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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHARLIE
"I hope you haven't been waiting long," I apologize when I finally make my way to Blake at the bar. “I had trouble finding a parking place.”
"Not long at all,” he says, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to shout over the rumble of other voices. His cologne has a pleasant woodsy smell. His black pants and the crisp steel blue dress shirt the same color as his eyes both look expensive, but the undone top button and rolled-up sleeves say casual. His eyes rake over me, a smile curving his lips as he moves closer to my ear. “You’re breathtaking,” he says, his warm breath tickling my neck.
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly shy. “You look nice, too.” I’m wearing a simple batik patterned maxi dress in autumn colors and a pair of strappy gold sandals that show off my burgundy pedicure. My hair is styled in loose waves, and I’m wearing my favorite gold earrings. I inhale the scent of his cologne again before realizing he’s watching. I bite my lip, embarrassed at being caught. He gives me another slow smile, and an unfamiliar sensation ripples through my belly.
The bartender takes our order, and the raucous group behind us relocates to a table for twelve. The noise dies down just as he returns with our drinks. Conversation with Blake flows easily, presumably because we know each other and because I suspect he’s keeping things intentionally light. We talk about our first jobs – my first official job was the military, though I babysat in high school; he waited tables dressed as a pirate, complete with a puffy shirt and an eyepatch. It’s so out of character for the smooth-talking guy in front of me, I can’t help but laugh. He talks at length about his twin nieces, Addison and Avery, sharing stories and pictures of them. They clearly have him wrapped around their little fingers, and it makes him seem more approachable. By the end of my second drink, I’m more relaxed. I switch to water – I never have more than two drinks unless I’m at home – and we discuss favorite foods, travel destinations, movies, and books. Things are going far better than I’d expected.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asks, and before I know it, we’ve ordered burgers and moved to a quieter table upstairs.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” His gaze is curious. My spine tenses as I reach for my water.
“Okay.”
“You’re beautiful, smart, funny, successful – how are you still single?”
Everything in me screeches to a halt. Telling him the truth isn’t an option, at least, not the full truth. I scramble for a benign answer. “I have trust issues,” I finally say. “They add an extra degree of difficulty to dating.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful.
I don't want him to continue probing, so I tip my head at him. “What about you? You’re a handsome, charismatic guy. How are you still single?”
His eyes cloud before he smiles without humor. “You aren’t the only one with trust issues.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I was married briefly. We got married young,” he admits, “but I loved her. I thought that was enough.” He shakes his head, and his blond hair falls over his eyes. “It was enough for me, but not her. She started seeing someone on the side and left me for him. It was a hard lesson to learn.”
“And now you avoid commitments,” I surmise, remembering Tom saying Blake had ended things with Sandi because she wanted something more permanent.
He shrugs, staring off with unseeing eyes. “I’m not averse to commitment, but it’s easier to keep things casual. The majority of the time, love is nothing but pain.”
His bleak outlook surprises me for someone who’s based his career around positivity. Then again, who am I to judge? Most days, I slap on a fake smile for the rest of the world, too. But it’s a shame his marriage left such deep scars. “I’m sorry, Blake. You deserved better.”
“Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice rough.
“Your turn to ask me something,” I say, anxious to move to a lighter topic.
He smiles at my obvious reprieve. “What do you enjoy in your spare time?”
“I’m pretty boring. I hang out with my friends. I read. I journal. Watch a lot of movies, listen to lots of music. I run. I torture plants under the guise of gardening. I love being in the woods.”
The woods are my happy place, magical and healing. The solitude and peace I find there quiets the cacophony inside my head.
“What kind of music do you like?”
I shrug. “Anything from the last fifty years is fair game.”
His face lights up. “Who are the last three artists you’ve listened to?”
I pull out my phone and open my streaming service, scanning my recently-played titles. I laugh when I see them. “Proof of my eclecticism. James Taylor, Eminem, and Katy Perry. And the two before that are AC/DC and Bruno Mars.”
He grins, ticking them off his fingers. “Let’s see. Smooth and easy. Angry pounding. Girl-power ballads. Guitar-centric screeching, and R&B? That’s quite the range.”
“Sometimes I choose music to match my mood. Other times, I use it to alter it.”
“What mood is Eminem for?”
I grin. “Usually burning off frustration. That, or I need to be productive.”
