Page 83 of The Roommate Lie

I reach for Charlie’s hand to steady myself, and he must think it’s all an act, that I’m trying to tackle item number three on our Naughty List—make Alice’s ex jealous.He tilts his headand presses a slow kiss to my temple in return. That gesture is soft and sure, as if we belong to each other, and my body sways.

Or maybe it’s anxiety that’s making me wobble. All the danger around me and this dreaded gondola.

Either way, I take full advantage of our situation and get a little closer. Leaning against him, I rest my head on Charlie’s shoulder, and he waits a few beats before he whispers in my ear. “There’s no time like showtime.”

My heart sinks, even though it shouldn’t. Of course Charlie thinks this is all about Jason. Why wouldn’t he? I’m not his type, and there’s no other reason for me to hold his hand or put my head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t take me seriously. At least, I don’t think he does. But then he leans back in, and his next whisper is lower, softer. His voice a playful tease just for me, like my ex isn’t even there.

“You’re pretty cute when you get all dressed up,” he says. “How hard do I need to beg before you put on that maid costume again?”

I choke back a laugh, elbowing him as he chuckles. And I’m honestly not sure which is going to be the death of me first.

Him or this gondola.

Chapter Forty-Four

ALICE

When our gondola ride ends, we’re at Charlie’s favorite spot in Ponderosa Falls. If I wasn’t terrified, the view would be spectacular.

He leads me onto the observation deck near the summit of Four Pines Peak, right past the gondola station, and the whole world stretches out beneath us. Miles of valley that’s dotted with buildings and trees, gray ribbons of road. The town is all clumped together, surrounded by nothing, and the view feels so overwhelming from up here, so vast. Fear makes my vision tunnel as I try not to faint.

The walkway and platform are made of concrete, and there’s a sturdy chain-link railing that runs along the edge of the observation deck to keep people safe, but it doesn’t help. My heart pounds whenever I try to look down, my pulse rushing like a river.

Beside me, Charlie leans against the railing, gazing down at Ponderosa Falls with a wistful smile. As if his hometown is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His expression is so serene, it’s like the thousand-foot drop in front of us hasn’t even occurred to him.

But it’s occurred to me. Several times. That looming free fall is the scariest thing on earth—besides tommyknockers and raccoons.

And ex boyfriends who keep showing up like the ultimate jump scare.

“Isn’t the view incredible?”

“Yep!”

Charlie glances at me and raises his eyebrows. I’m hovering a foot away from the chain-link railing like it’s made of Jell-O and bees—both uselessanddangerous—but he doesn’t say anything. If he has a hypothesis, he’s waiting for more proof.

I hurry to smooth things over. Erasing all the extra cheer out of my voice, so I sound like a normal human being instead of a cartoon sidekick. “Why is this your favorite spot in town? Did you come here a lot as a kid?”

Questions are the perfect defense mechanism when I don’t know what else to say. So much better than a nervous glance or an awkward silence.

People mill around us on the observation deck, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps his gaze fixed on mine, considering my question.

“We couldn’t afford to come up here when I was little,” he admits. “For all five of us, the shuttle bus and the gondola were too expensive. The first time I visited was after rehab. With Edna.”

It’s the tiniest breadcrumb of backstory, and I want more. After hearing his confession about Edna earlier, I have a new soft spot for her, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. I can never learn too much about Charlie Roscoe.

He admires the view again before he says anything else. His gaze travels over all that empty space, the tiny town below us that’s surrounded by farmland, mountains, and trees. When heglances back at me, there’s a gentleness in his eyes that I like, something warm and honest.

“She used to come up here with her brothers and sisters when she was a kid. They’d all make wishes on the observation deck—they had a whole family ritual. Except Edna never believed in wishes.”

His smile quirks, and so does mine. If anyone in Ponderosa Falls wasn’t going to believe in wishes, it’d be Edna.

“She invented her own kind of wishes instead—Edna wishes. When she brought me up here after rehab, she taught me how to make one of my own.”

“What’s an Edna wish?”

He grins, nudging my shoulder. “I’ll show you.”

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