In response, he takes my hand and slides it down my stomach to the edge of my bathing suit bottom.
I stiffen. “I’ve never done that in front of someone else.”
Charlie looks momentarily stunned, but then he smiles. “Don’t make me do all the work, Alice Everly.”
I stand between his thighs, hesitating for a moment, before I dip my hand below the edge of my suit. Charlie watches, hunger darkening his stare. I shut my eyes, tipping my head back, concentrating on the feel of his breath against my stomach and the press of my fingers. A quiet sound escapes my throat, and it’s all it takes for Charlie to get to his feet and carry me to one of the twin beds.
“I thought you didn’t want to do all the work,” I pant as he sets me down.
“I wouldn’t want to be accused of being lazy,” he says, before replacing my fingers with his own.
After a volcano erupts behind my squeezed-shut eyelids,Charlie bundles me in his arms. I nuzzle into his chest, close my eyes, and breathe him in. Hot skin and that other luxurious, green scent that I find very relaxing.
My words jumble somewhere between my brain and my tongue. “What is the way you smell?”
A hand trails up and down my arm. “The way I smell?” I can hear him smiling.
“Yeah. I can’t figure it out. It’s expensive and plant-y.”
I feel his chuckle against my cheek. “It’s my body wash. Eucalyptus and lavender. I bought it at a hotel spa.”
I raise my head. “That’s it. You smell like a spa.”
He laughs again. “Is that a good thing?”
“Very. I might need to borrow it.”
His fingers move from my arm to my hip. “I want you to know that I don’t think you’re a turtle.”
“No?”
“No. You’re a Pegasus-unicorn, Alice Everly. You’re one of a kind.”
32
It’s still drizzling when I walk Charlie to the dock. Our goodbye is awkward. I lean in for a kiss and he goes for a hug, and we end up in a weird pretzel with my lips pressed to his collarbone and Charlie laughing at me.
I watch the yellow boat cut across the bay, and then make my way up to the cottage, preparing an apology to Nan. The fragrance of onion and garlic frying in oil fills my nose when I step inside. I find her in the kitchen.
“Do you need help?”
“I’m managing,” she says. “I’ll let you know if I get weary. You go change into something warm.”
I want to argue because she’ll be tired when she’s done, but I give her what I’ve asked for: freedom to make her own choices.
“I want to apologize for earlier,” I say as we sit down to eat.
Nan makes her pasta sauce with ground beef, tinned mushrooms, and carrots, and she spoons it over naked egg noodles—everything about the dish would alarm an Italian, but I love it. It reminds me of the sleepovers Heather and I had at her house after the twins were born.
She sets down her fork and lifts her chin. “No,” she says. “I owe you an apology, Alice. It was wrong of me to ask your sister to speak to you. She was adamant about bringing your father intothe conversation, and I thought we could help you see what you’re missing out on.” She pauses. “But you’re an adult, and we need to respect your decisions.”
“I appreciate that.” I take a deep breath. “Because I’m not going to participate in the show.”
“Alice! Whyever not?”
I tell Nan everything. How, even though the photo may be one of my best, it’s not one I truly love. How I’m afraid of disappointing Elyse. How my work doesn’t give me the same purpose and fulfillment it once did.
“I need to recalibrate,” I tell her. “I need to find my voice as a photographer again.”
