Page 35 of Business Casual
“Shut up.” I lob my pen across the table only to miss him by a good seven inches. “What were we talking about?”
“Have you done your business sweep? Finalized the silent auction contributions? Asked who wants to sponsor the pumpkin sculpture?”
“Enough about the pumpkin sculpture.” I wince. I haven’t done any of those things. When Stella was here, we were planning on splitting it down the middle. But it fell on the back burner with…everything else on my plate.
“I can do it this week,” I offer quickly, ignoring the yawning pit in the center of my chest. I hate missing things. I hate falling behind. I’ll just have to adjust a few things on my schedule and figure out how I’m going to visit all the town’s small businesses instead of half. MaybeI can…add seven hours to each day. “I’ll make a spreadsheet and bring it to our next meeting. I’m sorry.”
Montgomery chews on the end of a pizza crust. “Don’t worry about it. We have time.”
But that only makes me worry more. I said I would do it and I haven’t. I add it to my mental list, trying to ignore the thought that whispers I’m doing too much. That spreading myself this thin means I can’t do anything well.
Charlie adjusts his arm on the back of my chair and his knuckles graze the back of my neck. I shiver, then push myself into it. His body goes rigid next to mine. All of my spinning thoughts quiet and dim. I tuck everything away until it’s manageable again.
I can do it. I’m capable of doing it.
He leans closer under the guise of stealing the pen I didn’t lob across the room. “You talking about spreadsheets, Nova girl?”
I tuck my chin to my shoulder and glance up at him. “I don’t know if you know this about me”—I lick my bottom lip just to mess with him, wanting to see what pretty color his eyes flash in the muted light of this tiny room—“but I love a good spreadsheet.”
He groans, a soft unconscious sound from the very back of his throat. “Do you like torturing me?”
I smile at him. “So very much.”
He grins and leans back in his chair, widening the space between us and pretending to listen to whatever it is Alex and Montgomery are arguing about. A dunking booth made of…apple cider? Charlie’s knee nudges mine.
“For the record,” he says. “I like it too.”
?I stay behindas everyone files out of the room, an old cracked binder open on the table in front of me. It’s probably from 1958. Every small business has their own dedicated sheet of white paper with anaddress and contact information listed. The first page is the theater that used to be on the corner of Albermarle and Park Street. It’s a brewery now, but they still play movies every other Sunday.
This binder is a tiny history of Inglewild, each page accompanied with handwritten notes from whoever put it together. Things like:Get the strawberry jam, not the apricotandAvoid the third step down; it’s rickety because Barb is too cheap to fix it. Best bagel sandwich I’ve ever hadandIf you get there before four on Saturday, you can snag a good table.
Some sheets are faded and yellowed with age, and others are crisp and white. I flip to the very back and trace my fingers over the latest addition—a logo I drew myself of twisting, crawling flowers.Ink & Wildin long slanted letters. No notes yet, but I hope that changes soon.
“Alex is closing up.” Charlie stands in the doorway with his shoulder propped up against the wood, one hand braced on the frame and the other in the pocket of his coat. “Let’s get you home.”
I close the binder with a sigh and raise my arms above my head. I’ve been sitting too long today. “You don’t have to walk me home.”
“Obligation has nothing to do with it,” he says with a small smile, eyes fixed on the line of my arms above my head. His gaze drops back down to mine. “I’d like to.”
I can hear Alex puttering away in the shelves, flicking off lights and straightening books. He calls something to Charlie and Charlie laughs, low and deep. It rolls over my shoulders and settles at the small of my back. A gentle touch nudging me forward.
“Watch it,” he says over his shoulder, “or I’ll tell Abuela.”
“Snitch.” Alex snickers, finishing an ongoing argument. He winks at me over Charlie’s shoulder. “Good night, Nova. Make sure you lock up when you go.”
He disappears up the steps that lead to his apartment above the shop, and it’s just me and Charlie and a single string of globe lights at the front of the store. I watch him watching me in the open doorway.Strong shoulders. Long legs. Loose limbs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so still.
“All right,” I say, tilting my head. “You can walk me home.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I stand and shrug on my coat, one of the sleeves twisted at my wrist. “What?” I ask, struggling harder the longer he stands there watching me.
He blinks once. Slow and heavy. “What, what?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
