Page 83 of Charming Like Us
“You know?”
He nods. “For a lot of people, Charlie’s a mystery. But I’ve already solved parts of him a while ago.” His lip hoists. “And I didn’t need to interview the hell out of him to do it.”
I can’t help but smile. “You rely on your talents; I’ll rely on mine.”
Oscar grins. “After you.” He waves me on. But really, we squeeze closer together as we journey ahead. Not much room to shift between trees. Our arms brush, our hands skim, and I almost feel him catch onto my fingers.
To hold my hand.
But he retracts fast—so fast that my pulse skips.He doesn’t want to force you to come out.I hope that’s it, and it’s not Oscar being scared I’ll bail on him.
As we battle through the thick brush, my heartbeat rises to my throat. We keep glancing at each other, and the inability to talk or touch with Charlie so close is adding unnecessary strain.
We’re working.
That fact slams against us as we find Charlie in a small cloverfield clearing.He knew where he was going.I focus my shot on him. He leans against a mossy boulder, book in one hand and a blunt between his other fingers. He doesn’t glance up at us as we arrive.
“Getting lost in the woods together—one of my favorite romance tropes,” he muses and sticks the blunt in his mouth.
Oscar and I share a tense look.
Fuck.
Charlie hasn’t let go of this “set-up” even after confessing his intentions. I guess he wouldn’t. The more I’m understanding Charlie, the more I’m realizing he’s more of an open book than people would believe, but his pages are written in an ancient language.
“Hilarious,” Oscar tells his client, then presses a hand to his earpiece. Listening to comms.
My walkie-talkie beeps in my own surveillance earpiece. “10-2,” Jesse calls. “I’m a mile from camp. Can I go in the woods?”
10-2 is code forI need to take a number 2.
A shit.
I stifle a smile and detach my walkie, pressing the button and speaking low. “You can’t take a 10-2 in the woods. You’re a professional.”
He grunts like he’s running with gear. “10-4, over and out.”10-4means he’s received the message.
Oscar watches me attach my walkie, and surprisingly, he tells me under his breath, “Donnelly made a joke about Wawa catering the event on comms.”
We draw closer together. Quietly, I tell him, “My brother needed to take a shit in the woods.”
He laughs hard.
Which causes me to laugh, and Charlie eyes us from his perch on the boulder. Like we’re being discovered, the noise slowly fades from our mouths.
Back to business.
I hoist my Canon. Camera rolling.
Oscar scans our surroundings.
“I have a question,” I tell Charlie.
“And the sky is blue.” Charlie flips the page of his book, smiling at something he’s reading. I can’t make out the title of the paperback. It looks like he—or someone else—scratched off the letters with a knife.
I prod further. “If you hate Ernest, why don’t you just quit the board?”
“It’s not a job. It’s an obligation,” Charlie tells me for the umpteenth time.
