Business Casual (Lovelight, #4)

by B.K. Borison

The door opens before I can knock, and Nova stands in the threshold. The last time I saw her she was sleep-mussed and perfect, naked in her bed with her blankets pulled to her chin. Now she’s standing with her hip against the door, her hair twisted back in one long braid and a simple white fuzzy-looking sweater draped over her frame. Dark jeans and wool socks. Affection, warm and surprising, fills my chest. She looks cute as fuck. “Hey,” I call, trying to pretend I didn’t just trip up the ramp at the sight of her. “Were you waiting at the window?” “In your dreams.” She shivers in the cold air, socked feet shuffling in the entryway. “I saw your headlights in the driveway and it took you a while to get in here. I was starting to wonder about you.” I give her a wink as I drag my boots against the welcome mat. “I love it when you wonder about me.” A smile teases at her bottom lip. She passes her fingers over it like she’s trying to hide it. “Get in here, Romeo. It’s cold.”

“I meant to text you,” I say quietly, keeping my voice low. “About what?” “Tonight.” Her face twists in confusion. “What about tonight?” “I wanted to ask if you were okay with this. After…everything.” “Everything, huh?” She presses up on her toes to glance over my shoulder, then falls back to the flats of her feet. Checking, I think, to see if anyone is within hearing distance. A coy smile curls her lips. “Have I been on your mind, Charlie?” That feels like an understatement. She’s been circling there. I was buttoning my shirt this morning and caught a glimpse of a hickey on my hip in the mirror. I stared into space for thirty-eight seconds, half hard, the desire to be back in that bed with her so fierce it felt like a fist in my chest. I halve the space between us until she has to tilt her head back to hold my eyes. “I told you,” I tell her, voice low. “Alarming frequency and incredible detail.” I reach for the braid hanging over her shoulder and tug lightly. “Even better detail now.” Her eyes flash and a smile kicks up one side of her mouth. I drop her braid. “You sure it’s okay I’m here?” “Of course it’s okay. We said nothing would change, Charlie. You’re allowed to come to dinner at my parents’ house.” “I know what we said, but I don’t want to intrude,” I murmur. I don’t know the protocol for how to interact with a one-night stand that is also your friend. I’ve never had to do it before.

“Did you bring me a present?” “Absolutely not.” I move them out of reach. “They’re for your mom. Why? You want me to bring you flowers, Nova girl?” It’s easy to fall right back into the parts we play with one another, but then again, most things are easy with Nova. I think there was a part of me that was worried she’d put space between us. Maybe pretend the other night never happened. But she isn’t avoiding me, and she isn’t acting any differently. She’s still Nova. Relief relaxes my shoulders. She grins at me. “I like buying my own flowers.” I laugh. “Yeah, you do.” Unthinking, I reach forward and drag my knuckles along her rib cage. I know this piece of her now, the ink that’s underneath this sweater. The flower on her ribs and the petals that float down her back. “Good at drawing them too.” “I like to think so.” Something heavy floods the space between us as I let my hand drift over the soft material of her sweater. Her breath hitches as my hand strays higher, knuckles ghosting closer to the curve of her breast. I wonder if she’s wearing something lacey and delicate beneath. I bet she is. Our gazes hold. This close, she’s more color than shape. Sea-glass green and blue so deep it almost looks black. Tidal pools as the surf rushes in. A million treasures hidden beneath the surface.

I pull my hand back and clear my throat, then thrust the bottle of wine in her hands. “Here.” “Oh. Is this for me?” “Also no. But you can carry it into the kitchen.” She laughs and pushes off the door, nudging my shoulder with hers on the way to the kitchen. It does something stupid to the inside of my chest. “That’s very generous of you.” “I’m a generous man.” She turns to glance at me, braid swinging between her shoulder blades. “I know for a fact that you are.” “Nova,” I choke in warning as we both step into the kitchen. I glance around the open space, waiting for Beckett to descend on me with a steak knife. The last thing I need to be thinking about in a room full of her family is Nova’s preferred interpretation of generosity. “Behave.”

“Do you like the work?” Lucy asks. “At the farm. Is it something you enjoy?” “It is.” I like waking up and hearing birds in the trees. I like standing at the back window of the guest cottage and watching the fireflies dance. I like walking over to the bakehouse and having a cup of coffee with Caleb while Layla bustles around the kitchen. I like working the register and knowing every single person who walks through the door. I like bothering Beckett into talking to me. I like feeling like I belong, even if it’s not exactly the truth. “It doesn’t feel like work at all.”

“Maybe you should consider a career change.” “But then what would I do with all of my suits?” I grin and take the salad bowl Evie offers me. “Nah, this is temporary. I’m just giving Stella the break she deserves.” “And what do you deserve?” I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. Conversation on the other end of the table has resumed, picking up volume. Evelyn is draped over Beckett’s shoulders with both of her arms wrapped around his neck, their fingers threaded together, both of their attention fixed on Harper and whatever point she’s trying to illustrate with a bowl the size of her head curled in her arms. Lucy’s doesn’t waver, her chin resting against her knuckles. “What do you mean?” I ask. “What do you deserve, Charlie?” “I—I don’t know.” I laugh. I try to deflect from how lost I am with that question. “I certainly don’t deserve this dinner, I know that.” I’m not just talking about the buffalo mac and cheese that tastes so good it should be illegal. I’m talking about the invitation, sitting here. Having a place carved out for me, no matter how temporary. Handed dishes and asked questions and folded into the easy interaction of a family that loves each other. It’s like sitting in front of a fire and feeling the brush of warmth. Being here at the edge of it has me feeling homesick for a place I’ve never been. Lucy’s smile dims, understanding in the lines of her face. “Well then, maybe you should try to figure it out.” “Your mac and cheese recipe?” At the other end of...

“Everything good in here?” His knuckles brush against my arm as he dumps the dirty dishes in the sink and he stays close after. A silent show of support. “Yeah, everything is good.” I flick the water back on. Beckett allows it. “We were just talking about vines,” Beckett says, voice dry as a bone. “Oh, nice. The ones in Nova’s studio? They look great.” My eyes slip shut. Shit. “Beckett,” I start. But he’s already shaking his head, looking down at his boots. He doesn’t look mad. It’s worse than that. He looks hurt. “Am I the only one you haven’t let inside?” “He just stopped by for a minute,” I try to explain. “He was walking me home after the harvest festival meeting and—” “It’s fine,” Beckett says. But it’s not fine. He won’t look at me and his mouth is set in a firm, frowning line. My stomach hollows out. The only thing I’ve ever wanted to avoid is disappointing my brother, and it seems I somehow managed to do it anyway. “I, ah—” He puts down the dish he was drying and tosses the rag on the counter. He scratches roughly at the back of his head, a nervous tic that makes my heart squeeze in my chest. He glances at me briefly and then looks away again, like he can’t bear the sight of me. A hot pressure burns behind my eyes. “It’s your choice, Nova. I’ll stop by after you open. Or…not. Whatever you want. Don’t worry about it, okay?” “Beck, I’m—” My voice catches in my throat. He gives me another half-hearted quirk of his lips and leaves the kitchen.

“Beckett hasn’t seen the studio yet,” I explain. He frowns. “Why not?” “Because—” I let my hands drift beneath the running water, soap suds slipping over my inked knuckles, down my wrist to curl around the tattoos there. “Have you ever felt the weight of someone else’s expectations? I know he doesn’t mean to, but his unfailing belief that I can do whatever I set my mind to just makes me feel—” Claustrophobic. Terrified. Undeserving. “It makes me feel like I can’t fail. Like there’s no room for it.”

“You can stop with all of”—I wave my soapy hand between us—“this.” Charlie lets go of the end of my braid. “Stop with what?” “The emotional check-in. I don’t need it.” I grab the tractor plate and start scrubbing furiously at a spot of stuck cheese. “We’re not—” Together, I almost say. “We aren’t anything, Charlie.” He falls quiet next to me. There’s nothing but the sound of the sink water and my brush against the plate. The pound of my heart in my ears. “Friends don’t make sure their friends are okay?” he finally asks. A laugh sputters out of me. “Is that what we are?” Do friends argue the way we argue with one another? Do they fuck each other and then pretend it never happened? Do they snark and twist and bite? I don’t know what we are to each other, but it doesn’t exactly feel friendly. Charlie stills next to me, his body one tense line. He leans back until there’s a perfect two inches of space between us, not a single point of contact. “I thought so, but I guess not.” I watch him drag his palm over his jaw from the corner of my eye. He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “I guess I’m just the guy you had a good time with. Noted, Nova. Thank you very much for clarifying my place.” That’s not what I meant. “Charlie—” “It’s all good. You’re right. This is what we agreed to.” He gives me a tight smile and nods toward the same door Beckett just walked through. “I’m going to say bye to your parents and head out.” He pauses. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.” He leaves without an...

Who knows what we are. Not friends, apparently. I don’t get to care about her; I just get to fuck her. I guess when she said she wanted me out of her system, she meant out of her life too.

“I have some advice.” I drop my head to my keyboard and bang it there twice. “No, thank you.” “You need to cut your father off.” I groan louder. “I know that.” It’s silent on the other end of the computer. I lean up and rest my chin on the trackpad. The only part of me visible on the computer screen is the top of my hair and thank god for it. Selene doesn’t need to see a car crash in real time. Selene blinks at me. “I expected more of a fight, to be honest.” “I know he’s causing problems, but I—” I have trouble with confrontation. I’m confident until I’m not, and I’d much rather do a bunch of extra work than talk to my father directly about what a pain in the ass he’s being. I’m a people pleaser, through and through, and it doesn’t matter that the person I’m trying to please is an asshole. All my brain recognizes is the itchy, uncomfortable feeling of disappointment. “That’s exactly what he wants,” I finally say. “He wants you to cut him off?” “No. He wants me to call him and give him the attention he’s craving. He pokes and prods me until he gets it. He’s a narcissist.” Among other things. If I don’t cave to his whims, he’ll keep escalating until I do. “So, what are you going to do?” I press my fingertips to the base of my skull, trying to ease the tension headache I can feel brewing. My arms and back are tired from the fieldwork yesterday, and I’m just…I’m tired. “I’ll take care of it.” Selene raises both of her eyebrows. “When will you take care of it?” God. She’s been ...

Lucy asked me what I deserve and maybe this is it. Maybe this is exactly what I’m meant for. This chair in this kitchen in this house that I do not own. In a place I do not belong. With friends who are my sister’s friends but who I’ve claimed as my own. So far away from New York and all the things that should be my responsibilities. The life I’ve built there, trying to edge my way out of my father’s shadow. While all I’m doing here is shrugging on a jacket that doesn’t quite fit. Nova’s voice: Is that what we are? I’ve got no fucking clue.

“You shaved your beard,” she says. I rub my knuckles against my smooth cheek. Sometimes it helps me restart when I rely on my routines. After my call with Selene, I did everything I usually do during a morning in the city, short a subway ride and an overpriced cup of coffee. I skipped the suit too. I pulled on a Lovelight Farms hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants I think I’ve maybe worn twice. I don’t have much need for athleisure in the city. “I shaved, yeah.” I nod at the pizza in her hands. “Are you delivering for Matty’s now?” She glances down at the box like she forgot she was holding it. Her fingers tighten at the edges. “New side hustle,” she says quietly with a quirk of her lips. I resist the urge to fill the silence between us and lean my shoulder against the doorframe. She came here with something to say. I’m not going to rush her on it. I’m also not going to make it easier for her. She kicks at a crooked floorboard and blows out a deep breath. “I was a jerk last night.” I shrug. She was honest. She held her boundaries. That doesn’t make her a jerk. “No, you weren’t. I pushed you and I shouldn’t have. You don’t have to talk to me about anything. I know the parameters of our relationship.” I know my appeal. I’m the fun time. The break between more serious pursuits. The joke and the easy laugh. Nova made it perfectly clear what she wanted from me. I got carried away thinking I had a right to anything else. That she’d want me for anything else.

“I was a jerk,” she repeats. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” “Which part?” “The part where I told you we weren’t friends.” Her head tips to the side, watching me. I do my best not to flinch. “I was frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. I thought I’d make it up to you with pizza.” She lifts the box in her hands in silent explanation. “Can I come in?” I fix a smile on my face and reach for something that feels familiar. “You never have to ask me to come,” I quip. She frowns, her face softening. “Don’t do that,” she says quietly. “Do what?” “That,” she says again. “The performance.”

“I don’t want pity pizza, Nova.” “It’s not pity pizza,” she responds. “It’s pepperoni pizza.” It’s a fight to keep the smile off my face. I wish she wasn’t so fucking funny. It would make a lot of this easier for me. “Cute.” She sighs and closes the remaining distance between us. She thrusts the pizza box into my chest. I stare down at her and raise both eyebrows. “It’s a thick crust, extra cheese pizza with double pepperoni. I got it because I know it’s your favorite. And I know it’s your favorite because we are friends. Now, I’d like to come inside and eat this pizza before it gets cold. With you.” “As friends,” I clarify. That half smile curls her mouth again. “Yes. You can tell me about your day and I’ll tell you about mine. We’ll do some planning for the harvest festival and I’ll steal something to drink from your fridge. Then I’ll drive home and see you later this week.” “Later this week?” “Yeah. Later this week.” I consider it. Part of me is still tender about last night, but there’s a bigger piece of me that’s tired of sitting in this little house all alone. “I’m picking what we watch on TV,” I finally say. Her smile slips wider before she tucks it back into place, lips pressed down against it. She rocks back on her heels on the rickety front porch, boards squeaking beneath her boots. “That’s fine.” “And I’m going to eat your crust.” “That’s fine too.” “I’m going to take up most of the couch,” I warn. I take up too much space, I want to tell her. I’m loud and somet...

“When can you pencil me into your schedule? For my tattoo.” “Still on that kick, huh?” “It’s not a kick. I really do want a tattoo.” I roll my head against the back of the couch and poke at her knee. She nudges me back with her sock-covered foot and leaves it there, tucking it beneath my thigh when I don’t protest. She narrows her eyes. “What do you want?” “I don’t know.” “Where do you want it?” “Don’t know that either.” “Typically, in my professional experience, if someone doesn’t know what sort of tattoo they want or where they want to get it, they’re not ready for a tattoo.” I take a sip of my lukewarm beer from a mug shaped like a nutcracker and keep my eyes on hers. Her skin glows blue and gray in the light of the TV, her hair a silver wave over her shoulder. Her hat is on the table in the kitchen. Her shoes are stacked right next to mine. “What would you pick for me?” I ask. “A scorpion,” she says, right away. “On your ass.” My smile feels stupid on my face. Too big. Too much. “If you want to see my ass again, Nova girl”—I take another pull from the mug—“all you need to do is ask.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughs. The look in her blue-green eyes is a flash of heat. Smoke over rolling water.

“Why don’t you want him to see your studio yet?” She traces the Y in MATTY. “I don’t know.” “Yes, you do.” Nova huffs and gives me a look. I raise both eyebrows back. “I just…I want it to be perfect.” Quieter, she says, “I want him to be proud of me.” “You don’t think he will be?” “It’s not that I don’t think he’ll be proud.” She curls her fingers in the sleeve of her shirt and rubs it against her cheek. “I know he will be. I know he is. But I’ve never done anything to deserve that from him, have I? He’s always just…given it. He let me do all of that work on his arms when I really shouldn’t have been tattooing anyone. He dropped out of school and gave up on his dreams so I could have mine. I want him to walk in and feel like all of that was worth it. And I don’t feel ready yet. There’s some stuff I still want to do before he sees it.” She peeks up at me and tucks her knees tight to her chest. “Is that dumb?” “It’s not dumb.” I rest my hand against her ankle and trace the jut of the delicate bone there with my thumb. “But, Nova, you don’t need to be perfect.” “Yes,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you come to the farm because you have to?” She cocks her head. “What?” “Why do you visit Layla’s?” “Because that chocolate hazelnut cupcake changed my life.” I squeeze her ankle. “And why do you get your Christmas tree here? Every year.” “Because they’re pretty trees,” she answers, still bewildered. “And Beckett would murder me if I bought a fake one.” “Do you feel like you have to support this place just because your brother owns a piece of it?” Realization softens her face. “No. I just like to.” I let myself trace her soft skin one last time before I let go, letting my hands rest in my lap. I widen my eyes in exaggeration. “Isn’t that interesting?” “Subtle, Charlie.” She nudges me with her foot again and then withdraws, curling both beneath her. “I’m going to talk to him.” I nod. I’m certainly not an expert on positive family interactions, but I like the idea of Nova and Beckett getting along. “I think he’d like that.”

“Your work. Why did you want to be a tattoo artist? Why not something else?” “Because…” Her eyes flick up and then back down again. “Probably because I like the permanency of it. The idea that someone, somewhere, is walking around with something I made painted on their skin.” She smiles, bashful. “Our bodies are miracles, aren’t they? It feels like the best sort of gift to be trusted like that. An honor, really.” “But you won’t give me a scorpion on my ass?” Her face brightens again, a laugh in her eyes. “No, Charlie. I won’t give you a scorpion on your ass. Or a Looney Tune in the middle of your chest.” She leans back against the arm of the couch and looks at me. Eyes lowered, comfortable in the silence that stretches between us. It’s an honor to have this—this yawning quiet. This warm, settled feeling. I’m aware of my heartbeat, steady in my chest. A bum bum bum that I feel in the palms of my hands. “Think about it.” I take another sip of my beer. “About your ass?” “Always about my ass. But also about what tattoo I should get.” She considers me, seriously this time. “I’ll think about it,” she says. “Good.”

“We officially open October fifteenth. But we have a soft launch coming up.” I glance up when Jeremy makes a confused sound. “A party for invited guests only,” I explain. “Influencers and other tattoo artists so they can spread the word and hopefully bring in more business.”

The door to the tattoo shop swings open and Charlie appears. Expensive camel coat with the collar turned up and a thick green sweater beneath. Awareness lights me up, a knot of anticipation low in my belly. I scowl at him. He grins. “Hiya, Nova girl. Did you miss me?” Yes. Unfortunately, I think that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. “No.” I tip-tap my way across the keyboard and pretend like I’m doing something important. “Why? Have you missed me?” He strolls his way to the table and drops a folder and two cups of coffee on the edge. “Desperately,” he says, still with that grin.

“Are you aware that Jeremy is assaulting your tattoo displays?” Jeremy huffs. “I’m dusting them.” Charlie’s face collapses in confusion. “Why?” “Because I work here,” Jeremy says, sounding far too smug for someone who has been employed for less than seventy-two hours. Charlie turns back to me with both of his eyebrows raised. I raise mine right back. “What?” Charlie picks up one of the coffees, opens the lid to peer inside, then hands it to me. “Nothing.” I reach for it and curl my palms around its warmth. It smells like cinnamon and pumpkin, my favorite Tuesday pick-me-up from Ms. Beatrice’s. Charlie takes the other cup for himself and props himself against my desk. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” He shrugs and picks up one of my printed tattoo cards. “You’ve got an ooey gooey heart, Nova Porter.” I snatch the card out of his hand and put it back on the stack. “No, I don’t.” Apparently, I have a bubble-wrapped heart. A stone heart, if my siblings are to be believed. He hums and plucks up another one. “Yes, you do. You’re a big ol’ softie beneath all of those tattoos. But don’t worry.” He winks and goose bumps erupt across my skin like a shower of sparks. “Your secret is safe with me.” I might be safe with him, but I’m starting to think I’m not so safe from him. Not my secrets and not this feeling in my chest every single time he’s around. Like someone is pressing down and pulling me up at exactly the same time.

“What’s this?” “It’s Form 941 for your federal taxes. I didn’t see it with your other paperwork.” “What other paperwork?” “The paperwork on your kitchen table.” I take a small sip from the take-out cup. It’s exactly the way I like it, down to the cinnamon sprinkled on top. “When were you going through the paperwork on my kitchen table?” “When I was waiting for your coffee pot to brew,” he says, lowering his voice to a gruff rasp. “While you were sleeping.” When I was naked in my bed, he means, and he was shuffling through my house in nothing but his pants, unbuttoned and low around his hips, bleary-eyed and messy-haired. He taps the top of the folder. “You need to file that with the rest of your stuff.” I flick it open and look down at the top piece of paper. Charlie has already filled out most of the information, down to my business-identification number. The itchy, claustrophobic feeling from earlier comes roaring back, pressing against my shoulders. “I can’t believe I forgot something,” I murmur. “Yes. I can’t believe you forgot this one document out of the seven hundred you need to complete in order to open a business in the state of Maryland.” He leans over the desk and shows me the blank line at the bottom of the page. “Sign here and I’ll send it in for you.” “You don’t need to do that.” “I’m happy to.” I know he is and that somehow makes everything worse. That he’ll bring me my favorite coffee and the forms I forgot to fill out and ask for nothing for himself. I wis...

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn woman?” “With alarming frequency and incredible detail,” I volley back. I give him a tight smile. He huffs a laugh and tips his head toward the door. “You ready to go?” “Go where?” “Business visits,” he explains. “You said you wanted to do those this week.” No part of me wants to walk with Charlie through town right now. I still feel too raw, too unfocused, too wobbly on the edge of…everything. But it’s a thing that needs to be done, and I did promise. “Sure,” I sigh. Charlie laughs. “What glowing enthusiasm.” I stand from my chair and grab for my coat. Charlie is pleased with himself, watching me struggle with the sleeves of my jacket with unbridled amusement. “Stop making that face,” I snap. “We’ve been over this, Nova girl. This is just how my face looks.” “Well, it’s a dumb face,” I grumble. Charlie laughs, a flash of white teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sure it is.” He takes another slow sip of his coffee and winks at me. “That must be why you look at it so much.”

“Why do you spend so much time down here?” “Stella is here.” “You don’t always see her when you come down.” A half smile tugs at his mouth as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Are you keeping tabs on me?” “You’re difficult to miss, Charlie. Especially when you’re wearing a tutu and doing a keg stand at trivia night.” “It was ballet themed,” he mumbles to himself, referencing the long-held, passionately defended town rule that all trivia nights adhere to a dress code related to the theme. He kicks at a loose rock on the sidewalk. “My friends are here,” he says quieter, seemingly talking to his boots. “Alex and Caleb. Your brother. Luka.” “You don’t have city friends?” “I have city friends,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound too sure of that answer. He sighs. “I like it here.” “You like it here.” “Yes. I like it here.” His eyes are unreadable behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “The food is good.” “You’re visiting from New York and you think the food is good? Here?” Ms. Beatrice has a decent breakfast and Matty makes some excellent pizza, sure, but it’s not New York. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” His lips are twisted down in a frown. It’s a strange look on his handsome face. Out of place. “What’s with the inquisition?” “I’m trying to figure you out.” “Well, best of luck with that. Let me know what you discover when you do.”

“What’s going on with you?” “Me? You’re the one with the problem.” I poke him hard in the chest. We somehow keep finding ourselves here, arguing about nothing. “You’re different.” His lips flatten into a line. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are. You’re…” I think about our conversation in my kitchen, the night all of this started. He told me he wouldn’t fuck me if it would change things between us, but he’s the one doing the changing. “You’re hiding from me.” His jaw clenches tight. “I’m not.” “You are,” I tell him. “You’re acting differently, and I have no idea why.” “Nova.” “Don’t ‘Nova’ me,” I snap. It’s making me feel like I’m imagining things and I’m not. I know that I’m not. “I thought we fixed things. Are you still mad about what I said at my parents’ house?” “I’m not mad,” he mumbles, but he thrusts his hand through his hair, pulling lightly at the ends. “I was never mad, Nova. We’re fine. Everything is fine.” “We are not fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, tugging my coat tighter around me. The six inches of space between us might as well be a mile. “What’s changed? Why are you acting like…this?” “Like what?” “Polite,” I spit, like the word is personally offensive. He’s acting like a watered-down version of himself. Like we were never friends to begin with. “I know it’s hard to believe, Nova, but I can be a polite, mature person.” “Not with me,” I say. “With me, you’re just yourself. You don’t try to be anything other than Charlie.”

“I’m trying to—” He huffs, eyes flashing. “I’m trying to do what you want.” “And what do I want?” “I wish I fucking knew!” It explodes out of him in a rush, frantic energy crackling like bursts of static. “I wish I knew what you wanted, Nova. That would make all of this a hell of a lot easier.” “I want you to be normal with me.” “And what is normal, huh?” He drags his palm along his freshly shaven jaw. His gaze holds mine, frustration in the lines by his eyes. “What’s normal for us, Nova? Sometimes we argue, sometimes we laugh, but most of the time, you can’t stand the sight of me.” “That’s not true,” I tell him. “Isn’t it?” He steps closer until I’m pressed against the brick wall, his chest brushing against mine. I suck in a breath. “I like you, Nova, but I’ve got no fucking clue what normal looks like for us. I’m not being different on purpose. I’m just…I’m trying to hold myself together around you.”

“I thought once would be enough,” I explain quietly. “It usually is.” He leans back, dark eyes watching me carefully. His cheeks are pink and his bottom lip is slightly swollen. He looks dazed and confused and deliciously out of sorts. Like I’ve just told him it’s raining pickles or I’ve filled out the wrong tax form. “Once wasn’t enough?” he asks. “With me?” A thin note of disbelief hums beneath his words. It’s barely noticeable but there. I sometimes forget that for all his easy smiles, Charlie has insecurities too. Ones that are coming into focus the longer I look. Something in my chest turns over and I shake my head. “It wasn’t.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” I drop my head back against the brick wall and stare at him. “I was waiting for you to say something.” He blinks twice, still bewildered. “Were you?” I nod. “Yes. I thought my intentions were obvious. It’s why I’ve been so cranky this morning.” “It was not obvious, and you’re usually cranky.” “Thank you, Charlie. You sure have a way with words.” “How did you make your intentions obvious?” he presses. “You told me at family dinner you didn’t want to be friends, and now you’re telling me you’re mad I’m not kissing you. I’m trying to keep up here, Nova. But it’s tough to follow.” I wince. “I know. I’m not being fair.”

“I’m going to work on being honest with you, even if I’m not sure what it is I want. Here’s the first thing, are you ready?” He nods. “Last night, in your kitchen, I thought you were going to kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me.” Something in his face softens. “I wanted to kiss you too.” I take a deep breath and tell myself to be brave. “I’ve thought about you every day since the night we had together.” “Of course you have,” he murmurs. “I haven’t given you a second to breathe. I wanted you to think about me.” “More than that,” I whisper back. We’re slowly moving closer together. My nose brushes his. “I’ve been wanting you, Charlie. I can’t stop thinking about all the things we didn’t get to do.”

“I still don’t want a relationship,” I say carefully. I don’t want this thing with Charlie to feel like something on my list that needs attention. I want to have this with him without having to worry about what it means or what comes next. It’s selfish, but it’s all I can manage right now. My hands clench in the collar of his coat. I smooth it down, then twist it up again. “I know it feels like I’m leading you on right now, but I want to be really clear and—” He cuts me off again, lips gentle this time. He brushes his mouth back and forth, a smile ticking at the very edge. “I get it, Nova. I hear you.” His hand brushes down my back, tucking me closer to his body and away from the wall, his thumb tracing over each bump of my spine through the material of my coat. “I don’t care how we categorize what we’re doing, as long as we can keep doing it.” My hands slip from his collar to his chest. “You want to keep doing it?” “I do if you do,” he murmurs. “I do,” I answer quietly. “But only if you’re okay with that.” “Something casual?” he asks. I nod my head. His hand meanders down my back with large, sweeping strokes. “Yeah, I’m okay keeping it casual. I’m only here through the end of the month anyway. That probably makes the most sense for both of us.” I nod. “Yeah.” “No expectations,” he says easily, a bright smile sweeping across his mouth. It never quite reaches his eyes, does it? “It’s how I do my best work.”

“Maybe we can call it business casual,” I say slowly. His hands tighten on my hips. “What does that mean?” He laughs. “Business casual,” I say again, the idea growing on me. Yes, that’s exactly what I want. Something casual but with parameters in place so neither of us can hurt the other. I tuck my finger in the collar of his sweater and tug him closer. “It means this only lasts as long as we want it to. It also means…” I tip my chin up and nip lightly at his bottom lip. “It also means if I’m fucking you, no one else is.”

“You should have told me you wanted me again.” He drags wet kisses down my jaw to my neck, nipping at the curve of my shoulder where he yanks my T-shirt to the side. I arch and press myself harder to him. “I would have given you anything you wanted, Nova.”

“Would you like to touch me, Charlie?” He’s busy looking at the lavender lace against my skin, the demi-cup bra that barely covers me. It’s fancy and impractical and I love it. His tongue licks at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even need to ask that question?” “You’re not the only one that likes words,” I say. His eyes flick up to mine and hold, a flash of awareness that flares and fades like a single firework in an inky-black night sky. “Yeah, Nova. I’d like to touch you.” He pushes off the back of the couch until we’re nose to nose, his chest pressed tight to mine. One of his hands finds the middle of my back, fingertips spread wide. “Would you like to hear about all the ways I’ve thought about touching you since I left your bed?” I nod and wrap my arms around his neck. His skin is so warm. “Yes, please.”

“I’ve thought about kissing you a million times. Probably more.” His thumb drags against my bottom lip, and I nip at it with my teeth. “I thought about that pretty flower between your pretty tits and kissing that too.” He huffs a laugh. “How much do you want to hear?” “Everything.” “Everything, huh?” “Yeah.” I take up the abandoned effort of his pants and slip his belt through the loops, tossing it behind me. He lifts his hips while I work at the button and zipper, the both of us shifting and wiggling and tugging to get them off. They stay trapped around one ankle when his hands settle at my hips, his forehead against the rose he likes so much, his breaths panting and heavy through delicate lace. “I wanted to kiss you in my kitchen, and I wanted to peel off your sweater. I wanted to put you on your knees and wrap your braid around my fist. Fuck, Nova.” Another breath explodes out of him. “Every time I look at you, I only want you more. I want to keep you in this lace and I want to rip it off. I want to fuck you until neither of us can move.” I thread my fingers through his and squeeze. “Okay.” He brushes his mouth over the petals of my red rose and looks up at me through his lashes. “Okay?” “Mm-hmm, let’s do that. All of it.” I squeeze his hand again. “Where would you like to start?” His eyes flash a shade darker, consideration in the set of his jaw. “I want to make you come.”

“You’re gonna win, Nova girl,” he breathes, his body moving against mine. He threads our fingers together at my hip and holds me tighter. “Fuck, you feel so good. And you look—” His hand sweeps down my side, over the tattoos painted along my rib cage. “You look so pretty I think I’m having a heart attack,” he mumbles. He pulls out of me, groans, and then pushes back in half a second later. If he was trying to hold himself back, he’s not doing a very good job of it. “You’re definitely going to win. I’m going to last ten seconds, max.” Another laugh wheezes into a whine when he picks up his pace. I don’t care who wins this stupid contest. “I think we’ve both won, don’t you?”

I knew I was swimming out of my depth, thinking I could have this one thing. But I had hope. Hope that I could cling to the possibility of keeping this…this impossibility. I know I don’t deserve it, but that’s the thing about hope, isn’t it? You can’t reason with that little balloon in your chest.

“Who is missing their watch?” Caleb is busy gazing at the tiny pumpkin pies like they’re the answer to his salvation. “Charlie is,” he says without looking up. Layla glances at my bare wrist, then up to my face. Her eyes narrow and her head cocks to the side. “Is it a silver watch? Black face?” I take another bite of bear claw and nod. “Yeah.” “Hmm,” she says, mouth twisted to the side. A creeping feeling of unease pinches at the back of my neck. It’s the same look she gave Beckett that day she walked into the office and realized she was ambushed. She’s sizing me up, trying to figure me out. I swallow the rest of my pastry and try not to fidget under her attention. “Why do you ask?” “No reason,” she says airily, but her face is telling a different story. Layla looks like she wants to take that scarf out of her hair and strangle me with it. Her eyes dart to Caleb and hold, watching him place the pies in the display case exactly the way she likes. She chews on her lip. “I’m just wondering if I should make another thing of coffee or not,” she says slowly, sounding stiff. She glances at me and hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “Help me with the machine in the kitchen.”

I think she wants to get me in the back kitchen so there are no witnesses. We stare at each other across the counter. Her eyes narrow, her head tips to the side, and…I know she knows. She knows what I’ve been doing with Nova. I have no idea how, but that devious little mind of hers has figured it out. I shake my head. “No, thank you.” “It wasn’t a suggestion. Help me with the coffee machine.” “I have a meeting, actually. That I should get going for.” “You can leave for your meeting after you help me with the coffee machine,” she says between clenched teeth. I think she’s trying to fake a smile. She’s not successful. Caleb finishes up with the pies and sets the tray on the back counter. “I can help you with the coffee machine,” he offers. She turns to look at him and some of the severity slips from her face. “Charlie can help me. You have that study group before homeroom this morning, remember?” He glances at the clock on the wall behind the counter. “Ah, shit. You’re right.”

“Come help me with the coffee machine.” “I told Pete I’d sit with him and do the crossword.” “That’s all right, young man,” calls Pete, suddenly developing stellar hearing for the first time in his very long life. “I’m almost done.” Fuck. “Even eighteen across?” “Even eighteen across.” Layla is still pointing at the door. “Coffee machine.” I swallow hard. “I really don’t want to help you with the coffee machine,” I whisper. “Don’t make me come around this counter.” “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

Layla starts collecting dirty items and stacking them in her arms. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Nova and I haven’t discussed it, but I’m pretty sure telling people about our situation falls outside the lines of business casual. It doesn’t feel right to lie to Layla, but I don’t want to break Nova’s trust either. It’s our business. No one else’s. “The bear claws were good today,” I say, trying my best to infuse my voice with as much enthusiasm as possible. “Did you use sea salt again?” “Yeah, I used sea salt. It’s a new recipe I’m trying where I put it in the glaze.” She dumps her armful of dirty dishes into the sink with a clatter. “But I was referring to what you think you’re doing with Nova.” I shrug and try to keep my face from doing anything weird. “Nova?” Layla gives me a look. “Yes. Nova. This tall.” She holds up her hand in front of her. “Blond hair. Pretty tattoos.” I have to bite the inside of my cheek against my smile. Her tattoos are so pretty. Layla widens her eyes. “You know. Beckett’s youngest sister.” “I know who Nova is, Layla. What are you asking?” She turns on the water and grabs for the bottle of soap. “Why is Nova wearing your watch around town?” This time I can’t help my smile. It tugs at my mouth until I’m beaming at Layla across the small kitchen, a deep satisfaction settling in my bones. I didn’t realize she was wearing it out of the house. She likes to taunt me with it when we’re both naked, the watch and only the watch on her wrist. ...

“Interesting.” “Is it?” Layla runs her soapy fingers beneath the water. “Very.” “How so?” “That stupid smile on your face, for one.” She shuts off the water and grabs a dish towel in the shape of a Christmas tree, drying her hands as she considers me, her mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that.” “What? Stupid?” “No,” she says. “Happy.” I feel it like a hand pressed flat to the middle of my chest, shoving me back. “I am happy,” I manage around a throat that feels too tight. I don’t know why that word bothers me so much. “I’m usually a happy guy, Layla.” I’m having fun with Nova. That’s all this is. A release for the both of us. It’s not what Layla is implying. Layla hums, watching me as she dries her hands. “Okay.” “Okay, what?” She shrugs and tosses the towel to the side. She pulls out a flat silver tray from the cabinet behind her and places it on the work table. She grabs a mixing bowl and drops it in front of me. “Okay. Just okay. You had a bet. She’s wearing your watch. We’ll leave it at that. Do you want to help me make some scones or do you need to go to your fake meeting?”

“Just…be careful, all right?” I know what she thinks. It’s written all over her face. She thinks what everyone else always thinks about me. She thinks I’m fucking around. That I’m using Nova to have a good time before I go back to my reality. But it’s not true. I like Nova. If I won the watch bet, I was going to ask for another Katharine Hepburn movie night. Pizza on her lap and my legs on the coffee table. Nova’s making all the calls. She’s setting the boundaries. “It’s not like that,” I say quietly. “Like what?” I adjust one of the apron ruffles so it lays flat against my chest. “There’s nothing going on.” Nothing that will last, anyway. There’s no point getting all twisted up about it when we’ll both be moving on in a couple of weeks. We’ll have our fun, and that’s that. Layla smirks at me. “Oh, Charlie. Sweet, sweet Charlie. I was once as oblivious as you.” She hands me a measuring cup, then a bag of sugar. “Now sift that into there. And find me some blueberries.”

I have three little bruises in the shape of his fingers against the curve of my waist. I think I like them more than my tattoos.

He snickers and circles his arm around my back, tipping me over into my bedding. “You like that move,” I grumble, my face half buried in a pillow. He snorts a laugh. “You seem to like it too, Nova girl.” He slips off the edge of the bed and tugs at the blankets trapped beneath my legs. I stare at the stretch and pull of the muscles in his torso and do absolutely nothing to help. He grunts and tries to yank at a blanket. It rolls me sideways and my legs go flailing. “Easy,” he says, dodging my foot. “I’m trying to burrito you the way you like.” “You are not doing a very good job.” “I’m doing a great job.” He slaps at my knee and tries to pry a fuzzy gray blanket out from beneath my hips. “You’re not exactly being helpful.” I snicker. “How so?” “You’re in my way.” A laugh bursts out of me, incredulous. “Oh, excuse me, Charlie. I didn’t realize I was in your way as you try to swaddle me.” “Thank you.” He manages to free my fuzzy blanket and he wraps it around my shoulders. “Apology accepted.”

“You’re a good person, Charlie.” “That’s all the orgasms talking,” Charlie murmurs, nudging me with his shoulder. “It’s not,” I argue. He turns his face toward mine and arches an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little bit. You give good orgasms, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re also a good person.” I knew it before we ever started sleeping together, and I know it better now. He huffs a laugh and my lips twist. “Do I need to list all of your positive qualities?” A smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “It wouldn’t hurt.” I wiggle one hand out from where it’s trapped against my side. I flick up one finger. “You have excellent taste in watches.” I lift another. “You have excellent taste in women.” “Both of those things are true.” His half smile tumbles into a grin. “I am also smoking hot.” “Reasonably attractive, I’d say.”

“You’re kind. You’re invested. You’re easy to talk to, and you go out of your way to help others. Why is it so hard for you to believe that you’re a good person beneath all of that custom tailoring?” “Because,” he sighs, scratching his hand through his hair. He glances around my room, looking for inspiration in the large canvas print that takes up a majority of my wall. Wildflowers in bold strokes of color. A bright blue, cloudless sky. Charlie sighs. “I’m just pretending.” “Pretending what?” “Everything.” He swallows. “That I’m not a selfish person.” I snort and roll my eyes. “I don’t believe you.” Charlie doesn’t laugh. “You don’t have to believe it. It’s the truth. You think I came to Inglewild and volunteered to watch over Lovelight out of the goodness of my heart, but that’s not true. I’m doing it for me. Because I wanted an excuse to be here.” I blink at him. “Wanting something doesn’t make you selfish, Charlie.” “What about taking it?” His eyes drag to my lips and hold. His voice is a rasp when he asks, “If I take the things that I want, doesn’t that make me selfish?” I shake my head. We’re not talking about the farm anymore. “Not if it’s willingly given,” I whisper back.