Page 15 of The Charm of You

“It’s not that she doesn’t remember you,” Addie insists for the hundredth time. She specifically sought me out at work to make me feel better, as if I’m still the pathetic teenager I was when I developed a juvenile crush on a girl I barely knew. “She just didn’t recognize you. You have changed a lot,” she presses.

“Shouldn’t you use your weekend off to do something more productive than badger me at work?”

“Why are you even working so late today? You’re usually done by noon on Saturdays, and it’s two.”

I pause the tightening of a valve on Mrs. Burke’s Honda to throw Addie, my nosy friend, a seething glare.

She holds her hands up in surrender. “I do need to confirm that Principal Weathers will be able to do our tour of the high school next Saturday. And I need to track down more twinkling lights. The Buchanan House is larger than I thought, and if decorations are sparse, it’s going to look empty and terrible.”

“No one is going to care about the decorations. All those assholes want is to get drunk and make out with old flames like they’re sixteen again. As long as you have the bar stocked, it’ll be fine,” I grumble as I slide out from under the hood and slam it shut, grease coating my fingers and shirt, per usual. It might as well be inked in my skin at this point.

Addie scoffs. “This is not going to be like Josh Rivers’s rowdy parties. It’s going to be elegant as hell, but you do bring up a good point…”

“Which one?”

“I need to tape off the bedrooms,” she continues, but I know her. She’s talking to herself, making mental note after note, and I’m just a blurry figure. “It’s serving as a classy venue, not a sleazy brothel, and if we deface any part of that historical mansion, we could face criminal charges. The town trusts us not to harm a tiny hair on that building.”

I scoop up my phone and turn down the music playing through the speaker. Between Carly Pearce’s singing and Addie Lockhart’s chatter, a headache knocks at my temples.

“Future classes won’t be able to use it for their reunions, either.” My friend’s eyes widen.

“What a tragedy that would be,” I deadpan.

She lifts her gaze, and I note the exact moment she remembers I’m here, as her eyes clear and sober. “You should talk to Caroline.”

“You should leave.” I nod toward the door and launch an investigation for a clean rag. All the ones littering the ground are beyond their prime, practically wilting under the weight of spills and other messes.

“She’s really cool, Austin. And generous and kind. It was an honest oversight,” she insists.

I give up on the rag, along with my resistance to this conversation. Addie is not going to leave without a fight. She’s Team Caroline through and through, just like everyone else in this town, but I refuse to let her convert me. I’ve planted a flag on this side of the fucking battle.

“She wouldn’t have forgotten me had I been a jock or looked anything like them,” I argue.

“You’re totally hot, and I’m saying that based on what others around town gossip about.”

“Women give me the time of day now, but back in high school, girls like Caroline stomped on twigs like me.”

“She was never mean to you.” Addie holds her finger up, as if I have no right to be pissed simply because her precious friend didn’t outright call me names, actually stomp on me, or do anything else that would be considered mean.

“She didn’t know I existed, Addie,” I say.

“In her defense, you weren’t very present back then.”

“And you know why.”

“I do, but Caroline doesn’t.” She inches toward me.

“I was always nice to her. I went out of my way to be nice to her.”

“You? Nice?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and frustration floods my bloodstream as I once again recall the night under the bleachers when I attempted to be nice as hell.

Addie wrings her hands together. “I’m just saying—I think you two would get along. She’s bubbly and fun, and did I mention how cool she is?”

“Once or twice.” I scowl and drop my hands to my hips. “We wouldn’t get along. Bubbly and fun are exhausting.”

“Fine,” she draws out, and her exasperation echoes around the garage. “I’ll stop. You can stew until next year for all I care.”

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