Page 33 of Reckless Chances
Emma continued. “I thought that I was ready to move on. But last night, Charlie was supposed to come and help me paint, and he didn’t show up. He didn’t even call or text.” She took a sip of her cappuccino. “It sounds crazy when I say it out loud.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. She felt like an immature little girl.
To her surprise, Megan reached out and gripped her hand. “Emma. The same thing happened to me.”
“Your best friend slept with your fiancé?”
“Well, no. A business client slept with my husband. I only found out because I found the ultrasound picture in his gym bag.”
“Oh my god.” Emma inhaled heavily. “That’s terrible.”
“Like you, I came to Chance Rapids to get away. To hide. You’ve been through something traumatic and it’s going to take some time to get over it.”
Emma played with the seam on her coffee cup. “That’s what I thought. I’m not ready to be with anyone, let alone someone as great as Charlie.”
“No.”
Emma looked up, surprised by the hard tone in Megan’s voice.
“That’s not true at all,” Megan said. “Charlie is just what you need. The terrible thing that you went through was in the past. Charlie isn’t. What was your fiancé’s name?”
“Adam,” Emma whispered. She hadn’t spoken his name in months, and it tasted foul on her lips.
“Charlie isn’t Adam. You can get over what he did to you, but you can’t put it on Charlie. You need to trust him. When those doubts come up, and trust me, they will – you need to find a way to look at the situation without applying that lens from what happened with Adam.”
“How did you do it?” Emma asked. “Get over that betrayal?”
Megan smiled. “It sounds cheesy, but I just let myself feel. And when those bad feelings came up, I let them and then I let them go. Seeing a therapist might help too. There’s no harm in that, it might help you get there faster.”
The bell over the door jingled and the two of them looked to see some strangers walking in.
“I’ll be right with you.” Megan took her apron from the bar counter and slipped the strap over her head. She whispered, “I have it on good authority that Charlie is over the moon about you. No one has seen him like this. Ever. Let yourself feel, Emma. Let him love you.”
Emma gulped the tears down. “Thanks, Megan. I knew there was a reason I came in here this morning, and it turns out it wasn’t coffee that I needed.” She reached out and squeezed Megan. For the first time since she moved to Chance Rapids, she was the hugger, not the huggee.
She clomped over to the flower shop in her work boots, but this time there was a spring in her step. She could do this. Charlie wasn’t Adam. “Charlie isn’t Adam,” she whispered to herself out loud and felt the sides of her mouth turn up. It was true. In the depths of her soul knew it was true, she just needed to keep her overanalytical brain in check.
The finish carpenters had already arrived and had started nailing on the wide baseboard trim. She set her coffee and keys down on the flower shop counter and turned on her point of sale computer. For the first time, she was working at her desk and not hunched over on the floor looking at her laptop.
The first couple of hours went by in a flash, and at nine the flower coolers arrived. Once they were plugged in, she stood back, a swell of pride rushing through her body as their bright lights flickered on. She was doing it. She was really doing it.
She was interrupted from her thoughts by the chime on her phone. It was a text from Charlie. As soon as she read it, she knew that she had to take Megan’s advice to heart. He had lost his phone, had to rescue his brother from the drunk tank, and the car had gotten stuck on a rut in the field. If ever there was a reason for someone not to text or call, Charlie had three solid reasons.
Charlie ISN’T Adam.
When Charlie walked through the front door, she flung herself into his arms.
“Whoa, flower girl.” He squeezed her tightly. “You almost knocked the wind out of me.”
She pulled back and looked into his eyes and all she saw was love. She grabbed his head and kissed him hard. The angst and pent up misdirected emotions from the past twelve hours swirled inside of her like a tornado and they had to get out.
She grabbed Charlie by his hand and dragged him to the back-storage room.
“What are you doing?” he whispered into her mouth as hers was on his again.
She fumbled with the belt buckle on his pants. She wanted to tell him that she loved him but knew that it was too soon. Instead, she unhooked the clasp on the shoulder of her overalls and let the heavy fabric fall to the wooden floorboard of the storage room without taking her lips from his. She could feel his hands on hers, helping her with the buckle on his Carhart pants. The generator for the framer’s air nailed droned loudly in the next room. The voices of the workers faded into the background and all Emma cold hear was Charlie’s raspy breaths beside her ear.
He dug his thumbs into her hips and then nipped her lips before turning her around and pulling her cotton boy shorts down to her knees. His beard brushed on her thigh as he nipped her ass cheek with his and then slapped the spot with his rough hand. Emma moaned loudly, knowing that any sounds from the back room would be masked by the construction out front.
“Charlie, I. Need. You. Inside. Me. Now.”
