“Oh, I’m sorry, am I annoying you with my problems? The ones that I wouldn’t have if not for you?”
He frowns. “Well, excuuuuse me for complicating your life with my tragic death. If I knew back when I left Gilded Creek that the resulting eternal curse would be inconvenient for Miss Gretchen Acorn, well, surely, that would have changed things.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” she says. With a huff, she flops down beside him on the bed. At some point, the chill that emanates off Everett’s weird cloudlike skin became a comfort (as long as they make no actual contact), so she scoots slightly closer for the reassurance that someone is there beside her. Even if she is annoyed with him right now.
He turns his head to look at her. “Sorry.”
“Me too.” Gretchen presses her fingertips into her eyelids through the thick sweater. “Maybe I should just tell him everything. But then... What if he hates me even more? What if I tell him who I am and what I do, and it just makes everything worse?” It’s certainly backfired on her before.
“What if it makes everything better?” Everett sits up. “Look, we’re running out of time here, doll. Tell him the truth, kiss him into oblivion, whatever you think is best. I leave the how up to you. But you gotta do something, and soon.”
At that moment, the white noise of Charlie’s shower suddenly ceases, making them both all too aware that Gretchen’s mark is right next door, as naked and wet as any sitting duck.
Everett tilts his head in front of hers, grabbing her attention again. “Tonight. Make a move tonight. Or I make it for you.”
“And what are you going to do, exactly? Make him shiver a little?” She shakes her head incredulously. “I don’t have to listen to you, you know.”
He widens his eyes mockingly.
Before Gretchen can respond with her next quip, Everett swipes his arm over the nightstand, knocking the lamp sitting atop it to the floor with a crash. The base and bulb shatter into a hundred pieces as Everett poofs into the Nowhere.
It’s only seconds until Charlie’s footsteps come charging down the hallway and the door flings open, hard enough that it bounces off the wall. “Are you okay?” he asks, keeping his eyes averted as he enters. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else, a dark stain near the hip where he tugged them on without fully drying off first. His hair is damp and disheveled, and a drop of water rolls down his shoulder, drawing attention to the tree branchthere with its slender, drooping leaves.Oh. It’s the weeping willow by the creek, Gretchen realizes. The same one they were under this evening when she told him her heart needs to keep him safe.
The thought is pushed away as she takes in his concerned expression and recalls that she needs to respond. “Yes, I— Everett, he got mad at me and he... he knocked the lamp onto the floor. I’m sorry, I’ll clean it all up and pay for a replacement. Let me go get the broom and—” She stands and makes a move toward the mess.
“No,” Charlie says, grabbing her shoulder to stop her from stepping forward. “You’re not wearing shoes. You’ll cut yourself. Wait right there, don’t move.”
She doesn’t bother pointing out that he isn’t wearing shoes either. Instead, she stays put as ordered. Attempts to regulate her breathing while he’s gone are mostly fruitless, and she’s still struggling by the time he returns with the whisk broom and dustpan from the laundry room downstairs.
From her standing position slightly off to the side, she watches Charlie clean up the mess Everett made. The muscles of his back flex deliciously, and he remains in a squat as he works, leaving Gretchen unable to think about anything except the probable strength and firmness of his thighs.
Just tell him. Tell him everything. Tell himnow.
“Charlie, I need to...” she starts.
“Tell you the truth, I always hated that lamp.” He talks over her, as if he might not have heard her.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s been in this room since I used to sleep in here as a kid. Always thought the texture of it looked a little like a clown face watching me at night.” He shudders.
Gretchen lets out a small surprised laugh, though Everett did tell her about Charlie’s coulrophobia. “Why’d you keep it, then?”
“Bad memories are still memories, I guess. And it gets harder and harder to let go of any of them.”
“True. Very true.” She has plenty that she clings to fiercely enough, though probably less for sentimental reasons and more because they feel like lessons she’s had to learn and can’t afford to forget. “And since we’re talking about the truth...” Gretchen cringes at the less-than-smooth segue.
But as Charlie sweeps the last large hunk of porcelain, the part attached to the plug, into the dustpan, his eyes travel up Gretchen’s bare legs and he blinks a few times. “What... are you wearing?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“Huh?” With the hullabaloo of Everett smashing a lamp and Charlie’s appearance as topless cleanup crew, Gretchen forgot that she’s dressed in something deeply sentimental that she pretty much stole.
“Is that the sweater I made?”
She lets out a tired laugh. “Do you really think there’s more than one sweater that looks likethisin the world, Charlie?” But Gretchen immediately regrets the flippancy of her response when he stands and looks down at her, his hazel eyes so intense they feel like a threat. “I’m sorry I took it from the attic without asking.”
He tilts his head as if considering, examining the fit. “Too late to object now, I guess.”
“Still, I’m really sorry.”
