Page 130 of The Charm of You

She studies me, curiosity swimming in her auburn eyes.

“I don’t know how to be emotionally available,” I say on a rough exhale.

“Admitting as much is a good step.”

“What’s the next step?” I lean in and hang onto her every word. I need her to tell me the right answer, so I can curb this fucking pain in my muscles.

“I’m no therapist, but speaking as someone you share a history with, I’ll say this.” She rests her elbow on the bar and settles her chin in her palm. “You’re too wrapped up in your ways. You’re inflexible. Your priorities are out of whack. You refuse to open yourself up to change. You’re stuck. You’ve been stuck for years.”

“Is that all?” I deadpan.

“You think committing to a routine keeps you safe,” she whispers. “But all it does is keep you in one sad little place. Change is good, Austin. Change is what makes life interesting, even if it scares you. And I believe the unknown really scares you.”

My throat tightens.

She starts to stand, and I place my hand over hers.

“I am sorry.” I’m aware those words probably don’t mean much to her at this point, but it’s the best I’ve got.

Her response surprises me. “Me too. I should’ve told you when I started to want more from you.”

“I appreciate that, but I have to say, you didn’t seem so agreeable last night. You seemed upset.”

She gives me the same pitying smile she gave me at the reunion. “I was, but I’ve decided to take my own advice and make a change. One that doesn’t involve you.”

“Thanks—I think.”

She clutches her fingers around the stem of her margarita glass and brushes past me. Within ten seconds of her absence, Owen appears and sinks onto the newly empty stool, instead.

He eyes me and opens his mouth, but I hold my hand up to stop him. “For the love of God, if you tell me I look like shit, I’m going to lose it,” I growl.

“I was just going to say you have a smudge on your forehead.” He points to a spot near my hairline.

Wiping at it with my fingers, I say, “I was at the shop earlier. Needed to get caught up on a couple of cars since I’ve been pretty absent this weekend.”

“With good reason.” He tosses a suggestive glance my way. “How is Miss Caroline today? You two were real cozy last night.” The clown wiggles his eyebrows, and I scowl.

I add a tally to the mental list I’ve started to include all the people who ask about Caroline, which brings the total to five now.

“I spoke too soon about losing it,” I grumble and throw back the rest of my bourbon.

Owen lifts his baseball cap from his head to get Cole’s attention. Then he makes a motion with his hand like he’s taking a drink as he asks for a beer. Turning back to me, he asks, “What did you say?”

“She left.” I twirl the glass between my hands. “Caroline went back to New York.”

“Oh, shit.” He smacks my shoulder and gives it a squeeze like it’s a stress ball. Every time I see the guy, it’s the same thing—a clap to my shoulder, followed by a squeeze. I’m surprised he doesn’t leave a fucking bruise. “No wonder you’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking. I’m just drinking. It’s Sunday,” I say and wave a hand around the room as if to ask him what else I’d be doing. Drinking on Sunday night is part of my infamous routine.

Keely’s surprisingly insightful advice creeps to the forefront of my muddled brain. Add on the two bourbons I slammed back already, and I’m on the verge of a bad headache.

But the wall around my stubborn head is no match for Keely’s words—or Caroline’s, for that matter.

I peer over my shoulder at the growing crowd of familiar faces. They’re mostly the same ones that keep me company every Sunday night, but there’s one missing.

Caroline hadn’t even been in town for more than one karaoke night, but it’s enough for me to miss her tonight.

I fucking missed her at the garage earlier too. I constantly glanced toward the door in hopes she’d waltz through it, but she didn’t stop by to annoy me with the click of her heels or her ridiculous arguments.

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