Page 132 of The Rom-Commers

“I’m coming to get you.”

“Don’t do that, Charlie. You’re afraid of this thing.”

“I’m more afraid of you falling off it.”

“I’m not going to fall.”

Charlie started edging his way toward me.

“Cut it out!” I said. “You’re scared of heights.”

“I’m not scared of heights. I’m scared of water.”

I pointed down at the pool. “What do you think that is?”

“I can’t just leave you up here. I have to come get you.”

“That’s ridiculous! You can’t even swim.”

“Icanswim. I justdon’tswim.”

“Get down,” I told him. “Leave this to the professionals.”

“Thedrunkprofessionals? In evening gowns?”

The evening gown. I’d almost forgotten. Then, just because I suspected he’d say anything I wanted him to right now, I said, “Don’t I look amazing in this thing?”

And then Charlie surprised me by saying, “You look fucking incredible.”

Wow. Okay. That was better than I’d hoped for.

“Emma,” Charlie said. “Please come here. You’re so drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” I said. “I just drank too much.”

“That’s the literal definition of being drunk.”

“Why are you so argumentative?”

“Why won’t you come here?”

“Because,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

It felt good to defy him. And upset him. And worry him. Was this what all the parenting books I’d read while raising Sylvie had meant by “attention-getting behaviors”? I never understood it until now. It did feel good to have someone’s full attention—good or bad. Especially someone who already had yours.

I wouldn’t notice this until I thought about it later, but that thing Charlie was so good at where he pretended like things didn’t matter? He wasn’t doing that right now.

He was the opposite of nonchalant.

He wasn’t pretending not to care. He was openly caring. Very much.

Maybe I liked that, too.

Charlie had made it halfway out on the board—to the part where the side rails ended. He was clutching the railing with white knuckles as he stretched his other hand out to me. I looked at it. It was trembling.

Huh.

I could scare the hell out of him on a high dive.

---