Page 37 of Charlie Takes a Chance

Now, this part of the demoing I’m sworn to secrecy on. Alexander Whitlock fell asleep in his chair one night and dropped his pipe. It caught fire, and I had to rush over here tohelp him put it out. Neither of us has told anyone else how this particular damage came to be.

“Maybe I should redo all the electrical in this room to be safe,” she ponders.

“The electrical is fine.” I pick up a piece of burnt drywall. “Look at this. The burn marks originate on the outside of the wall, not the inside.”

Charlie leans over and looks at the burn mark. “Oh, you’re right. Someone must have decided to start a bonfire in here.”

“It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

Charlie glances up at me. “You know what happened.”

“Of course I know what happened. I know everything that goes on around here.”

“Except that people were squatting in the house.”

“Suppose we’ll ever be able to have a conversation without fighting?” I ask her when I take the sledgehammer back from her.

She’s uncharacteristically quiet as I swing the hammer. When I turn to pass it back to her, she looks up at me with a contemplative look on her face. “I don’t think so. And honestly, I don’t mind it. You’re, like, the one person I don’t have to pretend with or be fake nice to.”

My breath catches in my throat as I watch her step forward and swing the hammer.

I never knew someone refusing to make a truce could make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But here I am.

CHAPTER 15

Charlie

Swinginga sledgehammer has to be ranked somewhere in the top tier of therapy. You get to smash things with zero consequences. In fact, it’s considered a good thing when you’re renovating. All those pent-up frustrations? Swing ‘em out. Have unresolved issues with an ex-boyfriend? Pretend the wall is his car that you’re smashing.

I feel so much better now—almost like I worked through some of the anger Bryce left me with. And what makes me mad is that he doesn’t deserve my anger. It’s that I’m too much. He said I didn’t even try to conform to his expectations of me.Conform. Like I’m a piece of Play-Doh to shape however he wanted.

As my grandpa always told me, conformers never change the world. But dang, if it isn’t lonely trying to be a world-changer.

The wall is demolished and completely down to the studs. Max stands next to me, leaning on the hammer. “Not bad, Baxter.”

“Not bad yourself, St. James.” And maybe that’s the problem. He’s growing on me a little—like a bit of mold on cheese. It turns out that when we’re not fighting, being around him is easy.

“I’d stay around for the next tear down, but I need to feed again tonight.” He props the hammer against one of the exposed studs.

“Didn’t you already feed the cows this morning?” I ask as I bend down to retie my shoelaces.

Max shrugs. “I have to drive over to my family’s tomorrow. I’m having lunch with my parents. If I feed the cows tonight, I can get an early start in the morning and get back tomorrow night.”

“How about I help you tonight? Or feed in the morning for you?”

He studies me for a minute, and I expect him to turn me down, so it surprises me when he says, “I’ll take the help tonight.”

I grin as I shut off the lights in the living room. “See? You do like me.”

“Let’s not go too far,” Max replies dryly.

My coat hangs on the back of the kitchen bar stool, so I snatch it up as I walk around, shutting off the rest of the lights. “That’s all I can do tonight anyway. I have an order arriving in the morning with drywall and bathroom stuff. It’ll look more like a house again and less like a war zone in a couple of days.”

Max waits for me to step onto the porch, then closes and locks the door. He takes off down the porch, walking at a fast clip toward the barn in the dark. Dang it, I hate the winter sometimes.

I zip up my jacket and stomp after Max. His legs are forever long, and he’s walking through this snow like it’s no big deal.

“Having trouble keeping up, Christmas Elf?” He calls over his shoulder.

---