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“She’s going to leave him here?” I say, shocked as she backs out slowly.
“Nah,” Charlie says, “if she wanted to leave him here, she wouldn’t have backed out so slow.” He lets go of my hand, walking to the truck, and knocks on the window. “Mom, can you stay for lunch?”
She stops the truck at the same time Quinn walks over to stand next to me. “I hope you know that he’s exactly like his mother.” I put my hand in front of my mouth as Charlie talks his mother into staying for lunch.
“I’ll get the bags,” Quinn offers, walking to the back of the truck and stopping when Willow comes to stand beside him. “You almost ran over my foot,” he accuses, and she ignores him but doesn’t walk away from him. “Our son is home. Give me a kiss and let’s have lunch.” She looks up at him, the look of love written all over her face.
I’m so engrossed in them I don’t feel Charlie put his arm around me, looking up at him. “See, it’s not weird.” He bends his head and kisses my lips softly before whispering in my ear, “Don’t think I’ll forget about make-up sex.” I laugh at him as he turns, and we head into his house.
“Are you done with this?” I get up from my chair and walk over to Charlie’s side of the table to grab his plate. His hand comes out as he rubs the back of my leg. I look down at him as he looks up at me. The smile on his face makes his eyes light.
“Yeah, baby,” he replies softly, and I know I shouldn’t care that he’s calling me baby in front of his parents, but I do a bit. But not that much because I lean down and kiss his lips, because I want to. Because it feels right. But more importantly, because I can.
I grab his plate and see Willow watching us, her hand going to her own plate as she gets up and grabs Quinn’s plate. The two of them made up by the time they walked in. “You don’t have to clean up,” I say. “Charlie can help.”
“He has to get the bags,” Willow says, and I look over to see the bags at the door, but I just walk back into the kitchen with the plates in my hands. “I’ll go get the rest,” she tells me but doesn’t move. “So you and Charlie,” she starts, and I put the plate down, trying not to be nervous but failing.
“I know it’s a shock,” I start, my voice quivering, “and trust me, we weren’t expecting it to happen.” The tightness in my chest gets even tighter. “It’s not just for fun. I know I’m rambling, but I can’t help it. I ramble when I’m nervous.” I lift my hands and drop them into the sink.
“There is no reason for you to be nervous.” She smiles at me as she blinks away tears. “We owe you more than words can say right now.”
“What?” I question her, confused as she grabs one of my hands.
“I just had lunch with my boy, and he sat there, and he smiled—not a fake smile but a real fucking smile that went all the way to his eyes.” I try not to laugh at her saying the F-word, especially since she whispered it. “I sat there, and he laughed like I haven’t heard before. Like I’ve been praying for for the last eight years. He sat there, and I could tell he was happy. He wasn’t faking it. He wasn’t saying it to say it. He was actually happy, and he’s thriving, and you are part of that reason.” I start to say something, but she holds up her hand. “You brought me back my boy. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.” She wipes the tears away. “You brought my boy home.” She smiles at me. “Now, we’ve been in your hair long enough.” She turns. “So I’m going to let my husband,” she shouts toward the men, “take me home and make up for the fact that he lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie to anyone. Did you ask me?” Quinn defends himself from the table in the other room. “No, you didn’t.”
She winks at me. “So now I have to ask you things, and you not tell me?” She puts her hands on her hips and walks into the room. “What else are you keeping from me?”
He groans, and I hear the chair creak across the floor before I see him bend. The next thing you know, she’s over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“You are begging to fight with me.” He smacks her ass. “I’m going to give you something to fight with me about.” He walks out the door and slams it after him. I look over at the dining room when I hear the sound of the other chair scraping the floor.
Charlie now comes to my side as he bends down and picks me up over his shoulder, and I laugh. He slaps my ass. “You owe me make-up sex.” He walks over to one side of the house. “Plus interest.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Charlie
I’m sliding on my suit jacket when I hear a knock on the door. I walk out and head toward it; I can see figures through the glass window. I’m almost there when there is another knock on the door. “I’m coming,” I say, pulling it open and staring at my sister, Grace, in shock. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her husband, Caine, stands behind her, wearing a suit very much like mine. My parents pull up behind them, and then a couple of my aunts follow. Everyone is dressed to the nines. The last time I saw them was when we went home to escape the man lurking around. It took my grandfather two days to find out who he was and to deliver him a message that he was messing with the wrong people. Which isn’t surprising since my grandfather runs the biggest security firm in the country. It took him less than an hour to cut ties with the Cartwrights, and we found this out through an email he sent to them quitting. Since then, we haven’t seen him around town, and from what my grandfather told me this morning, he’s in New York.
“Is that any way to talk to your favorite sister?” She steps in, kissing my cheek.
“You’re my only sister,” I remind her, turning and seeing Caine hold out his hand to me and shake it.
“I told them it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m usually never listened to.” Caine walks in with Grace toward the living room.
“Usually?” I watch him grab her hand.
“Ever,” Caine corrects himself. “It’s like I talk for nothing since no one listens to me.”
“Oh, don’t you look nice,” my mother says, coming to me and getting on her tippy-toes to kiss my cheek, then flattening down the front of my jacket.
“What is everyone doing here?” I ask, shaking hands and kissing cheeks.
“It’s your girl’s big debut. You didn’t think we’d miss it,” my father explains.
“Does she know you’re coming?” I ask the question, though I know full well she has no idea, or else she’d be double stressed. Considering for the past four days she’s slept maybe two hours each night, waking up, gasping for air with nightmares that she forgot to do something, which wasn’t the case.
