Page 66 of Love You, Mean It
“Yeah, of course. I just got out of the tub, hence the robe.” I stepped back, opening the door farther.
“Even better.” He chuckled before studying me after I’d closed the door. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He followed me into the small living space, dropping to sit on the couch.
“Where’s Harper?” I asked as I took the seat beside him.
“She ended up going home with Lily for a sleepover.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised, because I knew she’d only slept away from home one other time.
“I actually asked them if they would be okay to have her tonight.” He cleared his throat, appearing nervous, which was not the norm for this man.
“You did? Why? I would have had her spend the night here if you needed a night off.”
He smiled just slightly. “I didn’t need a night off, Firefly. I wanted to come talk to you, actually.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well, first, I wanted to thank you for everything you did today. For my daughter. For me.” He shrugged. “It meant a lot. I don’t like relying on people, and you just seem to keep showing up for us. I wanted you to know that I’d noticed, and that I appreciated it.”
“Charles,” I said, making no attempt to hide my smile. “That might be the most words you’ve ever said to me in one sitting.”
He smiled. “I have more to say.”
“Okay.”
“I like you, Violet Beaumont. Even when you’re aggravating me and changing your design plans for the hundredth time. Even when you’re challenging me, or accusing me of being a serial doll killer. I. Like. You.”
I don’t know why his words triggered something in me.
I should have just been happy that he’d admitted that he felt the same way I felt.
But instead, I did the one thing I never in a million years thought I’d do.
I tried to speak, and my voice cracked.
And before I could stop myself—the tears started falling.
And I broke down in front of Charlie Huxley.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie
Seeing Violet vulnerable did something to me.
I didn’t even think about it, I just leaned forward and pulled her onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her.
She was always so stoic and strong, and in a way it felt like a gift that she was comfortable enough with me to let me see this side of her.
I just held her there and let her cry it out.
Once her sobs had slowed, I took the opportunity to speak. “A wise woman once told me that you should always ask someone why they’re crying.”
She chuckled and sat up, looking at me with those pretty green eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
