Page 50 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
19
CHARLIE
If I never cry again, it will still be too soon.
—from the journal of Charlie Savage
Bennett was literally the best. I’d known this for a long time, but only on an intellectual or second-hand level. Not in this intimate—could I say intimate in this context?—way.
We’d been at the cabin for three days, and Bennett was setting yet another gourmet meal in front of me. This time it was strawberry- and cream-cheese-stuffed French toast with homemade butter syrup and seasoned potatoes on the side. I was trying a caramel hot chocolate this morning.
“I’m going to have to borrow your clothes again if I keep eating like this.” I groaned with pleasure as I took another bite. How was food this good? Especially out here, in the middle ofnowhere, when I was supposed to be wallowing in devastation after breaking up with someone I’d been with for half my life.
My plan for this honeymoon had been to cry until I couldn’t see straight, listen to heartbreak songs on repeat, and get my unwieldy emotions out of my system before I was on camera as the happy, loving bride. And Ihaddone my share of crying and watching sad movies (Rosie’s collection of tear-jerker DVDs was unmatched), but we’d also played cards, built a puzzle, visited a tide pool, and taken turns reading a book out loud to each other.
I kept waiting for Bennett’s sneer of disgust at all of my emotions. Or for him to cut me off while I was speaking about Greg for the millionth time—especially since I knew Bennett didn’t like him. But he listened while I talked about everything from our first dance (when Greg had gone all the way to Ketchikan to buy a tie to match my dress) to our last anniversary dinner (when Greg had taken a call from a client halfway through, and I’d spent the rest of the dinner watching the loving couples around us as Greg’s food grew cold).
Bennett had been the perfect friend. It was exactly what I needed.
“Today’s our last day,” he said. “And I have something I want to show you.”
I wasn’t ready to head back to reality yet, but our flight to Canada left from Ketchikan tonight, so we needed to get back.
I finished eating my French toast and helped Bennett do the dishes. I tried to reconcile how I could feel so at peace while going through one of the hardest things of my life. Was it because I’d already been through the hardest thing when I lost my dad? Maybe it was Bennett. He was a calming presence. I never felt like I had to fill the silence with speaking, and yet the silence wasn’t fraught or weighted with expectation.
I’d even fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation yesterday. I’d drifted off while he was talking about some of thechanges he wanted to make to Forrester Expeditions—and I let the tides of sleep carry me away, knowing he wouldn’t be angry at me if I did. I still wasn’t sleeping well at night. I hadn’t had any more panic attacks, but my thoughts never quieted.
“Where are we going?” I followed him out of the cabin and into the beautiful morning. The morning fog had lifted, revealing drops of dew on the grass and moss. I inhaled the scent of fresh forest that felt synonymous with my childhood.
“Are you up for visiting the old cabin?”
I perked up. “The haunted one?”
“Allegedly haunted.” He winked and plopped a lime-green sun hat on my head like I was a kid.
I huffed and pulled it off to readjust it over my hair. “I’ve always wanted to see it.”
Last year, a couple of our friends had been shipwrecked and injured on the island, and they’d stayed in that old cabin to survive. And even before that, Lia Halifax wrote a song about the cabin that went platinum. It had already been legendary before either of those things happened, but now the legend had taken on mythic proportions. People had come to Winterhaven trying to find it, but we were tight-lipped about its location. The last thing the Forresters needed was trespassers.
We trekked through the woods, birds chirping all around us, the sound of waves hitting the shore an ever-present background track. Bennett walked in front of me, and my gaze kept drifting to his muscular calves. Had I ever appreciated calves on a man before? His peaked like a mountain ridge before sloping down to his ankles. He’d told me I had free rein to run my hands on his torso, but what about his calves?
My perusal drifted upward toward his very muscular?—
“Do you know the legend of the cabin?” He turned to catch me staring at his rear end. It was a work of art—firm, fit, andframed by his hiking shorts. I’d never wanted to be jealous of my man’s glutes, but here we were. Not that Bennett was my man.
Well, legally he was. Not emotionally, though. Except I totally loved Bennett. Just notthatway. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed (continued to notice? Had never stopped noticing?) how attractive he was.
Ugh. Rosie and her rom-com marathons had not prepared me for how complicated a marriage of convenience would be.
I threw my gaze outward like I was trying to get a runner out on third, but not before I caught his smirky, cocky grin.
“See something you like?” he asked.
“Just letting my gaze wander.” I willed the heat away from my cheeks.
He squinted thoughtfully. “Yes, I especially love the abundance of tight, round things to see out here.” He made his hands into the shape of a butt.
“I think I blacked out. And my eyes remained in one spot as a survival mechanism …” I used my middle finger to draw a line from my eyes to the ground.
