Page 187 of With a Cherry On Top

“Does she need money to leave then?”

I glare. “No, afraid you won’t get out of this with a check. She’s got money—her mom stole it, but I intend to get it back. She just needs...support. Beatrice kept her sheltered, drilled it into her head that she wouldn’t be anything without her. So she needs...” I tip my head back against the seat. “Sheneeds to learn how to make lunch. How to pay bills. She needs somewhere safe to be herself and follow her dreams. A family.”

Amelie is quiet for a long moment. Then, “What else?”

I blink. “What?”

“What else can you tell me about her?”

I shift my grip on the wheel, thinking. “She’s very mature. Impulsive at times, and unpredictable, but...you know Josie’s staying at our place, right?”

She nods.

“Well, Charlotte is just...okay with it. You’d expect a twenty-three-year-old woman to struggle with something like that, but no. And it’s not because she’s not the jealous type, trust me.” I smile. “She just gets it.”

“What else?”

“She punched a guy who punched me.”

“Shewhat?So that’s how you got your black eye?”

“Uh-huh. And she broke his nose.”

Amelie lets out a startled laugh.

“She makes her own clothes,” I add. “She’s incredible at it.” I turn toward the orchard, still searching for Logan. Nothing. “And she loves ice cream,” I continue. “Vanilla. Midnight Reckless?—”

“What’s—”

“Aterribleband.”

Amelie is watching me now instead of the road. Her expression is friendlier, her body more relaxed. “You love her, don’t you?”

I glance at her before refocusing on the road. “I do.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Not yet, no. She told me though.”

“She told you first?” She lets out a short, amused noise, like that alone might actually make her like Charlotte.

“Yeah. She’s...” I clear my throat when the words stick there. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, but in this—in how strong and fierce she is—she reminds me of you. A lot.”

Amelie blinks, the joy fading from her voice. “And what is...what’s this thing about her diet?”

“Her mom—she helped her build a career as a model. I guess she forgot to ask Charlotte if that’s what she wanted. And in the name of her career, she starves her.”

“But twelve hundred calories? Even for a model, that’s...”

“Sometimes I think Beatrice just hates her. Other times, that she hates herself for leaving you.” I purse my lips. “Either way, she’s making Charlotte pay the price.”

“Well, what—” She squints out the window, then stiffens. “Aaron? Is that...”

My neck stiffens as I follow her gaze.

There, in the middle of the open field, stands Logan beside his truck. But what the fuck is he doing?

As we get closer, and what we’re staring at becomes clearer, I blink in shock.

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