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CHARLIE
Things are going incredibly well, for the first time in a really long time.
Mark is amazing. I was terrified to relinquish my gun, even to him, but I’m glad I did. Knowing he’s protecting me has given me a sense of security I’ve not felt since I was taken. Every night, he wakes me up to talk about something innocuous for a few minutes, and then I go back to sleep. Most of the time now, I don’t have nightmares. The few I do have are flashes of images, like movie clips, not the fully-immersed experiences I’d been having. When they hit, his voice reaches for me, pulling me back to the present.
Mark makes me feel safe. He always has. As a result, I’m getting the best sleep I’ve had in years. My appetite has returned, and I’m regaining the weight I’d lost. My overwhelming feelings of stress have disappeared.
I even see differences in our moods. We’re both more relaxed, more positive. In my case, it’s because I’m sleeping better, having fewer nightmares, and spending time with Mark. He grounds me. He always has. For Mark, I’m not sure how much is from his antidepressant and how much is from being with friends, but he’s more like the old Mark. He laughs more, and he’s relaxed.
He was right. We’re helping each other heal.
Our clinic is humming along. It took me the better part of a week to figure out Lila’s piling – I mean, filing – system and get everything straightened out, but I managed. Once I had things put back together, Lila sheepishly asked me to teach her my organizational system. We both hope it won’t be necessary for either of us to leave like that again, but emergencies happen, and this experience has taught us that we need to be prepared.
Tara, the massage therapist Lila hired in my absence, is an absolute godsend. She’s fifty but looks no more than thirty-five, with long auburn hair and dark brown eyes. She’s been divorced for three years and has a son who lives nearby and a newlywed daughter living in California. Tara’s ex was extremely wealthy, and after twenty-two years of marriage, the judge felt she’d earned half of what her husband had made plus large alimony payments, especially since he left her after impregnating his twenty-year-old assistant. Tara only works because she likes taking care of people. She’s a hugger who can coax a smile out of even our most curmudgeonly clients. She brings in cakes to celebrate their birthdays, brews their favorite coffees and teas as they arrive, and even adjusts the music in her massage room to their requests. She’s amazing, and she fits our clinic to a tee.
A couple of weeks after we’ve come home, I’m behind the front desk when Blake saunters into the clinic carrying two paper cups. His blue eyes find me immediately. His shaggy blond hair has that messy-surfer look, and he’s dressed in soft jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s long and lean, muscled yet graceful. His lips curve in a slow smile. “Every time I see you, you’re even more beautiful than before.” He holds out one of the cups. “I thought you might like a coffee. Medium roast with double dark chocolate.”
That’s… surprising. “Thank you.” I take a sip from the cup he passes me, and it’s sinfully sweet and smooth, not unlike Blake himself. Maybe that’s the point. “It’s delicious.”
He smiles again, but it’s not his usual wickedly-flirtatious grin, and his eyes hold mine. “I’m glad you like it.”
Something’s different about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. “You’re here early this morning. Is something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “I got some unexpected good news. Thought I’d tell Tom in person.”
“Maya forgot her homework on the coffee table. He’ll be here soon.”
He nods and leans on the counter, openly admiring me. I awkwardly shuffle papers on the desk, wishing someone would come in or the phone would ring. Maybe I could “accidentally” set off the alarm system for a distraction. His intense scrutiny is unnerving.
He takes a deep breath. “I missed you when you were in Texas, Charlie.” His voice is quiet, his tone sincere. I glance at his face, and there’s no trace of a smile.
He’s not blithely flirting.
He’s serious?
Surely not.
I respond with the first thing that pops into my head. “Why?”
He smiles slowly. “Seeing you is always the highlight of my day. Having you gone for three months was like losing my sunlight.”
Losing his sunlight?
And just like that, with one cheesy comment, we’re back on familiar territory, and the tension leaves my shoulders. Blake is like the American male version of Pepé Le Pew, persistently flirtatious but essentially harmless.
“I have a proposition for you.” His voice is rich, like warm honey.
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter, and he grins.
“A perfectly innocent proposition,” he clarifies.
I raise one eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Let me be your next Winner versus Whiner date.”
My mouth falls open. “How do you know about those?”
He chuckles. “Tom and Lila were bickering about them one day. He was giving her a hard time about the guys she’s picked for you.”
