Sutton herself was the only friend, barring Caleb and Dean, that she’d ever had that she’d thought was worth keeping.
All she really knew was that sitting in her townhouse with Sutton, letting Sutton explore her kitchen and then exclaim over her sunroom before lounging on a chaise and just… existing with her, was the best weekend Charlotte had had in years. Sutton had stayed for over two hours while Charlotte neglected packing and prepping for her upcoming trip.
And honestly, she didn’t give a shit; she could handle the meetings with less prep.
She’d been extremely reluctant to say goodbye to Sutton after dinner, given that she was about to leave D.C. for over a week.
“Thank you again for dinner,” Sutton had said as she’d lingered by the door. “I’d never even heard of that Indian place!”
Charlotte smiled indulgently; her cheeks were almost sore from the amount of real smiling she’d done at Sutton tonight. It was such an instinctivething; looking at Sutton like this—in Charlotte’s home, comfortable, bright-eyed, talking about her work and Lucy and, just, life, that wonderfully husky laugh falling from soft lips—it just made Charlotte… happy.
“Maya, one of my assistants, she orders from there all of the time,” she had said.
Sutton’s slow smile was nearly lethal, the way it cut through Charlotte. Sutton had such a sweet, soft smile, but there was an edge to her that Charlotte saw—maybe she was the only one who did—as Sutton mocked, “Oh,one of my assistants.”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “She is! What would you like me to call her?”
Sutton merely laughed, leaning back against the door as she regarded Charlotte. “Nothing. I want you to call her what she is. I just…” She fiddled with the ends of her jacket sleeves. “It’s sometimes crazy,” she confessed.
Charlotte knew she must have looked as wanting and confused as she felt inside as she asked, “What is?”
“This.” Sutton gestured around them. “All of this. I just… you… you really did it,” she said softly. “Everything you planned. Everything you wanted.”
The words were admiring and encouraging and warm, but as Charlotte stared at Sutton getting ready to leave, they landed hollowly inside of her, in a void of longing and wanting that Sutton’s company alone could fill. “Not everything,” she murmured, the words slipping out, echoing with that longing that hit so strongly.
Sutton rolled her lips before she smiled, a little teasing. “Right. Here comes Ms. President.”
Charlotte exhaled quickly, amusement and disappointment wrapping together in a confusing bundle in her stomach as she smiled. “Right. Yes.”
“Let me know if you hear anything before I do from the publisher? I can get started writing the next bit or editing through their suggestions,” Sutton offered as she hesitated at the door, her hand on the knob but not quite twisting.
And Charlotte—it was so ridiculous, especially considering she herself was on a flight in the morning, but she didn’t want Sutton to go. She liked Sutton in her house. She liked the way the house feltwarmerwith her. She liked the way she felt with Sutton; she liked the waylifefelt with Sutton.
But. They were friends. That was what was happening now. And if a friendship was what she could have with Sutton, a friendship was what she’d take.
“I’ll let you know,” she promised. “And,” she added, as Sutton started opening to door, “I’ll text you anyway. As friends do.”
A grin pulled at her lips, especially as Sutton slowly smiled back.
“Right. Good, then.” Sutton stood in the open doorway, lingering as if unsure how to say goodbye for several seconds. She nodded to herself minutely and leaned in. Surprise slid through Charlotte as well as a light flutter in her stomach, even as Sutton wrapped her arms around her.
It was a quick, brief squeeze,friendly, but Charlotte leaned into it anyway.
“Have a good trip. Um. Effect change.”
Charlotte laughed, bright and easy, so brought about by Sutton. “Will do.”
And so what if she watched Sutton leave, the way she walked down the walkway, breathing a little sigh that no one else had ever made her feel?
It was all in the name of… friendship.
She hadn’t knownthat friendship with Sutton would mean such frequent texting, not that she was complaining about it.
Charlotte—11:31 a.m.
Texting a friend, as one does, to inform her of a safe flight. On my way to effect change. What are you up to this Sunday?
Sutton—11:47 a.m.
