Page 112 of The Charlie Method

“I think this creep is stalking me,” I inform her, and Faith’s eyes immediately narrow on him.

His face turns beet red, and he looks like he wants to melt into the sidewalk. “No, it’s not like that. I—”

“Then what is it?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.

He fumbles with something in his pocket.

Faith and I instinctively back away, and I feel silly when I realize he’s only pulling out his phone. He holds it out so I can peer at the screen.

“Look. You sent me this.”

Shocks slams into me when I recognize the BioRoots logo and see my own words reflected back at me.

“I’m not stalking you,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m your brother.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BECKETT

Just lie and tell the lady she looks radiant

MY PARENTS HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FROM THE MOMENT THEY PICKED ME UPat the airport. They showed up together, then proceeded to spend the entire drive home bickering and haven’t stopped since. At least they’re still arguing at regular volume. Get two Australians drunk, and they can get pretty loud. Right now, though, they’re only a drink or two in.

We have no family here—everyone else is back in Australia—but over the past decade, my mum has cobbled together a nice little found family, which consists of two families on our street who are also immigrants with their bigger clans abroad and a retired couple, the Walkers. Helen Walker has been flirting with me from the moment she walked in. She’s had me refill her wineglass at least five times. This old lady is bombed.

Meanwhile, Mum and Dad haven’t been able to keep their bickering to themselves. I’ll blame Dad for this one. For some reason, he decided it would be a good idea to share the news of his job offer at Thanksgiving with all their friends. All their very opinionated friends.

Not all of them are on Mum’s side either. Mrs. Aghari even tells Mum that if she had the chance to return to Delhi with a good job and a good house, she’d take it in a heartbeat. “I miss my parents and sisters,” she admits.

And while Mum acknowledges she misses her own parents and extended family, she repeats the same thing she keeps telling Dad: “We’ve built a life here.”

“Meghan,” Dad sighs when the topic comes up again.

“No, James. I’m not uprooting my entire life again.”

I try to focus on the mashed potatoes on my plate instead of the rising tension between my parents. Mum is fiddling with her wineglass and avoiding eye contact with Dad, who stares at the turkey like it personally offended him.

“So how are your classes?” Mr. Aghari asks me.

I glance at him in relief. Mr. Aghari with the save. “Tough but I’m managing.”

At that, the conversation finally shifts to neutral topics like the weather and Mrs. D’Agostino’s charity work.

“Beckett, dear.” Helen taps her wineglass.

I hide a grin and push my chair back, heading for the built-in bar across the room. I love this house. I get why Mum doesn’t want to leave it, this big, sprawling spread in the suburbs, with a massive yard and a garden she spent more than a decade literally building from the ground up. But…

It’s nothome. Indianapolis doesn’t have the Gold Coast. It doesn’t have the surf breaks of Byron Bay. Doesn’t have my cousins. It doesn’t have the same air. The airsmellsdifferent down there. If I were Mum, I’d jump on this opportunity in a heartbeat.

“She’s going hard on you, huh?” I murmur when my dad comes up beside me to grab another beer.

“Yup. I might need to tag you in later, buddy. Get you to plead our case.”

“I don’t know if that’s gonna help. She really doesn’t want this.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

I give him a sidelong glance. “What’s more important to you? Happy wife or happy you?”

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