Page 19 of If My Wishes Came True
But there’s no sign that he’s uncomfortable when I pull away. He just gives me his gorgeous, easy grin and says, “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” I say, returning his smile. I’m wearing high-waisted black shorts with a simple white crewneck. But Charlie isn’t even looking at my outfit—or my body—when he compliments me. He’s looking into my eyes.
“You ready to go?”
“Sure am,” I say, slipping on my sandals.
“I was at the beach earlier this morning; the weather’s great. I was thinking we could take our coffees to the lake, if you’re up for a walk,” he says with a sweet shrug.
I wonder if my eyes are lighting up. They feel like they are. “Walking and coffee are two of my favorite things,” I tell him.
Charlie’s already-rosy cheeks flush. “Then let’s do it. I’m up for anything that makes you smile like that.”
If only Christy could see me now. Iamhappy. For the time being, at least.
It’s such a relief to be out of my head. I don’t want to waste time worrying about my vow to keep things casual—and why this man I hardly know makes me want to break it. For once,I’m too focused on being in the moment to question it.
We walk to a nearby Belgian bakery, where Charlie buys us two chocolate croissants to eat as we sip our iced lattes. “I have a sweet tooth,” he admits as we start heading toward the lake. “It’s why I had no choice but to become a runner.”
I laugh. “Is that what you were doing at the beach this morning? Going for a run?”
“I was taking my cousin’s yoga class. She became certified to teach a couple of weeks ago, and I wanted to support her.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “I love yoga. Was this your first time?”
He nods as he swallows a bite of croissant. “I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. I’ll definitely go again. You can join me sometime, if you like.”
“I just might take you up on that,” I tell him. Then my mind flies back to my phone call with Christy. I may not want to join Charlie for runs by the lake, but I would love someone to go to yoga with. Why not ahotsomeone with excellent taste in coffee and croissants?
Charlie slows his pace and turns to me, smiling. We’ve made it to the Lakefront Trail, where dozens of runners and bikers whiz past us, soaking up the last days of summer in Chicago.
But as the world moves around us, Charlie and I stand still in the golden glow of the morning sun. He lifts his hand to my face and places his thumb at the corner of my mouth. “You have a little chocolate…right here,” he says, gently wiping it away.
“Thanks,” I say. And this time, I’m not even embarrassed that I’m a mess. I’m full from breakfast, plus the croissant I inhaled, but I’d eat a second one without thinking twice if it meant he’dtouch me like that again.
“Want to find somewhere to sit?” he asks.
I nod, so we cross the paved path and choose a spot at the water’s edge that’s furthest away from the crowd at Oak Street Beach. It’s quiet and peaceful, with only the sound of the waves and the soothing warmth of Charlie’s arm against mine.
“This coffee is delicious,” I say after a sip. “And I’m a pretty tough critic. I started young.”
He grins. “How young are we talking?”
“I had my first cup when I was fourteen,” I tell him. “It was a big day for me, and not just because of the coffee. I kind of…ran away from home.” But when Charlie’s brow furrows with concern, I add, “For a few hours.”
“I’m guessing everything turned out okay, since you’re sitting next to me, smiling,” he says, his beautiful long lashes framing his earnest eyes.
Normally when I go to the lake, I get lost in the colors of the sky and water. But not today. Today all I see is Charlie, and the way he looks at me.
“It ended up being one of the best days of my life. But it didn’t start out that way. My parents were supposed to take me to the art museum in Cleveland. It’s barely a twenty-minute drive from our house in Beachwood. My art teacher had mentioned a Picasso exhibit there, but I knew my parents wouldn’t take me unless I told them it was mandatory for class.” I pause and sigh. “My dad didn’t support my dream of being an artist. That’s putting it mildly.”
Charlie nods, but there’s something more than pity in his gaze. “My dad feels the same way about my interest in photography.”
I let out a wry laugh. “No wonder we’re both dissatisfied with our careers.”
He shakes his head with a deep inhale, as if to say,Don’t get me started. Instead he settles his eyes on mine and asks, “So, did your dad back out?”
I nod. “I had a friend over the night before, and my dad brought up the ‘mandatory’ museum trip because he was so irritated by it, and my friend spilled the beans. I should have talked to her beforehand. My dad was so mad, he refused to take me. He insisted on us all going to the country club instead, so he could play golf with his pretentious colleagues.”
