“You should come back in the summer,” Rachel said brightly. “It’s really magical. Swimming and boating and... Well, Mom doesn’t like to swim that much.”
“Really?” Everett said. He casted her a funny smile. “Surrounded by water, and you hate it?”
“I don’t hate it,” Charlotte said, sniffing. “I just find it beautiful to look at. I don’t necessarily need to be in it.”
Everett and Rachel both shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” Everett said.
When the taxi pulled up, the three of them piled in: Rachel in the center of the back, Charlotte on the left, and Everett on the right. Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder: did the driver think they were a family? What did that make her feel? Was it a betrayal to Jason?
Should I somehow express the fact that Everett is nothing to me? Just a new friend?
But how could I say that without totally killing this mood between Everett and I?
Focus. It doesn’t matter.
Nobody else is thinking about this except you.
“We’ve sure got a lot of snow this year,” the taxi driver said suddenly.
“Sure do!” both Charlotte and Everett answered at once.
Both of them sounded strange, so strange that they turned their eyes toward one another and burst into laughter.
Okay. She was overreacting, probably.
They were just friends.
Good friends.
She couldn’t just mess that up, because she was a sad, lonely widow, aching for some kind of recognition in the world.
Could she even accept love if it was handed to her?
She wasn’t sure.
Chapter Sixteen
When tensions rose between Everett and Charlotte, Everett found it funny that one of the two of them would burst into laughter—as though both of them knew how middle-school-silly any sort of affection was. Sure, maybe if he was twelve, he would have said, I have a crazy crush on Charlotte Hamner. But he wasn’t twelve, and he was there on Martha’s Vineyard to do a job, sell some photographs, then head back to LA to spend it on some overpriced rent (although decently priced for the neighborhood he lived in!), cocktails, and dates with models who didn’t have any feelings.
He tried to burn these thoughts into his mind.
But they really didn’t stick.
When the taxi reached Charlotte’s house, he turned his eyes toward hers and tried to drum up the strength to say goodnight. Instead, he heard the first real music of the night, when she said, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? There’s a lot to unpack from tonight. I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to forget a minute.”
Everett reached forward to pay the driver before Charlotte could. She half-heartedly swatted his hand away, then said, “Whatever. I’ll get it next time,” as though there would be a whole series of next-times together in the back of a taxi.
It was enough to make Everett’s heart surge with hope.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that hope.
He crunched through the snow behind Rachel and Charlotte. A quick glance at his phone told him that it was just after one in the morning. Still, his head buzzed with adrenaline. It could have been the middle of the day.
Charlotte drew open the door to allow him to enter. Inside was a little foyer with red tile, a mudroom off to the side, a kitchen, a living area, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Everything was decorated warmly, comfortably—completely unlike the swanky party they had just attended.
“Your taste is nothing like Ursula Pennington’s,” Everett said with a laugh as he removed his shoes slowly and placed them in the mudroom.
“What can I say? Friends tell me my number one attribute is that I’m... not a millionaire,” Charlotte said with a funny laugh.
Rachel yawned. She looked on the verge of collapse. “I’m going to go take a shower and get into bed,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
She spoke pointedly only at her mother. Everett seethed with sudden panic. He realized that he had just put himself in an awkward position, forcing himself into their home after one in the morning. Probably, this made Rachel uncomfortable?
But as she turned down the little hallway, she called back, “Good night, Everett.”
“Good night, Rachel,” he returned.
In the silence that filled the space between them, Charlotte performed a similar routine to Rachel. “I’d like to get out of these clothes if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’ll be out here.”
“I’ll boil some water. Make some hot cocoa with...” Charlotte yanked open a swankier bottle of whiskey, one she had clearly taken from the rehearsal dinner.
“You little thief,” Everett said, grinning from ear to ear.
Charlotte laughed and disappeared for a moment. As Everett sat there alone, he glanced around the living area—over the TV, on the refrigerator, toward the foyer, where Charlotte, Rachel, and another man lurked in nearly every single photo.
Right. Trevor had said something about disaster.
Here he sat, in the epicenter of that disaster.
Compared to all that, he was nothing.
The thought didn’t make him feel bad, exactly. It wasn’t like he had known the guy, or known the circumstances. Still, he didn’t want to be any reminder of that tragedy: another big man in the house, mentally into Charlotte in a way he couldn’t really describe.
He had to be on his best behavior.
He didn’t want to push any buttons.
Which probably meant he couldn’t remove any.
Not that he’d gotten out of the taxi with her to do that!
Now, he was safely stuck in his head. He shook it violently and again studied the photos. The guy in them hadn’t died that long ago, clearly, since Rachel wasn’t so young in many of them. What had happened? Car accident? Murder? No. That was ridiculous. People didn’t just get murdered.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte appeared in a light pink robe. She had removed a little bit of her makeup, and her hair still billowed around her beautifully.
“Yeah! Just thinking about tonight,” Everett lied.
“It was wild, wasn’t it?” Charlotte said. She walked to the stove, poured two glasses of boiling water, added hot cocoa, then
