Page 47 of Jesse and the Ice Princess
"Charlotte, your mother and I have been worried. We closed early tonight because of the storm and arrived home to find you missing." He sounded stressed.
She looked at her phone, noticing five missed calls from her mom. "I'm sorry. I'm at..." She glanced at Jesse. "Hadley's. I'll come home."
"Okay, be safe, Char."
"I will." She hung up and met Jesse's gaze once more. "I need to leave. I'm sorry."
He reached forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek. "I thought I told you to stop apologizing for everything."
She pulled her keys out of her pocket. "Okay, um, bye."
Jesse looked like he wanted to say something else, but she ducked out of the way and booked it to the door. Gathering her wet clothes, she'd left near the stairs, she avoided the living room where the rest of Jesse's family was.
By the time she made it outside, the rain still pounded into the pavement, but she barely felt it. The water slicked off her skin, not permeating the warm cocoon she found herself in.
Relaxing back in the seat of her car, she traced the curve of her lips with her fingers and spared one final glance for Jesse's house. She wasn't sure what she'd expected as she drove away—for him to come after her to say goodbye? For him to plead with her to stay?
She shook her head. What was the point? No matter how deep she'd felt that kiss, it couldn't happen again.
* * *
The rain letup as Charlotte pulled up to her house. Unlike Jesse's, there was never a thing out of place. Her mom paid a landscape service to keep everything looking impeccable, even in the dry Florida winters.
She looked to the dark sky. Not like you'd know it was a dry winter from a day like today. They had a lot of storms all summer and fall during hurricane season. Few hurricanes actually hit them, protected as they were to the south by the Bay in Tampa. But the outer banks could be rough.
That ended months ago. Who knows? Maybe this storm was a signal of things to come when she walked into her house. She laughed to herself. No, it more likely represented the war raging inside of her, spanning both her worlds.
With a sigh, she squeezed the door handle and pushed in, revealing a well-lit marble entryway. She set her bag down near the door and turned to the stairs, cursing herself when the click of heels told her she wasn't fast enough.
"Charlotte." Her mother appeared from the living room, arms crossed over her silk blouse. Even at home, she didn't relax in anything more comfortable. "Where have you been?"
"I told Dad I was at Hadley's."
Her lips tugged down. "Tone, Charlotte. Watch it."
"Yes, Mom." She settled her eyes on the ever-growing puddle around her on the floor.
Her mom never yelled, but her exaggerated sighs were chastisement enough. "Honey, you're getting the floor wet. Go put on some dry clothes, and then come into the kitchen so we can talk."
If her parents coming home early wasn't a sign, them wanting totalksure was. She swallowed down her questions and climbed the staircase. In her room, she hung the clothes she'd worn to Jesse's on the back of her desk chair to dry and changed out of Cassie's outfit.
Each step closer to the kitchen deepened the well of dread inside her. She'd never been a troublemaker, always doing what her parents expected of her.
She stepped through the arched doorway and let her eyes scan the room. Where Jesse's kitchen had been light, hers was dark. Where his held laughter and kind smiles, hers only had concerned frowns.
Her parents had perfected the worry face, the "we only care" expressions. Sometimes she wished they'd get mad at her. Then she'd know they truly did care.
All of this concern only felt like an act, designed to show the world they were a perfect family.
She placed a palm on the black marble countertop and tapped a finger, waiting.
Her dad wrapped a hand around his beer and took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers. He stood leaning against the counter only paces away.
Her mom pulled something from the oven and carried the dish to the table. Charlotte studied them, wondering who these people were. She couldn't remember her mom ever cooking outside of her Sunday meal prep routine. She was a creature of habit if nothing else.
"Dinner is ready." She gestured to the dark oaken table where the casserole sat beside a basket of rolls.
Charlotte approached the table slowly, eying the rolls. Her dad loaded up a plate and sat down. It was all so... normal.
