set about boiling the potatoes and frying the onions in butter, their fragrance filling the kitchen with something that smells a lot like home. When the dough is ready, Charlie rolls it out until it’s a thin, smooth sheet. Charlie looks at me, watching him with my mouth hanging slightly open.
He chuckles. “Impressive, right?”
“I want to say no, because the last thing your ego needs is further stroking. But yeah, impressive.”
“Sometimes I helped my mom with them if she was short on time. Rolling out the dough was her least favorite part of the process.” He shrugs. “I didn’t mind it, and I liked being in thekitchen at the Tavern. It made me feel closer to…” Charlie stops speaking, and I put my hand on his arm.
“Your dad.”
He nods. “We didn’t talk about him at home after he died. But at the restaurant, I could feel him there. When my mom wasn’t in earshot, Julien would tell stories about him, mostly trash talk. And it felt normal, I guess. Sam never really liked working in the kitchen. Couldn’t wash a dish to save his life. But for me, that place, the people there—it was my family.”
He’s quiet as he cuts the dough into circles. I add a spoon of potato-onion mixture and then he shows me how to pinch the dough closed, making a crescent with folded edges. It takes me half a dozen tries to get it right, Charlie working three times faster than I do.
I glance at him after I’ve done one properly, but he’s staring at my hands, his jaw tight.
“Charlie? Are you okay?”
He gives me a weak smile. “Yeah. Just went back in time for a sec.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“It’s nothing,” he says. He inspects the dumplings in front of me. “You’ve got the hang of it.”
“Not bad, right?”
“No,” he says, kissing my temple. “Not bad at all.”
We go for a boat ride before we eat. The sun has sunk below the hillside, leaving the horizon streaked in blush and blue. And even though the sight of Charlie on this picture-book evening is one I want to remember forever, I don’t itch for my camera. I’m in the moment, at the center of the action.
I release my hair from its elastic, and Charlie grins, then presses the throttle down. We soar across the lake, and I try to soak in every last detail. The rumble of the motor, a sound I can distinguish from all the other boats on the lake. My hair lashing against my cheeks. The softness of Charlie’s pullover against my skin. The goose bumps on my legs. The cool wind on my face and the fresh air in my lungs. The reflection of the sunset on the lake, like we’re sailing through the sky.
And Charlie.
I never want it to end.
But eventually, my teeth begin to chatter. Charlie takes off the jacket he’s wearing and throws it over my legs, and we head home. I tackle him as soon as we’re on the dock, braiding my arms around his neck. He stumbles back. “Caught you,” I sing.
Charlie lifts an eyebrow, then picks me up off my feet and throws me over his shoulder.
“Caughtyou,” he says, and carries me up the hill.
“Turbulent ride, but I like this view.” I pat his butt.
He plants a kiss on my hip, not setting me down until we’re in the kitchen.
I put my hands on his chest. “Show me your room?”
“Trouble,” Charlie says, but he takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
