Page 87 of When We Are Falling

I give her the name of the restaurant. After a bit more small talk, we hang up and I call to make a booking, hoping I don’t need to postpone if Charlotte can’t make it.

Next, I look up Charlotte’s work number. I know this is going to be trickier. But if there’s any chance of bringing them together for Blake’s sake, I have to try.

The phone rings twice before she answers. “Charlotte Harris speaking.”

“Hi Mrs. Harris, it’s Ethan Carter, Blake’s boyfriend. How are you?”

“Good, thank you.” She sounds a little confused.

“I was thinking it would be nice to have lunch together if you’ve got the time today. I know it’s short notice, but there aresome things I’d love to talk to you about relating to Blake. Is there any chance you could make it to Harbor’s Edge?”

There’s a beat of silence, and I can almost see her narrowing her eyes, trying to figure out what the heck this is all about. “Lunch, huh? Is it something serious? Is Blake okay?”

“Let’s chat over lunch,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Please.”

She sighs, but I hear the softening in her voice. “Alright. I’ll be there. Where and when?”

“Thank you,” I reply, feeling a small surge of victory, rattling off the details of the restaurant. “I’ll see you there.”

Blake is the last call. I’m deliberately vague, telling her I’d like to have lunch to talk things over, and she agrees.

With the calls made, I head back to the truck with Bandit, who’s patiently waiting by the passenger door. The plan is set. I’ve done what I can, and now I just have to hope that this crazy idea of mine works.

A few hours later, I pull up outside the restaurant I booked, killing the engine and sitting there for a moment, staring at the harbor in the distance. The water sparkles under the midday sun, boats bobbing gently in the waves, the scene almost too perfect, too calm for what I’ve set in motion.

There are probably a million ways this could go wrong, but there’s also the chance I’ll fix things. Maybe fix everything.

Here goes nothing.

The Italian restaurant is just as I remember it—cozy, with warm wood tones and nautical decor. The kind of place where you’re supposed to feel at ease—not too stuffy, but good food and great service.

I’ve reserved a table by the bay window, the one with the best view of the harbor. It’s set perfectly: white linens, gleaming silverware. I picked this spot because I wanted everything to be just right, but a sudden pang of doubt hits me as I sit down. Itall feels a little forced, maybe even too hopeful. But there’s no choice other than to forge ahead.

As I settle into my seat, I glance around the mostly full restaurant, scanning the familiar faces. At a nearby table, Bob Randolf from the wildlife rehabilitation center sits with his wife, Maria, sharing a bottle of red wine, their laughter carrying softly across the room. He catches my eye, and I raise a hand in greeting, before he nods back.

A few tables over, Joy Parker sits with her mother enjoying a plate of linguine, chatting animatedly. She waves and I return the gesture, before picking up the menu and scanning it. A glance at my watch: everyone should be here soon.

Trudy shows up first. She looks a bit frazzled but still put together. She’s in her usual casual yet elegant style—light cardigan, blouse, jeans. Her hair’s pulled back neatly, and she gives me a warm smile, though there’s a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

“I love this place for lunch,” she says, glancing around before sitting down beside me. “But what’s this about? Is everything with Blake okay?”

Before I can answer, the door chimes softly, and Charlotte walks in wearing a black skirt with an oversized knitted sweater and sandals, her dark hair in a short afro, her big brown eyes widening when she sees us. She stops and just stares at us for a minute, before recovering and continuing toward us.

I can practically feel Trudy’s stare burning into the side of my face, but I stay focused on Charlotte, standing as she gets to the table.

“Hi Mrs. Harris.”

“Nice to see you, Ethan.”

“Charlotte,” Trudy says, standing up, smoothing her hair even though there’s not a strand out of place.

“Trudy,” Charlotte responds, giving a slight nod.

They both stare at me, and tension spikes briefly. I gesture to the table, giving them the small speech I already prepared: “I thought it might be nice to get everyone together. For Blake’s sake. I think she’s been under a bit of stress lately, and she could use the support right now. We all could.”

They exchange glances, and I can tell neither of them is particularly thrilled with the situation. Trudy’s face tightens, and Charlotte’s expression stays carefully neutral, but they both take a seat, sitting across from each other: the space between them like no-man's-land.

Charlotte’s the first to speak, her voice cool. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure this is a good idea. Maybe you two can meet for lunch and you can fill me in later.”

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