“I can’t believe I haven’t been up here before.”
Charlie points to a door. “Sam’s old room.” I stick my head inside. Other than a crib, it looks like a teenage boy’s bedroom. A bookshelf is stuffed with comics, Tolkiens, and textbooks, and there are two posters on the wall. One for the movieCreature from the Black Lagoonand another of an anatomical heart.
“Sam and Percy stay down there,” he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. “And this”—he nods to the room on the other side of the hallway—“is my room.”
I step inside. It is very muchnota childhood bedroom. There’s a large bed with a low headboard that’s upholstered in black fabric. I run my hand over it. Velvet. From the art on the walls to the sleek desk, everything is sumptuous and new and expensive-looking.
I walk to one of the two large windows that look over the water.
“You can see John’s cottage from here,” I say.
“I can.” Charlie stands behind me. I keep my gaze on the lake as he shifts my hair and kisses my neck.
“It’s a good view,” I murmur.
“It is.” One of his hands sneaks under the sweatshirt, sliding over the silk of my dress. I lose the sweatshirt, and I feel his smile against my skin, right between my shoulder blades. “Although I prefer this one.”
I pull the dress over my head and hear him hum in approval. A finger runs down the center of my back, and I shudder. Charlie reaches around me, resting his hands on the window frame, caging me in. He brings his lips to my ear. “Is this how you want it, Alice? Up against the glass?”
I make a noncommittal sound, though I’m almost vibrating at his words, at the feel of his clothing against my bare skin.
“I don’t think so.” I turn to face him, lips parting at the need in his gaze, the flush of his cheeks. I sneak my hands under his shirt, laying them against his stomach. “I seem to recall you talking a big game about a bed.”
Charlie’s dimples flare, and then he picks me up and lays me across the mattress. “Fair enough.”
It’s after midnight when Charlie fixes us each a plate of pierogi. I watch him cook in only his underwear, and I eat sitting on thekitchen counter. I’ve barely chewed my last bite before we’re kissing again. The moon is full—its glow envelops us like an ethereal blanket, until we eventually fall asleep, Charlie’s body curled around mine.
I dream of waking in my Toronto bedroom and finding Charlie sleeping beside me. His lips are pursed, his forehead slightly creased. It’s so vivid, I can smell him. I can feel his stubble when I skim my palm over his jaw. His eyelids flutter, his lashes catching the first of the morning sun that slips through my window. Charlie stretches an arm over his head and then wraps it around me, hugging me close. His eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m still sleeping.” But then he rolls me on top of him, and I stare into a pair of remarkable green eyes. I kiss him, slow and decadent. “As much as I’d like to lie here,” I say, “we did agree to host my entire family for lunch today, and there are pierogi to be made.” He sweeps the hair back from my face. “Let’s stay in bed for a little while longer.” His hand travels to my shoulder. And even though I’m vaguely aware that I’m dreaming, I feel his touch, back and forth, along my arm, and I moan.
“Good morning, Alice,” I hear real-life Charlie say.
I blink awake.
I’m in his bedroom. Bright light pours through the windows. The reflection from the water shimmers on the ceiling. Charlie’s body is curved around mine, his fingers trailing the length of my arm.
“Good morning,” I whisper, smiling. “I just had a very good dream.”
“Oh?”
I turn in his arms, and Charlie pulls me against his chest.
“Me and you in my bed in Toronto.”
“Sounds hot.”
“It was. But it was also…” I shift so that I’m propped on my elbow. Sunlight kisses his cheeks and eyelashes, casting him in gold. “It was nice.”
He gives me a sleepy smile. Waking up next to him like this is even better than in my dream.
“Charlie?” I say, tracing his jaw.
“Alice?” His eyes are incandescent.
I know exactly what I want. And the time has come to tell him.
“When we go back to the city,” I say, running my finger over a dimple, “I think we should do this for real. You and me—I’d like to try.”
Charlie squints like he’s not sure what I’ve said. “Try?”
