Page 57 of Stay With Me

Midweek, I started panicking because we had planned to do her living room flooring this weekend and things are still not back to normal with us. So, I did the mature thing and went to her house yesterday while she was at work and pulled up all the carpeting in the living room, cut it into strips and placed it at her curb for garbage pick-up today. When she texted last night to thank me, everything in me wanted to overcome the awkwardness, but I just couldn’t come up with the words. And so, this morning, desperate to avoid laying the flooring together on the weekend, I went back to her house and did the entire living room floor myself. I have to say, it turned out pretty nice. But I’m surprised Emily hasn’t messaged me yet to say thanks.

Just as I finish the third shower wall and am about to start on the fourth, the distant sound of my doorbell chimes.

What the hell? Who’d be coming all the way out here on a Friday evening without calling first?

I stand up and step out of the shower stall, wiping my dusty hands on a towel and then I head downstairs. Right when I hit the top step, a furious, relentless pounding on my front door ensues and doesn’t stop until I reach the door. When I pull the heavy wooden door open, I’m shocked to find Emily standing on my porch.

“Well, it’s about time,” she hisses. She pushes past me and steps into my house.

“Em, what are you doing?—”

She whirls around on me so rapidly it startles me, and I step back.

“Charlie Fitzgerald, you’re behaving like a total jackass.” Her flushed cheeks are an angry red, her eyes narrow on me, and she points her finger at me to emphasize her words.

“Um, well I?—”

“No. I’m still talking. And since you didn’t have anything to say to me all week, you can wait until I’m finished. It was a kiss, Charlie. A kiss. You’re acting like I sucked your dick on the front porch for all the neighbors to see.”

“Christ, Em. Your mouth.”

I grasp the back of my neck, not sure how to feel about her rage. On one hand, I’m glad to see her have her spark back. But on the other, I’m not used to her anger being directed at me.

“Yeah? Well, you’ve pissed me off. You’re supposed to be my friend. I’ve gotten used to you being around again and then you avoid me all week. And you sneak over to my house while I’m at work and do the flooring yourself, like a goddamn home remodeling fairy. We were supposed to do that together!”

There she is. God, I love how spirited she is, how strongly she feels things.

I put my hands up, palms facing her, hoping to deescalate things.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Charlie?” There’s a challenge in her voice and it tells me I need to tread carefully.

“I’m sorry that I?—”

“I swear on all that is holy if you say you’re sorry for kissing me…” Her gorgeous blue eyes bore into mine, flaring with anger, but also a hint of something, insecurity maybe, that unsettles me.

“I’m sorry I freaked out afterwards—that I avoided you. That I’ve been a shitty friend all week and have been acting like a sixteen-year-old boy instead of a thirty-one-year-old man. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Emily just nods, her mouth quivering so subtly that I almost miss it. She swipes the back of her hand across her left eye, wiping a single tear that spilled over her eyelid.

“Fuck, Em. C’mere.” I open my arms to her and take a step toward her. Thankfully, she steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her head on my chest. We stand like that for several moments before she speaks.

“We don’t have to talk about it. The kiss, I mean. But don’t do that shit to me again. You have to talk to me about the hard stuff, not shut me out. You’re my friend, and I missed you this week. Please don’t do that to me again.”

“I won’t, sunshine. I promise, I won’t.”

I feel like a giant asshole for what I did to her, and an even bigger weakling for allowing her to let me off the hook and not talking about the kiss.

* * *

EMILY

As we walk into Pat’s Diner, because who doesn’t need pancakes after an emotional discussion, I huff at Charlie as we continue our conversation from the ride over.

“Really? Exaggerate much? I’m sure I’m not theworstpainter in Elladine. Have you ever seen Shayna’s painting skills? Hers are appalling.”

A hearty laugh erupts from Charlie, and he places his hand along the small of my back and guides us to a booth. For a man who lost his emotional shit over a single kiss—albeit an amazing one—he must not realize the sense of intimacy his splayed hand across my back creates. I’m not complaining, though. I like it.

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