Chapter 117: An Ordinary Day

Chapter Eighteen

Cade

By some unspoken agreement, Charlie and I don’t mention last night again.

Not the kitchen.

Not the almost kiss.

Not the fact that I had him pressed against me one minute and was practically shoving him toward the guest room the next.

None of it.

Instead, we exist around each other.

Which, as it turns out, is somehow worse.

Because when Charlie isn’t actively trying to have a serious conversation with me, he’s… himself.

And I have discovered something deeply unfortunate.

I like him, and I don’t mean in the fated-mate, drawn-together-by-destiny sort of way.

I mean, I genuinely enjoy his company.

An inconvenient revelation.

The morning passes quietly.

Jordan is gone for most of the day, helping a friend move into a new apartment.

I had tried to talk him out of it.

There had apparently been free pizza involved.

I never stood a chance.

Now the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

Charlie sits on one end of the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees.

I sit in my recliner with a book.

I have been on the same page for fifteen minutes.

I know this because I’ve read the same paragraph seven times.

The paragraph remains meaningless.

I glance up.

Charlie is typing.

A lock of honey blonde hair falls into his eyes.

He blows at it.

The hair doesn’t move.

He blows at it again.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

He blows upward harder.

The hair finally moves.

I lower my eyes to my book before he catches me.

A few seconds later, I hear him laugh softly.

I look up again. “What’s funny?”

He glances over. “You.”

I blink. “What about me?”

“You looked away really fast.”

“I did not.”

He grins. “You did.”

“I was reading.”

“You haven’t turned the page in twenty minutes.”

I stare at him.

Then at the book.

Then back at him.

Traitor.

“I hate that you notice things.”

He actually looks pleased. “I know.”

I make a face.

He laughs again.

The sound fills the room.

Warm.

Easy.

Comfortable.

I dislike how much I like hearing it.

I lower my eyes to the book again.

The words still refuse to make sense.

After a while, Charlie closes his laptop.

The click echoes softly.

I glance up.

He’s watching me.

Again.

My pulse does something strange.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

I narrow my eyes.

He smiles.

I narrow them further.

The smile grows.

“You keep looking at me.”

His smile turns almost mischievous.

“So do you.”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Then scowl.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

He leans back against the couch cushions.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument before.”

“I’m not losing.”

“You definitely are.”

“I’m not participating anymore.”

He laughs outright.

I look away.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

Honestly.

The man is impossible.

Silence settles again.

Not awkward.

Just… there.

Charlie stretches his arms over his head.

The movement pulls his shirt up slightly, exposing a strip of skin.

I look away so quickly I almost give myself whiplash.

Good grief.

This is ridiculous.

I am thirty-seven years old.

I have a grown son.

I pay bills.

I should not be struggling because someone stretched.

A few seconds pass.

Then:

“You okay?”

I close my eyes.

“No.”

Charlie’s laughter follows me all the way to the kitchen.

—

I decide to make lunch.

Because cooking is productive.

Cooking is familiar.

Cooking gives me something to do with my hands.

I start pulling ingredients from the refrigerator.

A minute later, footsteps approach.

I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Charlie.

I’ve become embarrassingly good at recognizing his footsteps.

“Can I help?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then:

“Can I help anyway?”

I turn and find him smiling.

I sigh.

“Why are you like this?”

“I ask myself that all the time.”

I snort despite myself.

His grin brightens.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I hand him a cutting board.

“Cut the tomatoes.”

He salutes.

I stare at him.

He lowers his hand.

“Right. Normal behavior.”

“Please.”

He starts chopping.

To my surprise, he actually knows what he’s doing.

I watch for a moment.

“You can cook?”

He glances up.

“I’d like to think so.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You know, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

The words settle between us.

I still.

Because he’s right.

There is.

For four years, Charlie has mostly existed in relation to Jordan.

Jordan’s friend.

Jordan’s roommate.

Jordan’s study partner.

Jordan’s partner in bad decisions.

I’ve spent so much time looking at him as someone’s something that I haven’t really looked at him.

Not properly.

Not until recently.

I clear my throat.

“What else don’t I know?”

He smiles.

I regret asking.

“I can cook.”

I wait.

“I was on the swim team.”

I blink.

“You swim?”

“I swam.”

“When?”

“High school.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t look like a swimmer.”

He pauses.

“What does that even mean?”

I gesture vaguely.

“You just don’t.”

He laughs.

“You’re terrible at explanations.”

“I know.”

He resumes chopping.

“I hate olives.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I don’t trust people who eat mayonnaise straight from the jar.”

I make a face.

“Who does that?”

“My cousin.”

“Your cousin is wrong.”

He grins.

“And I can juggle.”

I blink again.

“You can what?”

“I can juggle.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I stare.

He starts laughing.

“Oh my God, you really didn’t know anything about me.”

I fold my arms.

“Apparently not.”

His laughter softens.

Then he says quietly, “I’m okay with changing that.”

The kitchen seems to become smaller.

Warmer.

I don’t know what to do with that sentence.

Fortunately, the pasta water starts boiling over.

I turn away.

Saved by noodles.

—

Lunch takes longer than necessary because Charlie insists on helping.

Helping, I’ve discovered, mostly means talking.

He talks while washing vegetables.

Talks while setting plates on the table.

Talks while stealing pieces of cheese.

The man has endless things to say.

I should find it exhausting.

I don’t.

At one point, I look up and realize I’ve been smiling for several minutes.

I stop.

Charlie’s eyes catch the movement.

One corner of his mouth lifts.

Neither of us says anything.

Something soft settles between us.

Not the bond.

Something else.

Something quieter.

Something that feels dangerously close to peace.

By late afternoon, snow has started falling again.

Big, lazy flakes drift past the living room windows.

Charlie ends up sprawled on the floor.

I don’t know how it happened.

One minute, he was sitting.

The next, he was somehow stretched out on the rug.

I look down from my chair.

“Are you comfortable?”

He looks up.

“Very.”

“Why are you on the floor?”

He shrugs.

“Seemed like the right choice.”

I stare.

He grins.

I shake my head.

A few minutes later, I glance down again.

He’s still there.

“Your back has to hurt.”

“Nope.”

“You can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“I’m thriving.”

I laugh.

Actually laugh.

The sound surprises both of us.

Charlie goes very still.

I realize what happened.

Because I don’t laugh much.

Not really.

I smile.

I chuckle.

I huff in amusement.

I don’t laugh.

Not often.

Charlie’s expression changes.

Softens.

He looks at me like I’ve given him something important.

I suddenly feel self-conscious.

“What?”

His smile is small.

Nothing teasing about it.

“You have a nice laugh.”

I blink.

Then blink again.

Of all the things I expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

I don’t know what to do with that information.

Apparently, my face shows it.

Because he starts smiling wider.

“Oh.”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“You’re flustered.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m really not.”

“You don’t know what to do with compliments.”

I stare.

Because—

That’s been said before.

Not recently.

Years ago.

A friend.

Someone from work.

Someone who once told me I never knew how to simply accept kind things.

I hadn’t believed them.

Maybe they had a point.

Charlie props himself onto his elbows.

“You really don’t.”

I sigh.

“This conversation feels unnecessary.”

He laughs.

Again.

And there it is.

That warmth.

Right in the center of my chest.

It spreads before I can stop it.

I watch him laugh.

Watch the way his entire face changes.

Watch his eyes brighten.

And a strange thought occurs to me.

I understand why Jordan became friends with him so quickly.

Charlie’s easy to be around.

He fills spaces.

Makes rooms feel alive.

Makes people relax.

Makes me relax.

The realization startles me.

Because I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around another adult.

Another alpha.

Another person.

Charlie notices I’ve gone quiet.

“You disappeared again.”

I blink.

“What?”

He points at me from the floor.

“You were thinking.”

I look down at him.

He’s lying on my rug.

In my living room.

Looking completely at home.

And suddenly—

Without warning—

I can picture him here.

Tomorrow.

Next week.

A month from now.

The image appears so naturally that it steals my breath.

I don’t know what to do with that.

At all.

“Cade?”

I realize he’s still watching me.

Waiting.

I clear my throat.

“Nothing.”

He looks unconvinced.

Fair.

I stand abruptly.

“I’m making coffee.”

He smiles.

“You do that when you’re overwhelmed.”

I freeze.

Slowly turn around.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

I stare at him.

He grins.

The menace.

The absolute menace.

Then he says something that completely undoes me.

“I like figuring you out.”

Silence.

Snow falls outside.

The house is warm.

Charlie is smiling up at me from my living room floor.

And for one terrifying, wonderful second—

I don’t want him to stop.