Page 15 of Free
On now.
Not the past.
Not the what ifs.
What would get her mind off what just happened so she can focus on what happens next?
“I know exactly what you need,” I say as Charlie pulls away, swiping at her tears, unable to look at me.
“Yeah?” Her voice is soft and vulnerable, and I resist the urge to press a kiss into her hair, scooting back into the driver’s seat with a smile.
“Without a doubt.”
I buckle in and wait for her to do the same before putting the truck in gear and pulling back into traffic.
“Do I get to know where we’re going?”
“Trust me on this one.” I risk a glance her way before giving my full attention to the road. Her dark hair is pulled back, her wild curls tamed into an elegant twist. Her red lips press into a frown, wrinkles crease her forehead, and mascara runs down her cheeks.
I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful and so sad at the same time.
My knee starts to bounce and I direct my focus to my next breath.
“Trusting people hasn’t exactly been working out for me,” Charlie says with a heavy sigh.
“It’ll be worth it this time,” I say, ignoring the barb in favor of keeping the peace.
“Ahh yes. Yet another man in my life who knows what I need more than I do.” Her words are edged with sarcasm, but there’s bitterness beneath them that cuts straight through me.
She’s joking, I think.
But I can’t turn that into a joke.
Not after the way that creep tried to gaslight her.
“Nope. Try again.” I lift a hand to brush hair out of my face. It trembles and I clench a fist before grabbing the steering wheel.
The light bleeds from Charlie’s eyes. “It was a joke, Nick. Remember when we used to do that? I’d hit you with my sarcastic wit and you’d hit right back. Some might call it friendly banter. It can be good for the soul.”
Of course I remember. Those were some of the happiest days of my life.
“Where we’re going is a surprise,” I murmur. “They’re good for the soul, too.”
“That probably depends on the surprise,” Charlie says, gathering a handful of lace and tulle into her hands, then letting it drop with a sigh.
I pull into the gravel parking lot of the Cluckin’ Good Chicken Truck and yank the gear shift into park. Charlie eyes the place skeptically.
“It’s an Airstream?”
“Itwasan Airstream. Now it’s a food truck trying to become a full-blown restaurant. The picnic tables, awning, and hole in the side should have been your first clue. Hell, the name alone would have done it if you were paying attention.”
Charlie reads the name under her breath then huffs a laugh, turning to me incredulously. “You brought me to a food truck.I’m wearing a wedding dress and you’re in a suit. You completely shut me out of your life after telling me you fell in love with me the moment we met, I just left my cheating fiancé at the altar, and you think the answer is a food truck on the beach.”
“While you do make a strong point, I’ll counter with ‘good food with the right company can solve a multitude of problems.’” I undo my seatbelt and crack open the door. “And this isn’t just any food truck, mind you. It’s a goddamn religious experience.”
I’m too keyed up for food and I’m sure Charlie feels the same. But eating—or even chewing gum—can trick your nervous system into thinking you’re safe. You can’t be chased by a tiger and stop for a bite. It’s primal knowledge, hardcoded into our body. A cheat code, if you will. And if I accomplish one thing today, it will be making sure Charlie feels safe after upending her entire life.
I hop out of the truck, then come around to the passenger side to find her struggling in a sea of white fabric. “Hold on a sec,” she says, untying the big ass bows around her arms, then wrapping them around her waist. “I can’t move in this thing.”
