Page 77 of That Geeky Feeling

“You?”

She looks at her feet and runs the toe of a sneakered foot along the line in the vinyl floor that she picked to replace the soggy carpet. “Maybe.”

“Elliot!” Owen’s voice comes from the other side of the room. Shit, yes. Other people are here, aren’t they. I’m at an important and meaningful event. And I have a job to do.

He beckons me over, and I nod to indicate I’ll be with him in a moment.

Shit. I can’t let her go now. Not when she seems willing to close the gaping chasm she put between us the other day. I have to keep her with me for as long as I can, to see if I can pull us all the way back together.

I take hold of Charlotte’s upper arms. “Look, this likely wouldn’t have happened without you. Could I please take you out for a thank-you dinner? I mean, as long as you promise not to throw up.”

She giggles a giggle that makes her eyes sparkle. “Yes, you can. And I’ll try my best.”

“Okay, great. I just have to do some press interviews. And then I want to chat with the kids.”

“Of course. Enjoy. Lap it up. You deserve it. I have some organizational ideas I want to talk to Priya about anyway.”

“And I’ll need to run back to the hotel to get changed out of this suit before we go eat.”

But the last thing I want is to be apart from her for a single second. Would it be weird to ask her to come back to the hotel while I change? It could sound like a terminally bad pickup line. And I don’t even mean it that way. I just want to be in her orbit as much as possible.

My heart hitches. Dare I? Still flying high on the success of the speech, I dare. “You could come with me if you like. It’s a lot nicer than the Highway Inn.”

And Lord of all miracles, she nods. “Sounds good.”

24

CHARLOTTE

And for the second time in my life, I’m in a hotel room with Elliot Dashwood.

But this time feels different.

I told myself I was coming to the launch to put things right, to smooth things over so we can still be friends, so I can still help him. Because Elliot is a valuable part of my life and it’s better that he’s in it in some form than not at all.

That’s what drove me to fly to Plainsville. Nothing else. At least that’s how I rationalized it to myself as I lay in bed, weeping into my pillow, after sending the “I’m not going” text.

I knew Elliot’s lack of response to that message meant he was hurt. I know him well enough to read all his reactions.

Like when he raises his eyebrows and purses his lips, I know he’s trying to stop himself from teasing me—and is finding it excruciatingly difficult. When he says, “What I think happened,” he means he knows exactly what happened but is trying not to make the person he’s explaining it to feel blamed or stupid. And when he sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose, he wants everyone to fuck off and leave him in peace.

I never could have imagined how much it would hurt to know I hurt him. I tore into him in the hallway, yet he still sent me a cute text. And what did thoughtless Charlotte do? Cut him down yet again with “I’m not going.”

How lucky would any woman be to have a smart, kind, hilarious man with incredible forearms make such an effort for them?

And how much luckier would that woman be if the man stirred something deep inside her—a part she didn’t even know existed until very recently, never mind that it was stirrable.

While I can’t have that side of him—not if I want a career at Harvest Enterprises anyway—I can make it right so we can be friends. If he still wants anything to do with me after the way I’ve treated him, that is.

Despite that excellent theory, I can’t help the reality that behind the door to the bathroom he disappeared into a minute ago, holding a pair of jeans and a casual button-down checked shirt to change into, is the man who makes me feel more alive than I even knew possible.

“What do you want for dinner?” Elliot’s muffled voice calls.

Is he talking to me while naked? Maybe just pantsless?

“Anything that doesn’t involve chicken dumplings.” I will never be able to think of them again without gagging.

This hotel room is okay. Not as nice as I’d wanted to book for him, but Plainsville isn’t exactly the luxury hotel capital of the Midwest.

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