Page 63 of With a Cherry On Top

“For what it’s worth,” I blurt, losing half of my confidence when her sharp brown eyes pin me on the spot, “I think Charlotte is pretty impressive.”

Her sigh is exasperated. “You’ve known her forfive minutes. How many words did you exchange—twenty? I just heard ten of them, and they didn’t sound impressive.”

I think of our nights on TOP. Of her eating pizza at my place, flirting with me, sucking the ring off my finger. Of her laughter, unrestrained and wild, when she lets her guard down.

“I can tell she has your strength. And she’s beautiful, that’s for sure. But she’s smart too. And she might not have the same drive you had at her age, but everyone’s different, right? She’s still young. She has plenty of time to figure out her future.”

Beatrice doesn’t say a word.

I know I’m fired. So I might as well finish my thought.

“You’ve lost a daughter,” I continue, mouth dry. “And I can’t...I can’t imagine the constant pain you’re in. Nobody can. But there is one daughter youhaven’tlost. One who’s still here. And she needs you.”

For a long, heavy moment, she says nothing. Then she adjusts the stack of papers in her hands. “You better start cooking,” she says before whirling around again and walking away. “It’s almost time for Charlotte to eat dinner.”

“I wouldn’t botherwith cooking if I were you,” Charlotte says, startling me. She’s been locked in her room for an hour, and as I glance up from the cutting board, ready to ask why, I do a double take.

She’s changed.

Gone are the sweatpants and tank top. Now, she’s wrapped in a wine-red satin slip dress, the fabric skimming over her curves and catching the light with every shift of her body. A thigh-high slit flashes glimpses of smooth skin as she moves, and thedelicate lace trim along the plunging neckline has me choking on my own saliva.

Holy crap.

Holy crap, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.

She grabs her keys, tossing them into her purse.

“What—where are you going?” My voice comes out gruffer than I intend, my eyes still locked on the dangerous slit along her thigh.

She steps closer, her heels clicking against the floor as she smacks her lips together. “Remember what you said today? About how I should be where I want to be and do what I want to do?”

“Notexactlywhat I said, but yes.”

“Well, I want to be at the Silverlight Arena, bouncing up and down to Midnight Reckless.”

I set the fish fillet down with a dull thud. “Oh, no. No, no,no.”

“Yes.” She blinks at me, all wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, yes, yes, y?—”

“Doing whatever you want regardless of what your mom says isn’t what I meant, Charlotte.”

She grins. “Isn’t it? Then what did you mean?”

I open my mouth, but my brain short-circuits as she bends to catch her reflection in the oven door, then applies cherry-red lipstick in precise strokes. The movement is hypnotic—her mouth parting slightly, the pigment gliding over her lips and making them look even fuller, more kissable.

“I-I don’t know, but notthis.” She rolls her eyes. “What if your mom comes back?”

“She won’t.”

“But what if she does?”

She turns, amusement curling at the edges of her mouth. “She’s spending the night with her boyfriend, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“But—”

She’s suddenly in front of me, tilting my chin up with two fingers. “Chef, I work every day and every night. I’m stressed, and I’m tired, and I’m not going to argue with you. All right? I deserve this, so I’m going.” Her voice takes on a teasing lilt. “But your worried face isadorable.”

She walks away and opens the door, ready to step out of the apartment, but my feet are already moving.

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