I inhaled softly, and a stupid, stupid fluttering took up residence in my stomach. One I knew needed to go away because there was no reason for it to be there in the first place, but one that was there nonetheless.
I glanced at the three people in front of me, quickly taking in the confused looks they were giving me before slapping my hand down on the napkin and pulling it close to my body.
I whirled around to see if anyone was watching, waiting for someone who would have a reaction to that note . . . but there was no one. Just residents of Thatch eating, others serving, nearly all people I had known most of my life. None of them paid any attention to me, or the chaos of emotions flooding me.
Again, stupid fluttering and emotions that made no sense. Because this person was nothing more than an opinionated stranger, and I was making him and this situation out to be much more than they were because of my obsession with romantic fiction.
“Um, table for three?” I asked through the lump in my throat, and shoved the napkin into one of my pockets so I could grab menus. “Right this way.”
By the time I left work that night, my notebook was on the desk, the slightly crumpled piece of paper had been smoothed out, and had my plea not to move the book facing up. No words had been added to Ben’s song, but there was a note left to the stranger.
You gave me relationship advice that was a few years too late; I didn’t know you expected a response. Since you want one: Thank you, stranger. I’ll make sure to remember your words for the next guy who comes into my life.
I didn’t work the next day, but there was a response waiting for me when I came in the day after. And though I tried to watch the front desk as much as possible, I never saw anyone take my notebook. I had studied almost everyone who sat in the café, studied everyone working . . . no one seemed to touch it, and no one seemed to watch me. But by the time my shift had ended that day, there was already a response.
Is this where I say that I’m sorry that you aren’t with this guy anymore? Because I’m not. I don’t know if it’s because that guy was a dumbass for treating you the way he did, or if after reading most of what you have written in this journal, I’ve decided that I want to be the one who gets to listen to you.
Those are big words, stranger. Words can be deceiving. Are you so sure that once you find me, there will be any words to listen to at all? Maybe this is all I have . . .
Your words have kept my interest longer than any girl has ever been able to. I’ll take my chances. Who are you?
Won’t that ruin everything?
Because it could, and would, ruin everything for me. I was just Charlie. Shy Charlie who struggled to talk to anyone outside of Jagger and Grey, and who definitely couldn’t talk to guys. Shy Charlie, who, in the real world, had a toddler and no clue what she was doing with her life.
Chapter Six
Deacon
June 3, 2016
I GROANED INTO my hands as I scrubbed them over my face, and leaned back in the driver’s seat of my car. “This thing is gonna be a disaster.”
“What?” Graham asked as he shut the passenger door. “The dinner?”
“The dinner. The wedding. The whole damn thing.”
A low laugh rumbled from him. “Don’t tell me you suddenly hate Harlow again?”
I slid my gaze over to him and narrowed my eyes. “No. But her older sister sure as hell hates me, and I have to be paired with her.”
We’d just finished the rehearsal for Knox and Harlow’s wedding, and it was the second time I’d ever seen her sisters. I was also hoping it could be the last. But seeing as Graham was walking her younger sister down the aisle, and I was walking with the older one, and we were about to head over to the rehearsal dinner, I knew I still had at least another day with them.
Graham’s face went blank for a second before he smacked my arm. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Dude, she’s married and has kids!”
My face pinched. “No. Hell no. I’m not about to have some guy coming after me for trying to sleep with his wife, and no way in hell would I touch a chick with kids. But I flinched away from one of her kids when they came running over to her, and she got pissed.”
Graham smirked. “Yeah . . . what’d you say to make her get pissed, though?”
He knew me too well.
I turned on my car and pulled out of the parking spot before I gave a slow shrug. “I don’t know, something about kids and Satan and maybe connecting the two.”
Another laugh, this one louder. “I’m putting money on it right now. Hundred bucks you’ll be the first of us to have kids.”
A sickening feeling filled my stomach, causing it to churn. “Fuck that. The day I get married is the day I see the doctor about making sure that shit isn’t possible.”
“A thousand,” Graham amended. “Thousand dollars.”
“Done. I will enjoy taking your money when Harlow pops one out.”
It wasn’t as though I had an aversion to humans under the age of ten, I just . . . okay, I had an aversion to them. A strong one.
They had imaginary friends, which weirded the shit out of me. They never shut up. Constant babble about any- and everything, as long as it didn’t make sense. They smelled. They were always covered in food. They sneezed on you. And they pooped on themselves and other people . . . including unsuspecting teenage mechanics holding them while their mom searched for her wallet.
No baby should be able to produce so much shit that it comes out of their clothes. It isn’t natural. Almost a decade later, and I still had nightmares about it.
Anyone who wanted kids was out of their damn mind.
We pulled up to Jagger and Grey’s warehouse—since it had a big-enough space for all of us—just after Harlow’s older sister and her family did. The glare she sent toward my car was enough to make me want to ditch the dinner.
“Do you think we could ask Harlow if we could switch sisters?”
Graham sighed as he opened the door to step out of my car. “If it makes you more comfortable . . . then no.”
“Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath as I stepped out, and pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the lock screen.
Something like disappointment settled in my stomach when there was nothing new, and I sighed through my nose as I put my phone away. My mind was already away from Harlow’s terrifying sister, and back at Mama’s Café. My thoughts on nothing but a journal full of words people just didn’t say out loud . . .