Page 13 of Made for Wilde
“Make mine the same,” Jason says. “We’re celebrating a reunion.”
Charlotte gives me another devastating smile.
“Two whiskeys coming right up.”
When she turns to pour our drinks, I make the mistake of watching her move.
She navigates the space behind the bar with practiced efficiency, reaching for bottles and glasses with fluid motions that draw my attention to the graceful line of her spine, the way her jeans hug her hips. Every movement seems designed to torment me.
Jason surveys the crowded bar, nodding toward a booth near the window.
“Let’s grab that table. Give us some space to catch up.”
“Good idea.” I stand perhaps too quickly, desperate to put distance between myself and the woman who’s turned my world upside down in the span of five minutes.
We weave through the crowd toward the booth. The Summit is busier than I expected for a Thursday night. I slide into the booth across from Jason, positioning myself so I can see the bar without being obvious about it.
Charlotte appears at our table moments later, carrying our drinks on a small tray.
“Here you go,” she says, setting the glasses down carefully. Her fingers brush mine as I reach for my whiskey. The contact is brief, innocent, but it might as well be a live wire.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jason says, taking a sip of his drink. “This place is busier than I expected.”
“Yeah, thursdays are usually like that,” Charlotte replies, glancing around the room. “We get a lot of the ski crowd this time of year, plus locals who don’t want to cook.” She looks back at us, her gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. “I’ll let you guys catch up. Just wave if you need anything.”
As she walks away, Jason settles back in the booth with a contented sigh.
“Man, do you ever feel like you blink and miss your own life. I can’t believe Charlotte’s already twenty-one.”
I take a long swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn.
It’s easier than responding to that observation.
“She seems happy here.”
“She is now.” Jason’s expression grows thoughtful. “You should’ve seen the fight we had when she first told me she wanted to move here. I was dead set against it. My little girl, moving to a mountain town all by herself? No way in hell.”
“What changed your mind?”
“She did. Showed up to dinner one night with this whole presentation. Beauty school brochures, part-time job listings, budget spreadsheets. Kid had it all figured out.” Pride softens his features. “Reminded me so much of her mother. Same determination, same stubborn streak.”
I nod, stealing a glance toward the bar where Charlotte is mixing a cocktail for a customer. She’s laughing at something the man said, and the sound carries over the din of conversation.
Every man in the place seems to be watching her.
My jaw tightens involuntarily. The rational part of my brain knows I have no right to feel this territorial heat spreading through my veins, but that doesn’t stop my fingers from flexing around my glass.
“I’m surprised you’re okay with her working in a place like this,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Lot of drunk idiots to deal with.”
Jason grimaces.
“Trust me, it wasn’t my first choice. But Charlotte’s got that Palmer stubborn streak a mile wide. Won’t take a penny from me unless she’s dying in a ditch somewhere. Says she needs to make her own way.” He pauses, watching Charlotte serve drinks to a table across the room. “Can’t say I blame her. I was the same way at her age.”
“Where’s she living? Somewhere safe, I hope.”
“She’s got a place with a roommate not far from here. A girl she knew from back home who’s also at the beauty school.” Jason leans back, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Smallworld, right? Charlotte runs into her childhood friend on the first day of orientation.”
Relief washes through me that she’s not living alone, followed immediately by the uncomfortable realization that I care way too much about this.
