Hate Notes - Page 94
“We never really talked about it, but I always suspected you wanted kids,” he said.
“Yes, but not more than I want you.”
“Well, I want to give you both. I’ll have to put a certain amount of faith in God that I’m making the right decision. You know I worry about my ability to take care of you and them. But there’s nothing I want more than to have a little Charlotte.”
Tears were filling my eyes again. “I’m so happy, Reed.”
“Me, too.” He kissed me before saying, “I can’t wait to see Rome with you. How about we fly back to Paris for a few days after, too.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“I want to see it with you. I’ve never been.”
“I can show you so much! There are so many cafés I found. So much good bread and cheese!”
“Cheese, huh? Well, now I’m really excited.”
I started to replay the events of the past half hour in my head. “Hey . . . what made you think I was here with a man?”
“Iris. She put the idea in my head that Blake was here with you.”
Closing my eyes, I had to laugh. Iris knew full well that I didn’t go out with Blake. She’d said that to make Reed jealous. She’d totally tricked him.
I’d have to remember to thank her.CHAPTER 38
REED
Three months later
Staff meetings when Charlotte was in attendance were always distracting.
It didn’t matter that I’d moved her into my apartment and got to sleep with her every night. Whenever she was around, I could focus on nothing else. But today, that feeling was particularly strong, and I knew exactly why.
Iris always wore a permanent smile on her face whenever Charlotte and I were in the same room with her. My grandmother considered Charlotte a part of the family already. At Sunday dinner in Bedford last week, Iris had taken out my old choir recordings. I could have fought it, but I let her play them for Charlotte. That was how confident I was in Charlotte’s love for me, that nothing could deter how she saw me, no matter how embarrassing.
The accountant was going on and on about the quarterly reports, and I honestly hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
Discreetly opening the folder on my laptop that contained my bucket-list document, I added a line item: Marry Charlotte Darling.
She looked over at me, and I immediately closed out of the document, even though she couldn’t see what I was writing anyway. It felt like she knew I was up to something, though.
As the meeting wrapped up, I took my pen and scribbled on my notepad.
From the desk of Reed Eastwood
Charlotte,
Take the rest of the afternoon off. Boss’s orders.
I slipped her the note as the meeting was dispersing.
She looked down at it and squinted. “What are you up to . . . boss?”
“I’ve cancelled my afternoon meetings. Let’s go home and chill.”
“Who are you? You’ve come a long way from the workaholic I used to know.”
“Yeah, well, I have better things to do these days. Namely, you.”Back at the apartment, Charlotte had just stepped out of the shower when I decided to let her in on a couple of surprises I’d had up my sleeve.
“Remember our first showing together in Bridgehampton? The owner was an artist who painted portraits depicting how couples met?”
“Yeah, I remember thinking that was so cool.”
“Well . . . I looked her up and asked her to make one for us.”
Her mouth hung open. “Are you kidding?” Then she seemed to think about it some more. “Wait . . . how we met? That wasn’t exactly the most romantic experience; quite the opposite. This is going to be interesting.”
“Well, I realized that. So let’s just say I put a unique spin on it.” I walked to the corner of the room and lifted the portrait, bringing it over to her.
Peeling the bubble wrap off, I slowly opened it. I hadn’t seen it yet myself because I wanted to be just as surprised as Charlotte.
“Oh my God!” Charlotte yelled. She covered her mouth with her hand and then began laughing uncontrollably.
I was holding on to my stomach in laughter myself.
The artist had done a phenomenal job depicting Charlotte and me on a surfboard—with a dog in front of us. We were dog surfing. Her interpretation of Charlotte’s face was spot on. I’d given the artist actual photos to work with. In the painting, I was on the back of the board, hanging on for dear life and looking terrified while Charlotte was laughing without a care in the world. The dog’s tongue was hanging out and his eyes looked possessed. This was classic and would forever be displayed front and center wherever we happened to be living.
She was grinning so hard. “This is seriously . . . the best gift anyone has ever given me.”
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