The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

Charity sighed huffily and pasted a smile on her face, mentally preparing herself for a long evening of painful small talk.

“I’m so happy that you decided to join us for dinner tonight, Charity,” Lia said, her sincerity evident in the warmth of her voice. The women were in the kitchen preparing some salads to accompany the barbecued meat that the men were grilling on the patio. A task that Charity did not envy in the icy temperatures. The kindergarten teacher was still in her yoga gear, her dark hair up in a high ponytail. It made Charity—in her sweats and with her hair tied back in a messy bun—feel less gross.

“Thank you for the invitation. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” she murmured politely, and Lia smiled brightly.

“Are you joking? Myself and a few others have been wanting to invite you to hang out for absolute ages, but Sam advised us to back off because you’re shy and he suggested easing you in to the idea first. I didn’t think his idea of ‘easing’ you into it would take literal years.”

“I may have been a little reclusive.” Charity was pleasantly blown away by the knowledge that Sam Brand had kept the over eager citizens of Riversend—including his own fiancée—at bay. It confirmed the suspicion that he was more aware of Charity’s background than she had wanted anyone to be.

Lia handed her a cucumber and knife. “Slice this, will you? There’s nothing wrong with keeping to yourself, but if you want a friend, or friends, there are so many of us who would love to get to know you.”

“I know.” Charity shot the other woman a quick smile, before refocusing on her assigned task. “I’m not really shy. But Sam was right to a certain extent…I wasn’t ready to be around people.”

Lia pursed her lips as she considered Charity’s words and then nodded.

“Fair enough. And do you think you’re ready now?”

“Maybe.” For some reason, despite there being absolutely no pressure or judgment from the other woman, or perhaps because of it, she felt compelled to explain herself more. “My husband died a couple of weeks before I moved here three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The words were out before she could stop them. But the ones that followed were voluntarily offered. “He wasn’t a good man. And I didn’t want to watch my family mourn him.”

It was getting easier to admit that. Lia nodded again.

“I’m sorry that was intense, wasn’t it?” Charity said with a grimace, and the other woman squeezed her forearm reassuringly.

“I get it. I was engaged to a complete a-hole a few years ago. Possibly a different kind of jerk to your husband, but he wasn’t a good man either.”

The lack of probing questions and the unflinching acceptance of Charity’s claim that her husband had been a bad man was humbling to say the least, and strengthened her resolve to tell her family of everything she had endured at Blaine’s hands. If a complete stranger could be so accepting of her truth, then she owed the same opportu

nity to the people who loved her.

She cleared her throat and searched for a way to change the subject. “So how long have you and Sam been engaged?”

“A couple of years. He’s been pushing to get married, but I’m happy for now. We love each other, there’s no rush. And what’s going on between you and Miles?”

Charity felt her face going red and nearly choked on the slice of cucumber she had popped into her mouth a second before.

“N-nothing,” she managed, once she had regulated her breathing. “He’s my boss.”

“He clearly wants to be more. You should have seen the way he stared at you when you were talking with the kids, right before the accident.”

Charity wanted to probe, she was keen to know exactly how Miles had been staring at her, but her natural reticence stayed her tongue, and Lia grinned knowingly.

“I mean, I thought the way Sam looks at me is intense, but wow. I’m surprised you don’t have scorch marks up and down your body because it was haaaaawt.”

“We’ve grown closer these last few weeks.” Charity was horrified to find herself divulging so much private information, but Lia was so easy to talk to. Or maybe it was because it had been way too long since Charity had had anything resembling a female friend to confide in.

“Good for you.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little…inappropriate? I’m his housekeeper.”

“Please, most wives and live-in girlfriends are unpaid housekeepers. Kudos to you for making a living out of it. Does the situation feel inappropriate?”

“I feel like it should.”

“But does it?”