“Need any help with dinner?” Charlie asks and her mother shakes her head.
“I got everything else prepared already. Libby was a good helper with the pasta salad.”
“I’m going to try to get this one down for a quick nap before dinner,” Carly tells us and takes Jack into the living room.
“Is Justin working late tonight?” Charlie asks. I think Justin is Carly’s husband. Charlie and I had already broken up by the time her sister got married. I don’t even remember her dating anyone named Justin.
“Yes, he’s been working all the overtime he can get lately.”
“I can’t blame him,” Charlie says and looks at me with a wink. The house is chaotic and crazy. I might work extra to avoid it too. I went from living at home, living on campus, to living with Logan. I wonder how it would be to live with my in-laws.
Mrs. Williams pours herself a glass of wine and we move into the sunroom at the back of the house. The dogs follow but have settled down by this time and lie down on the cool tile floor. Charlie sits next to me on the loveseat, and I put my arm around her out of habit. She doesn’t move away or flinch this time. Does it feel like habit to her too?
It’s weird, how it feels both new and old.
When Mr. Williams comes home, I go out on the back porch with him, talking as he grills the steaks. I always liked him, and he reminds me of my own father in some ways. We talk about work and business and he doesn’t bring up how I broke Charlie’s heart all those years ago.
We were kids then. I’ve changed. She’s changed. We’ve changed.* * *
“That was nice.” Charlie pulls the seatbelt over her lap and clicks it in place.
“It was.” I start the engine. “Did you drink enough wine to get all frisky again?”
She laughs. “You know I don’t need wine to make me frisky.”
“Mmm, that sounds promising.”
Shaking her head, she rolls down the window. The sun is just now starting to set. We stayed at her parents’ later than planned. After dinner, we all sat around talking. I can tell Charlie’s missed being around her family after being away in New York for years. And I really have always liked the Williams.
“It’s such a nice night.” She sticks her arm out the window. “That breeze feels so good. Would you think it was lame if I asked if we could go on a walk after we get back to your place?”
“Not lame at all.”
“Great.” She smiles and brings her other hand across the center console and rests it on my thigh. I flick my eyes down, watching her long fingers spread out. I imagine them wrapped around my cock. I need to stop before I get a hard-on right here in the car. “I’ll change my shoes first. These were expensive as fuck but not comfortable at all.”
“Quinn likes all that designer stuff too. I don’t get it.”
“I don’t really either,” she admits. “I do like some of it, like the bags and the belts, and think they really are of good quality, but some of the other stuff is just ridiculous. There was an unwritten dress code at my old firm, though, and I’m ashamed to say that I wanted to fit in.”
“I don’t think there’s any shame in wanting to fit in.”
“Really? You’ve always done your own thing and not cared about what others think.”
“Well, I’m awesome and the exception to the rule.”
She laughs and runs her hand up my thigh, fingers inching toward the inseam of my jeans. “I wouldn’t really say I’m a follower or anything, but I really did want to be in with my co-workers. I tried hard for the first year and then realized it was stupid. I wore the same clothes, carried the same bags, and went to the same overpriced salon, and still felt like an outsider.”
“Why was that?”
“Because I was an outsider. It took me a year and thousands of wasted dollars before I admitted it to myself. You said it yourself. I’m not a big city person. I like the excitement of the job, but not the lifestyle or the pressure to look a certain way. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s important to show up looking put together, clean, and professional, but does wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit make me any better than the lawyer in the eight-hundred-dollar suit?”
“Even eight hundred bucks is way too much for a suit.”
She laughs. “It is.” Taking her hand off my thigh, she turns on the radio. It’s synced to my phone, and she flips through my playlist until “Defying Gravity” comes on.
“Maybe I should take this secret to my grave,” I start. “But I still know the words to this song.”