Page 17 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

My original plan has become a little more complicated. I came back to Cherryville to open my own restaurant. I’ve been here less than a week, and I already want so much more.

I’m also a realist. If I want to try and win Charlie back, I know I have to show her that I’m not the man who left. She needs to know that I can be all that I should have been when we were together the first time. She deserves my respect before I try and offer her anything else. This morning, taking her to her work was part of that. I just couldn’t have imagined the outcome.

I gaze around, noting the fact that her house is nearly the same as mine, only hers looks like someone actually lives in it. It looks like a home, not just a house. She has flowers, pictures, candles, and all of those little things that make all the difference. It has not escaped my notice that her creative flair is glaring at me from every corner of the room. Milly was right. From the little I’ve seen so far, Charlie really does know her stuff.

“Do you want decaf?” Charlie says as she flings open a cupboard.

“Who drinks decaf?” I snort derisively.

She pops her head around the cupboard door. “I do,” she replies plainly. She stares at me, challenging me to say another word about it.

Great start.

“Oh, right. Okay,” I say, flailing miserably to save myself.

“So?” she says.

“Well, you know, it’s fine. Everyone has their particular taste. I’m sure you—”

“Caffeinated then,” she says, completely interrupting my rambling and answering her own question

Heat rushes to my face, and I nod. It’s the weirdest sensation. I can’t remember the last time I felt embarrassed, but if I get any hotter, Charlie won’t need the coffee machine—I can just boil the water on my cheeks.

I watch her move around the kitchen. She’s talking away about her work. I’m listening and grunting in all the right places, but more than that, I’m watching. It’s the strangest thing. She looks different, as ten years have passed, but she still has all the same mannerisms. The same traits I always loved about her back then.

Well, almost.

“What happened to the glasses?” I ask, gesturing to my own face as she places my coffee on the counter. There is a mannerism missing—Charlie shoving her eyeglasses up her nose whenever she is nervous.

Charlie settles herself on the other side of the breakfast bar and blows on her hot coffee. I can’t help watching her mouth, but quickly catch myself and pull my eyes away. It’s a miracle I’m sitting in her kitchen; best not to push my luck.

“They didn’t suit the new me,” she says eventually.

Immediately, I know I’m in dangerous territory. I have a very strong feeling that the new Charlie arrived after I left. I also can’t help feeling that my leaving had something to do with this transformation.

“Contacts?” I say, trying to keep myself on thicker ice.

She nods. “Uh-huh.”

Since our past is off the table, I find myself at a loss as to where to go next. But then I figure it’s only our past—not everyone’s.

“How’s your Dad?” I say,

Charlie actually smiles. “He’s really good.” My frown makes her smile even wider. “Yeah, there are a few things that have changed around here.”

“I take it you guys get along far better than I remember. Your dad was pretty tough on you, especially after your mom died.” I take a sip of my coffee as I wait for her answer, remembering what a nasty drunk her father was.

“He hasn’t had a drink in five years,” Charlie says. There’s no pride in her voice, and I know why. After Charlie lost her mom, her dad slipped deeper into the bottle. He was a drinker before, but the loss of his wife pushed him over the edge, and he ended up losing his job when they caught him drinking on the job.

He and Charlie had to live on benefits after that—until Charlie got a job, that is. Then she had to pay half her wages toward the mortgage. It never sat well with me. A man should provide for his children, not the other way around.

“Things are better between us,” Charlie continues. “He’s apologized for a lot of the things he put me through. It doesn’t make it all better, but you know”—she shrugs—“there’s little else he can do now.”

“Does he still live in Cherryville?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. Dad would never move from that old house.”

I steel myself at those words, but I try to hide my expression. Charlie truly believes that, but I know better. In fact, Mr. Woods told me himself. Or rather, he threatened me himself.

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