Can't Let You Go (22 page)

My doorbell rang at seven-forty-five. I checked my appearance one more time in the mirror and was mildly satisfied. My hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, with stray tendrils falling near my cheek. I wore dark jeans and flats, with a floral tank top that showed off the bit of muscle I had developed from heaving trays at Micky’s. My lips shimmered with a shell pink gloss.

The bell rang again.

“Coming!” I scrambled down the stairs and opened the door. “I hope you brought the—”

“Hello to you too.” Ian stood on my front porch, leaning one arm against the doorframe. “I love an enthusiastic welcome from a woman.”

My face fell. “I thought you were Charlie.”

“Ah, yes, your beloved. Your duplicitous, money-hungry beloved.”

“I’ve shortened that endearment to sweetheart. Feel free to use it.”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Yes.”

“Invite me inside anyway.”

“Pretty sure that’s what Dracula said before sticking his fangs into his victims.” I held open the door and gestured inside. “Be quick,” I said as I led him past the first set of fans into James’s office.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.” Ian sat in James’s overstuffed, comfy leather chair, his lean form not quite filling it the way Charlie had.

“Was there something you needed?” I made a point of glancing at my watch. “Charlie will be here soon.”

“I’ve called and texted you a dozen times.”

“I’m sorry.” I settled into the chair opposite of Ian and ran my fingers over the faint scratches left like old love notes from the faithful dog our family had once loved and lost.

“If you had bothered to check your messages, you’d know that we have quite the opportunity. Paul Schmidt, a board member of the National Endowment of the Arts, wants us to join him on a podcast called
The Great White Way
out of New York.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It reaches over one-hundred thousand people world-wide. It’s simply a matter of both of us calling in. It will air live, then be posted online for free download.”

“The new attorney said your PR blitz was making an impact. Thrifty Co. offered everyone a new settlement.”

“Are you taking it? Old theaters are a dying species. They should be used for their original intent, not to house local bands and antique stores. The Valiant is a work of art, and I’ve seen far too many theaters fall to—”

“We’re not taking the offer. But the lawyer said our chances were not good.”

“Then we’ll keep fighting. Though I will be continuing the battle from my flat in Manhattan.”

“You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Soon. The producers want me to wait until after your court appointment.”

“To get the ending to their story.”

“Yes. But I find myself wanting to see this through as well.”

“And Felicity? What does she want?”

“She wants me in New York. Obviously she doesn’t understand what I’m doing here.”

“Yeah, but none of us do.” Though I was through trying to make sense of it. I stood, and Ian followed suit. “I am grateful for the work you’ve done. Truly, it’s made a difference.”

He seemed pleased with this and was still smiling when he reached for my hand, halting me just before we left the room. “You’re really over me, aren’t you?”

“You expected to find me regretting my hasty break-up and miserable without you?”

“I had hoped.”

“You were right—we weren’t in a good place even before you cheated.”

“So this Charlie fellow has really won your heart, has he?”

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question.

“I love him.” I hadn’t said it since the horrible flight out of Houston. But there it was, the truth that wouldn’t leave me alone, wouldn’t go away.

“You love him despite the fact that he works for the enemy? Even though he’s a part of tearing down your Valiant and the businesses owned by your friends? Your town will never be the same when that store moves in. This idyllic community will just be another grave marker on the way to industrial spread.”

A noise in the hall had us both turning.

There stood Charlie, flowers in hand, his face wiped of expression. How long had he been standing there?

“I knocked and nobody answered. So I let myself in.” Like Charlie had done a hundred times before.

“I was just leaving,” Ian said.

Charlie studied the two of us, close enough that suspicions could fit through the thin space between Ian and me. “Everything okay here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Ian was giving me a progress report.”

“On the Valiant.” I had seen that look on Ian before. It was his director’s face, the withering gaze he gave an actor when he’d committed a stupid, thoughtless mistake. “Your fiancée’s family business. A precious treasure she’s fighting to save. But I guess what she wants isn’t your priority.”

“Everything about Katie is my priority.” Charlie straightened, drawing himself to his full height.

“Right.” Ian did not back down, and doubt soured his features. “Because you’re
engaged
.”

“Yes.” Charlie’s eyes were fierce on mine, and his next sentence sliced clean through me. “She’s the woman I’m going to marry.”

The words were for Ian, but Charlie was sending the message straight to me.

“She may be the woman you’re marrying, but at this time, she’s the woman you’re hurting. And I’m trying to help.”

“I’m not going to explain my job to you, Attwood. I’m doing everything within my power to help.”

“By lighting the match that burns her theater?”

“All right, gentlemen.” There was so much truth to Ian’s accusations. And yet here I was with Charlie. “Back to your corners, please. Ian, send me the details, and I promise to call in for that podcast. Charlie—” The man looked like he was ready to introduce his fists to Ian’s face—“I heard dripping in the pantry. Would you please go check it out?”

Charlie hesitated, his jaw set, but with one final scorching look at Ian, he walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said as he made his way back to the front door. “I just see you with him and. . .I go a little nuts I guess. I can accept that you’re done with me, but to see you with someone who hurts you—it’s too much. You deserve better than that. You should be with someone who respects the things you’re passionate about, who truly knows you.”

Sticky humidity greeted me as I opened the door. “Goodnight, Ian. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I watched him get into his rental car, then pull out of my drive. With a tired sigh, I walked back into the kitchen where I found Charlie leaned back against the granite countertop, his arms crossed across his chest, the discarded bouquet lying next to the microwave. “What are these?” He held up the printout of auditions from Mrs. Hall.

“Exactly what it looks like.” I had come in from the garage this afternoon and thrown my purse and paperwork on the counter. “Why are you prowling through my stuff?”

“So these are theater jobs? They’re dated. Do these come out every day?”

I simultaneously wished for this conversation to end and that the water hadn’t ruined my hidden stash of Chips Ahoy. “Yes, there are websites you can check where shows post their jobs. It gives audition information. Mrs. Hall is apparently watching them for me. She thought I might be interested in a few.”

“Are you?”

I wanted to. Part of me wanted to throw clothes in a bag and fly to New York right now. I missed the stage. My heart ached to perform, to step into the life of someone else. To be part of an ensemble that worked and surfed the ups and downs of show business together. “No. I’m not going to any of those auditions.”

“I’ll buy your plane ticket.”

“I’m not going to New York.”

“Chicago then.”

“No.” Anger swelled like a wave ready to crest. “Just drop it.”

“Is it because you’re afraid to fly? Because I’ll drive you.”

“Let’s talk about that scene with Ian.”

“I’d like to wipe the floor with his face. Is that what you’d like to discuss?”

“He’s been a great source of help.” Surprisingly so.

Charlie tossed the audition listings down. “Is there something going on between you two?”

“Of course not.”

“It looked pretty intense when I walked in.”

Because we had been talking about how I loved you, you idiot.
“He’s worried about me.”

I expected that to relight his ire, but Charlie grew quiet. “I probably would be too,” he finally said. “But hurting you is the last thing I want. I need you to believe that.”

“I’m trying. The evidence is kind of stacked against you.”

He snaked out a hand and pulled me to him. “I know things look bad.”

“Things
are
bad.”

“If you remember, on your second day back in In Between I asked you to trust me. I’m asking again. Thrifty Co. is an enormous company. And there are lots of players in this buyout game.”

My hands pressed against his chest for balance. “What does that mean?”

“It means the business side you see is only part of it. There are lots of people involved, lots of stakeholders. I’m studying every angle. If I ever got confirmation of anything that could help you, I would.”

“Does that mean you suspect you might be privy to some helpful intel?”

“It just means I’m not the heartless monster who wants to watch you and the others lose. I care about this town. I care about the girl who declared her love on a swan-diving plane then took it right back. I’ll turn over every stone, but it’s not that easy.” He rested his head on mine. “It’s just not that easy.”

“Charlie—”

He silenced me with a kiss.

Charlie pressed me to him, and my hands slid to his back. There was no urgency. The kiss slowly unfurled, with feather-light touches meant to soothe and comfort, but they did so much more. My head filled with his scent, the heat of his skin radiating from beneath his shirt, the undeniable strength that was so much a part of him. When Charlie held me like this, the world slipped away, and all I knew was
right
. He felt like heaven.

He felt like home.

Charlie rained kisses along my cheek, then pressed his mouth to my temple. “I do have something to tell you.”

“Something helpful?”

“Yes.” He cocooned my body in a tight hug. “We’re meeting Joey and Frances.”

That was his news? “I thought it was just the two of us. I thought. . .” Anything that might’ve come out of my mouth at that point would just sound petty and pathetic.

“You thought we’d be alone?” I could feel his breathy laugh on my neck. “Why Miss Parker, I believe despite trying not to, you have the hots for me.”

My mom had her addictions. Apparently Charlie was mine. “So we’re going out with Frances and Joey.”

“He drove in from Dallas this afternoon. He’ll be here ’til the wedding.”

“Great.” I tried to sound enthused, but Charlie did not look impressed. “You might take this opportunity to talk to him about slowing things down.”

“We Benson men don’t do slow.” Charlie tilted my chin with his finger and brushed his lips against mine. “We know what we want and don’t stop until it’s ours.”

For a girl with too many scars from being left behind, his words were a balm on the old wounds that still festered and ached.

“Would it surprise you to know there’s nothing dripping in your pantry?” His voice was dry as sandpaper.

My face was the vision of innocence. “I must’ve been hearing things.”

“You sent me in here to cool off, didn’t you?”

“Did it work?” Because my own temperature was definitely not dropping.

Charlie laughed as the tips of his fingers made looping figure eights on my back. “Babe, my brother knows what he’s doing.”

I closed my eyes at the endearment and held it like a keepsake “And you?”

Charlie’s smiling mouth lowered. “I’ve got all I want right here.”

B
y the next
evening, I had my entire life figured out.

Or at least the part concerning Charlie.

After working the morning shift at Micky’s, I spent the rest of the day doing online, phone, and print interviews. With Ian’s help, we had created a media hurricane, and the whole country was getting the message that Thrifty Co. was not the small town friend they pretended to be. Business owners from other communities who had fallen to Thrifty’s powerful and persuasive bulldozing had jumped into the fray, adding more voices to our cry for justice.

I texted Charlie to tell him to put on something nice, that I was picking him up for dinner. And at six o’clock, wearing a midnight blue dress I had purchased on a whim in a little boutique in London, I pulled into his parents’ driveway. My heels clicked on the pavement as I walked to the front door. I ran my tongue over my teeth to swipe away any stray lipstick and was about to ring the bell when I heard it. Loud shouts coming from within. I leaned closer to get a better listen.

“But I’m not you!” I recognized Charlie’s deep voice.

“That much is clear! You do the job you were hired to do.”

“And what about your job, Dad?”

“You stay out of mine. You’re lucky to be where you are. In a matter of years, you’ll be a vice-president. Don’t screw that up!”