"Me?" EZ put the fingertips of both hands to his chest, his brown eyes wide.
Charlie laughed. "Yeah, you. You've been watching Sebastian closely enough."
Sebastian glanced at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Then he nodded. "Sure." He cleared his throat. "Good idea. Lay some in, EZ."
The edge of tension thrumming through Sebastian's voice was subtle enough that EZ wouldn't notice. But Charlie heard. Still, Sebastian was as encouraging as ever, complimenting EZ's technique as he worked.
Once Stacey finished the drawers, she joined them to watch EZ press the next pieces into place on the adhesive. Clearly distracted by the pretty girl, he pushed it a little higher than the straight line Sebastian had drawn.
"You're doing great, especially considering it's your first time," Charlie said, feeling Sebastian tense beside her. She wanted to shake the person who'd taught him there were ugly consequences to imperfection. She not only learned from her mistakes, but sometimes they even led to her best accidental creations. "When you're doing this kind of work, it's good to pause and take the time to check things out," she coached EZ.
"Cool, will do." EZ backed up a couple of steps, then said, "That side's a little high, isn't it?"
"Good catch," Sebastian said, smiling at the boy. "Why don't you look at the info on the bucket of adhesive to see if it's still okay for you to adjust them." While EZ and Stacey both squatted down to read the fine print, he turned to Charlie. "Can I grab you for a second?"
*
Leaving EZ and Stacey to work on the tiles, Sebastian took Charlie's hand, leading her outside to a semi-private spot beneath one of the backyard canopies. "Thank you."
"Is that really what you want to say to me?"
He appreciated the fact that she didn't pretend she had no idea what he was thanking her for. "At first," he made himself admit, "I was annoyed when you stepped in. I know you teach, but I do too. I know what I'm doing...at least, I thought I did."
"You're great with the kids--"
"But I was still screwing up. I didn't want the tiles to be laid in crooked so I stopped teaching and started doing it for them instead." Through the window they could see how well the two teens worked together, figuring out a great tile pattern all on their own. "Now they're doing better than I was."
Charlie smiled. "You're welcome." Then she put her hand to his cheek. "Who ever made you feel you had to be perfect?"
He tensed. He didn't want to get into it, not now, as if he were whining about his childhood again. "I don't need to be perfect."
She studied him. He thought she'd push, but her gaze roamed his face, then she looked down at his mouth as if suddenly making a decision. And she stepped into his arms.
Her mouth was soft and sweet against his. Yet again, he couldn't believe his luck. From the Opera House last Saturday night to a young adult group home in San Jose was a major difference. He loved watching Charlie wend her way through a ballroom, wearing another of the sexy little numbers she and her mom were so good at putting together. But Charlie in jeans and a work shirt really got his engine going.
Every time he looked at her, every time their lips met, a wave of emotion rolled over him, swamping him. It was more than mere desire, more than need. He wanted her in every part of his life, not just his bed. She brought laughter and joy. She brought him meaning and new goals. He needed to help her take her career to the very top, to ease her mother's suffering, even to be her family. While she had only her mother, he had the Mavericks. They weren't his blood; they were so muc
h more than blood. And he wanted to share his family with Charlie as well as her mother.
Susan was probably the only other person in the world who got away with stepping in to guide him when he needed it. Like Susan, Charlie was smart, and even more, she was diplomatic. No wonder she'd chosen to augment her art career by teaching. She was great with people, instinctively knowing when to offer a suggestion and when to back off, letting her students learn for themselves.
Yet he couldn't help but worry how she'd do both once classes started again in the fall. She was already working on the chariot and her new commissions from six in the morning to six at night--not to mention the hours he kept her in his bed, loving every beautiful inch of her, never able to get enough. How much more could she possibly fit in? The number of galas and events would ease up a bit after the grand opening and the sculpture's unveiling, but he couldn't see how adding her teaching into the mix would be a good thing at this point.
"Have you made a decision about your classes yet?" He hadn't pushed her since they'd talked about it with Francine.
"They don't start until the end of September, so I still have a little time to decide." She glanced back at the kitchen. "Now that they've got the tile covered, we should finish the cabinets."
Clearly, she didn't want to talk about it any more than he'd wanted to talk about his father or his past. Because it was in the past. But this was Charlie's present, and he was too worried about her budding exhaustion to let it go. "You've got a lot of commissions. I can see what a great teacher you are, but you don't have to go back, you know."
"I know that." She went quiet for a long moment. "Like I said, I'm not sure what I want to do yet." Her voice squeezed with a note of frustration. As if she felt conflicted. As if he made her feel that way.
And yet it was his duty to watch out for her. He wasn't pushing. He was simply offering. "Charlie." He ran his hand down her back, her muscles stiff under his touch. "You can talk about it with me."
She looked up, and for once, her beautiful eyes weren't clear. She'd gone inward, shutting him out.
Damn it, no. He wouldn't let her shut down, couldn't bear the thought of it. He needed to keep their connection strong, no matter what it took.
"Come with me." He wasn't thinking straight, but he didn't care as he led her to a shed by the back fence.