Page 61 of Sassy Love
Manuel walks in, clipboard in hand. I get a glimpse of strawberry blonde traveling behind him, and I release a breath. The last eight hours shouldn’t have felt as long as they did.
“Mr. Lawson, Miss Carlie, shall we begin?”
“Fine,” Carlie says as I nod.
We walk in silence to our allocated room. The beanbags are still there from last night.
I try to catch Carlie’s attention before we go in, but she ignores me, even after our gazes snag when Manuel steps inside. I drop onto a beanbag as Carlie pours the tea.
She hands me a cup without looking.
I take it, letting my fingers brush hers.
She sucks in a breath before pouring another mug for herself.
“Alright. Tonight is freedom-of-speech night. This is where you can say whatever you need to, to get anything you want off your chest. Mr. Lawson, you first.”
“Ah, I want to apologize for earlier.”
Carlie rolls her eyes, still not looking at me.
“Good. Miss Carlie, your turn. What would you like to tell Mr. Lawson?”
She sips her tea, not offering anything up.
“Alright, Mr. Lawson, is there anything else?”
“I want you to know I didn’t know about your dad. Nor would I ever use that information to hurt you. I wasn’t raised like that.”
The drawl earns me a lopsided, albeit sad, smile from Carlie.
I lean over and whisper, “Still offering up my punching bag services if you need them.”
Now she looks at me, her eyes narrowed and dark. “Careful what you wish for.”
I chuckle at her, and her smile grows.
Much better.
I would let this little woman pound on me her hardest if it meant getting that hurt out and replacing it with a smile like the one she just gave me.
“Miss Carlie. How about now? Anything you want to say to Mr. Lawson?”
She replaces the mug to the tray and tucks her legs underneath her.
“I think you should figure out what you want to do in life. I think not knowing is slowing you down. You’re smart, and people love you. You could do or be anything you want.”
That’s the nearest thing to a compliment this woman has ever given me. All I can do is stare at her. She drags her gaze from mine and looks at Manuel.
“Thanks,” I utter, swallowing against the stone now swelling in my throat.
Look at that. She stopped hating me.
Wonder if the devil needs a cardigan . . .
After another thirty minutes of mundane small talk and no more breakthroughs, we call it a night. Carlie and I walk back to the suite in silence. We go through our respective bedtimeroutines, and when I slide into bed, there is a wall of pillows running down the center of the king bed.
“Just as well. You tend to be handsy, Lamont.”
