Charlie sees the bowl of walnuts on the table, tests out the nutcracker, and a delighted laugh echoes in the room following the crunch. A smile tugs at my cheeks as I pad into the kitchen to start dinner. The burner clicks three times before the flames appear and I set the pot that’s full of water atop it.
“You didn’t eat yet?” he asks, eyes flitting all over the apartment, skipping from one decoration to the next. His voice is far away as he asks, a finger touching gently to the frosted windows, coming away with the artificial snow. Dumping the jarred sauce into a pan, I nearly drop it when Charlie strides over to me, pressing an urgent kiss to my lips. His lips nudge my mouth open, tongue darting against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I stretch up on my toes so Charlie doesn’t have to hunch as much. But he wants more, he wants me closer so he lifts me up by the waist and settles me on the counter beside the stove as the water is starting to boil.
“Thank you for doing this.” The sincerity in his voice makes me weak.
“I was happy to.” I loosen his tie and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. I stop before I go any further, knowing that if I keep going, I’m going to burn the water on the stove. “Go, get out of your work clothes while I finish up.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, stepping away so I can finish making dinner.
“I need a job,” I shout to him, stirring the pasta sauce. I’m balancing on my bad leg, trying to strengthen it. Little tasks like these, like slowly lifting onto the tips of my toes, make me feel better about myself.
“You do not need a job,” Charlie says, returning to the kitchen. He’s distracting, wearing just his boxers, and I have to focus, really focus on what I’m doing as he sets up his laptop, never far from work.
“Says the guy who leaves the house every day for hisjob,” I emphasize, turning to face him. I refuse to let my eyes dip from his face when he walks over to me to taste the sauce that I've been haphazardly dropping seasonings into. “I do PT and then I just read or watch TV or stare out the window. I’m a drain on resources. I need to do something fulfilling.” I drop the spoon onto the bright red spoon rest, something I rescued from my old apartment. Something that made Charlie’s space just a touch less “aggressive bachelor pad that could be used for photoshoots.”
I don’t face Charlie, dumping the pasta into the water, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand. He wraps his arms around me from behind, grinding against my bottom. I go perfectly still, like an animal caught in the sights of a predator. His fingers slip into the band of my shorts before grazing lower, lower, lower, hitting home when he finds the apex of my thighs. I bite back a harsh breath as his fingers start to make lazy circles against my clit. He kisses my neck, nipping at my ear.
“I’ll give you something fulfilling,” he growls, rubbing my most sensitive spot. I let out a noise, somewhere caught between a moan and a squeal, squirming away from him.
“That isnotwhat I meant, and you know it,” I admonish.
He laughs, stirring the pot for me. “Your focus for the last few months has been healing. You still technically have a traumatic brain injury. You need to give yourself some grace.” He starts to pull out plates and the parmesan cheese. “If you want, I can fire my assistant and then we can have hot sex while I’m on mute during a conference call.”
I grab the grater, and turn to him, pointing it at him threateningly. “A, don’t fire Ashley. B, you say this like you have experience.” I tickle his sides, making him squirm.
“No, but someone else did once and forgot to mute it. Never did find out exactly who it was,” he says as he plates the food. “But I get it. You’re bored, and I’ve somehow managed to become the center of your world with all things, unintentionally. What do you want to do? You were working on art before. I don’t think you ever told me what your major was in college. You enjoyed taking photos on our trip, maybe look into that. But please don’t feel like youneeda job right now. I just want you healthy and whole.” He kisses my forehead. “Bon appétit, baby.”
It’s a lot to think about and I appreciate the latitude that he’s giving me. I decide to walk around Central Park tomorrow and take photos for a few hours while I try to answer the age-old question: what do I want to be when I grow up?
I’m unsure of how to broach this next subject. Once we’re seated, I mull over how to dive in and decide to attack it head first.
“Have you reached out to your mom?” I ask, taking a bite of pasta.
He looks up at me and then over at his phone. “I did. She invited us over for Christmas dinner. Well, she invited me and I told her that I would have a plus-one.” He sounds nervous about all of this and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake pushing him on this.
“If you want to spend time with your mother and brother without me, I’ll understand.”
We’d gone from zero to sixty in an unbelievable amount of time. We never have to worry about introducing him to my parents, but how do we explain how we went from strangers to living together in three months, even if it was out of order? I wonder if his family will think I’m just a gold digger, taking advantage of Charlie’s generosity.
“No, I don’t want that. I want you there. I’m just not looking forward to the questions and the judgment that’s going to come with it. There is no getting around how we met and why we are living together. As much as I think it will make a great story someday, the wounds are still very fresh,” he says, reaching over to the raised scar on my leg.
“Did you know my grandparents had a whirlwind romance?” I turn in my seat to look at him, pushing away my plate. My hand goes to his on my knee, turning it over so I can hold it. He has so much strength in him, but I think he prefers to hide behind it instead of letting himself be seen. “They met in October, got engaged on Christmas Eve, and got married in May. My dad was born in January of the next year.” I hop off my chair at the island and swivel him so I can settle between his legs. Gingerly, I brush a blond lock out of his face. I never get tired of the chiseled features of his face, as if Michaelangelo himself had carved him from marble.
“I don’t think there is a right or wrong amount of time to know someone or to be with them. I really believe that when you meet the right person, you know.” I kiss him softly on the lips, then below each ear, taking his face in my hands.
“Besides, the hard part is living together. Seeing if you can tolerate their quirks, and we have been doing that pretty well for the last three months. That could make or break a couple.”
He cups my face in his large hands and I lean into them, into the unexpected warmth. “I’ll text her and tell her we’re coming.”
All talk of his mother stops as he hops off the stool, the rest of his meal forgotten. He kisses me gently, pulling my body against his, first by my waist and then his hands travel lower, to my ass. He squeezes my cheeks, walking me backward to the bedroom. We move like we’ve done this before, going from the kitchen to the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and kisses, trying to claim more of the other. He pushes me back on the bed, following me as I go. I scoot back so he has more space but then I stop.
I wish he had something on so I could use it to pull him toward me, but I settle for his face, palms grazing a fresh layer of scruff on his cheeks. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a guy, but I'm not going to let him go.
Charlie must see the hungry look in my eyes, “We have all the time in the world for us.”
He lowers his body down to mine, kissing my mouth and my neck. I fight a giggle as he tickles my neck, his hands working their way up my sides to take off my shirt. In my rush to sit up to aid him, I bang my head against his, and we both rub the spot I hit while laughing.
“I saidpatience,” he orders, taking my shirt off and casting it aside.