Talk Wordy To Me (His Curvy Librarian 1)

I hit ‘speakerphone’ and leave the phone on my dresser while I choose from a few different shoe options. “Chuck? Are you here?”

We’ve decided lately that it’s easier if he just pulls up to the house and then calls, rather than run the gauntlet of my family members. Nora and Brooklyn are far from the only busybodies in my life, and by now, pretty much all of my family members feel comfortable giving Chuck a teasingly hard time when he comes inside.

The last time, my mother the romance author asked him if he knew the importance of the grand gesture for “when the time comes.” I barely got out of the house without dying of mortification that night.

Chuck doesn’t answer right away now, though, and I’m just leaning over to check the screen and make sure this isn’t a telemarketer when I hear what sounds like a muffled sob.

“Chuck?” I ask, a ripple of panic washing over me. “Is that you?”

“Cookie,” he says, his words strangled with emotion.

“Oh my gosh, what’s wrong?” I ask, swiping up the phone and taking him off speaker.

“It’s my grandfather,” he says, and my heart sinks.

“Oh no… what happened?”

“He had a stroke,” Chuck says. “Look, I know you and I are just supposed to be having fun and this is definitely not fun… but you’re the first person I thought of. Plus I know how much you mean to Gramps and…” His voice breaks again and with the last of his strength, he asks, “Will you come?”

There are tears streaming down my own face by now, wetting the front of my sweater, and I look up to see my mother standing in the doorway—listening in with one hand sympathetically clutched to her chest.

“To the hospital?” I ask.

“Well, actually, I haven’t even gotten that far yet,” he admits. “I’m sitting in the parking lot outside the Golden Creek Bistro trying to compose myself enough to drive over there.”

My mom has come into the room by now and put her arms around me, her forehead resting on my own. I tell Chuck, “Let me drive you. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Cookie?”

“Yes?”

He pauses, then changes his mind. “Nothing. Just thank you.”

“I’ll be there soon,” I promise, then hang up and look to my mother. “Charles had a stroke. It sounds bad.”

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” my mom says, wrapping me fully in her arms for just a second. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say, not quite certain it’s the truth. “But Chuck isn’t. And I don’t know what to do.”

I’ve never been in a situation like this before, never been with someone while they potentially lost someone as important to them as Charles is to Chuck. And I’m not at all sure that the girl he’s having a casual fling with is the right one to comfort him right now.

But he called me. And I want to be there for him.

“Mom, what do I do?”

She smiles, her eyes full of sympathy, and she holds me at arm’s length. “Sweetheart, do what I always tell you and your sisters to do: just follow your heart. It won’t lead you astray.”

“Even if it feels like it’s breaking right now?” I ask.

She nods. “Be brave. Go and be there for Chuck. That’s all he really needs right now.”

I take a deep breath and throw on the nearest pair of shoes—a decision that seemed so important just a few minutes ago, which is entirely trivial now.

And then I grab my car keys and my bag, and I head out of the house with my mom calling after me, “Drive safely! Call if you need me!”

She really is the best mom. I’ve got an incredible family and as annoying as they can be when they’re trying to insert themselves into my life, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I’m misting up again by the time I get to the Bistro parking lot, imagining how horrible it would be if it were one of my parents in the hospital, imagining how awful Chuck must feel right now.

He’s standing outside his car when I pull up beside him, and I throw my own car into park and fly around the passenger side to wrap Chuck up in the fiercest hug. I squeeze until I’m sure he knows just how much I care about him and Charles, until he buries his face against my neck and I feel his tears transferring onto my skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against me, squeezing me back. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” I tell him. “Let’s go see Charles.”

We climb into my car—nothing fancy like the sleek luxury sedan that Chuck has, but right now, that kind of thing just doesn’t matter. I take his hand across the center console and drive him to the hospital—that’s all that matters.