Page 1 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
1
CHARLIE
Dear Diary,
When I grow up, I want to marry Dylan Savage.
Love, Charlie
Bennett Forrester looked up from my six-year-old scrawl in the journal he was packing and arched a blond eyebrow. “Well, that didn’t age well.”
I lobbed a pair of balled-up socks toward his head. He didn’t look up from my journal as his hand shot up to catch the socks before they hit him.“I didn’t know I couldn’t marry my cousin back then,” I said. “Besides, you’re not supposed to read people’s journals. It’s rude.”
“But I’m learning so much about you,” he said as he flipped to the next page.
We were sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, packing my belongings into the huge boxes scattered around my childhood bedroom. Even if Mom wasn’t downsizing to a one-room bungalow with potential, it was long past time for me to do this. With a fresh PhD certificate hanging from the wall of my brand-new office and my dream job starting next week, I guess I was a real adult, and not just one in training.
Bennett’s teasing smile widened as he flipped to the next page of my very first journal—complete with a circular picture of a young, frizzy-haired me on the cover, surrounded by yellowing lace. “‘Dear Diary, I ate a lightning bug today because the boys dared me to. I was worried I might die, but Grandma says I shine brighter than before. Love, Charlie.’” He squinted at me and pretended to shield his eyes. “You do shine pretty bright.”
I laughed as I tugged the journal from his hands, despite his protests. Bennett was my best friend’s older brother—and one of my favorite people. When he’d heard I might have to miss our softball game tonight because I needed to pack, he’d rushed over to help. But knowing Bennett, he would have come to help anyway. He was just that kind of guy, even if he loved teasing me.
“We’re going to miss the game if we get distracted.”
Mom gave me today as my deadline, and I may have procrastinated starting until … today.
He was extra fidgety, which may have had something to do with the engagement ring I’d helped him pick out for my cousin Lily last week.
“It might be worth missing the game for this.” He reached behind him at random and grabbed another journal from my closet cache. I was an avid journal-keeper from the time I learned how to write. My journals evolved and changed through the years, but overall, they created an embarrassing collage of my life. “Oh, hey, this one mentions my sister! Am I in here too?”
He was holding the journal I wrote in when I was eighteen years old—the year I was obsessed with boys and finding love … and all three of the Forrester brothers. They’d moved to town that year, and after a fateful incident involving a backhoe, ten gallons of nacho cheese, and a very exasperated sheriff (who happened to be my uncle), I became instant best friends with the boys’ younger sister, Rosie. They were parentless but had the kind of close-knit relationship I’d only seen siblings have in movies. It didn’t take long for me to fall head over heels in love.
I’d dedicated entire pages to describing the Forrester brothers’ full, kissable bottom lips or the different shades of brown in their hair. I’d imagined what it might be like married to each brother, but Bennett was always my favorite. I’d even named our kids. And our three dogs.
He flipped through the pages, but I yanked that one from him even harder. Turns out you were never too old to be embarrassed about teenage crush. “Ben! Seriously.”
“I saw my name!” His eyes were alight with curiosity and excitement.
My cheeks went hot. “You used to take me and Rosie fishing with you. I probably wrote about it.” Oh, Idefinitelywrote about it. Over and over and over again. I was fixated on the way the sun would shine on Bennett’s finger-runnable hair, and how he’d filled out over the course of just four months of taking his fishing trawler out every day. Then there was the hot day he’d taken off his shirt while doing yard work, and since I was still in my doodling phase, I’d decided a drawing would do better justice to his chest and stomach than any amount of worded description. I’d spent a long time shading his abs. My art teacher would have been so proud of my effort. If Bennett ever saw it, I’d have to move, change my name, and cut off all ties with Rosie. Maybe even cut my hair to be unrecognizable—and Greg hated short hair.
“You wrote about going fishing with me and Rosie?” He pushed some longish strands of hair from his forehead, giving me a view of his green eyes.
“I wrote about literally everything.” No feeling had been too small to be analyzed back then. Now? My journals resembled a daily planner. Feelings… well, they were hard and complicated and caused resentment, which led to awkward conversations. It was much easier to pack those pesky little feelings away and keep things peaceful.
I placed the journal into the box and put a blanket over it for extra security. But when I turned back around, Bennett had a mischievous glint in his eye. He was holding the second journal from the year I was eighteen, which could be subtitled “The Year of the Forrester Obsession.” Pick a page, and it would have one of their names on it. And more drawings.
I tensed, ready to spring toward him if he even so much as flicked a finger toward the sticker-collaged cover. “I swear, if you open that journal, Bennett Forrester, I’m going to tell my uncle you were the one who put a dent in his cruiser door.”
His eyes widened. “Whoa, do our secrets mean nothing to you, Chuck?”
“Oh, they mean plenty. Plenty of leverage.”
“I am uncomfortable with the amount of leverage you could potentially have.” He went to hand me the journal but then tugged it up and out of my reach again.
I huffed.
“But I also have leverage on you,” he mused.
“Bennett,” I said. “Please.”
