Page 21 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
“First …” Charlie flipped to a tab labeledphobias. “Let’s go over the list of things that scare him. Starting with cardboard.”
8
CHARLIE
The first animal I ever rescued was a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. It was the spring after Dad died. Mom was gone so much, she didn’t realize I was skipping school to take care of it until my teacher called after three days of me being absent. She let me skip two more days, though, and she even called in sick. We saved the bird, though. And I’ve never been the same since.
—from the journal of Charlie Savage
Iclosed the binder and waited for Ben to say he’d changed his mind and this was too much. He’d moved onto the couch beside me so it would be easier to follow along as I flipped through the lists, charts, images, anddiagrams that took me more hours than I wanted to admit putting together.
I sank deeper into his overstuffed couch. Bennett’s house was comfortable—soft couches, beanbag chairs, snacks at the ready, soft lighting coming in through the windows, the sound of wind rustling through the trees. If I lived here, I don’t know if I’d ever want to leave.
But it wasn’t just the house; it was Bennett. He had a gift for putting people at ease, for making you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world, and that you were best friends after one conversation.
Bennett stared at me in assessment. “This is impressive.”
“Oh.” I waved a hand, trying to play it off like my binder was nothing, and not something I was obsessive about. “I make one of these for all the dogs I foster. The families need to feel confident and successful, and the dogs need to feel safe and understood.”
“Huh.” It was nearly impossible to actually see the smile spreading across his face, with his wild mane of facial hair, but Bennett’s eyes were the smiling kind. “Yeah, I’m not smart enough to pull together a binder like this.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. It’s how I show my love for the animals.”
“I’m basically an animal.” He fluffed out his beard from under his chin. “If you made a binder about me, what would it say?”
“That you’re afraid of bare skin.”
“What?” He choked out a surprised laugh, and I replayed the words back through my mind. Oh no.
“On your face,” I clarified loudly, motioning toward my own chin and cheeks to represent his facial hair.
“I happen to very much enjoy bare skin.”
My face was so hot, we could use it to sanitize drinking water. A small, embarrassed giggle erupted from me. Oh my gosh. Why did Bennett bring out the most awkward sides of me? I powered on as if I hadn’t said something weird. “I would list your strengths. Kindness. Loyalty. Cooking.”
His smirk softened, but that was almost worse for my emotional state.
“And that you’re a terrible tease, but a fantastic non-decorative pillow.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“No one does—it only makes sense in my head,” I said with a teasing sigh. “I don’t know your favorite foods, medical history, sleep and exercise schedule, or if you prefer your back or head scratched.”
“Both,” he said, “and you almost forgot the most important thing.” He ran a slow hand down his chest and stomach.
I grabbed a pillow from behind my back and smacked him in the face with it. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“No binder would be complete without reference to my touchable torso.”
I groaned and hit him with the pillow again. He laughed and tugged it out of my hands, then tossed it onto the beanbag chair.
“I thought we agreed to never mention that day again,” I said.
“You floated the idea, but I rejected it for your own good. Real friends tell you when your ideas are bad.”
“Oh? And how is it good to bring up?”
“Because every time I do, a fire is lit behind your eyes.” His expression turned serious. “I worry about that fire going out.”
