The Victorian (Lavender Shores Book 9), page 21
I wasn’t sure when, but at some point he’d released my hand, and I’d stuffed both of them into my pockets. Freed from him, I turned and started to walk away before I said something else. Blood pounding or not, deserved or not, I didn’t want to feel like this, not anymore.
I didn’t have to.
Though it was only a few strides, a different hurt cut into me with every step I took, and I paused on the other side of the dumpster, just breathing. The inside of my head raging and screaming, my body trembling.
I forced myself to breathe.
After a while, probably only a minute or so, my thoughts had calmed a little. Enough that whatever the pain was as I walked away had room to increase.
Then enough that I was able to identify it. Seth. And not just anger at Seth, but anger, and… Look deeper… Look deeper…
I turned and studied him as he leaned against the alley wall, hands in his pockets. His gaze was on me, not in an invasive way, but somehow communicating that he was just waiting.
I ached when I looked at him, something in my heart or my chest or my gut, something. Sure, there was anger there, but… there was something else. And whether I looked deeper or not, I couldn’t label it, at least nothing more than knowing I didn’t want to walk away from him, not really walk away from him. “I don’t want to feel whatever this is about you.”
“Charley…” Seth straightened as if he was going to move toward me, then reconsidering, paused, and resumed his more relaxed posture on the wall. “I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I don’t want to be the reason you—”
“Not that.” I ripped my hand out of my pocket and slashed the air. “Not anger. Goddammit.” I stomped toward him, stopping so we were a few feet apart, and I leaned on the side of the dumpster.
Despite it all, a smile tweaked his lips. “You’re not angry?”
I glared, and then… laughed. “Fuck you.”
His grin broadened, and then he laughed as well.
A little more of the pounding eased, a little. I sighed. Was I really going to do this? I was so tired of talking. It had only been a few weeks, but damn, I was so tired of talking about feelings and all that fucking shit.
But the alternative was even more exhausting. And lonely.
“I’m not jealous.” I spat the words out, glared at him, or tried to. “At least not of Silas.”
“Okay.” Seth actually looked relieved, but I wasn’t sure if it was my announcement of not being jealous of Silas or just that I was speaking. He licked his lips. “Do you want me to ask questions? Say something? Or just shut up?”
“God, you’re annoying.” I laughed again, a bitter thing. “What are you, some type of therapist as well?”
“No.” He moved a little closer and leaned against the wall again. “But you know my past, very well. I was in residential treatment for a long time. Different than what you experienced.” He grinned again. “For one, mine was court ordered. I’ve had more than my share of therapy, and I actually have little tune-ups or whatever the fuck, every so often with Donovan Carlisle.”
I nearly made a comment about that just being one more bit of proof he was the founding family’s pet. But I didn’t really feel that way, not anymore.
“You’re not the only one who’s been angry, Charley. I think our reasons are different, and I think the way we experience it is different. But it’s not exactly an unknown concept to me.” His voice dipped a little more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see past your anger before, see the man underneath.”
He quite literally took my breath away, and I was unable to respond, but I stared at him.
He stared back.
Mabel and Sapphire had made similar comments throughout the years. They had, even at times when I thought I was only anger and rage and hurt, seen a different version of Charley Perez beneath it all, one that I hadn’t even believed was there. But they’d been the only ones.
Maybe Seth saw it too.
Maybe he…
“What are we doing? You and me?” Once more, the question came out, just as unexpected as it had been the first time.
He hesitated just a second, then closed what distance remained between us. “I don’t know.” He held out his hand, and I took it. “I don’t know.”
“Then why are we even—”
He kissed me. Dipped his head and pressed his lips to mine before I could think or pull away.
As with every time our lips had touched, there was heat and fire, but now there was something else. After all the back-and-forth, after him holding me on the kitchen floor as we waited, after sharing cheeseburgers on his birthday… there was something else. Something more.
And though my body responded as it did every time to his nearness or touch, the kiss didn’t become an inferno or all-consuming. However, it didn’t make me quake any less.
Finally he pulled back, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, Charley. I don’t know if it’s smart or not, for either one of us. But… as you’ve pointed out many times, I’ve been around the block a few times, and I know this is different. And I know I don’t want to let it go.”
Somehow, he managed to take my breath and my words away again.
Even more bizarre, he seemed to know when to double down. “I don’t want to let you go.”
I nearly sank into him with those words, nearly gave in to the relief of them, nearly repeated them.
I didn’t.
I forced my eyes to meet his again. “You only do open relationships. The whole fucking town knows that.”
A crease formed between his eyebrows as if he was puzzled. “True. And yes, everybody does know that.”
I just stared at him.
“Oh.” The crease smoothed. “That’s a problem for you?”
I nearly said that of course it was. That anyone in their right mind would have a problem with that. But in the past couple of weeks, with all the talking, I’d started to recognize the truth of words before I spoke them, at least some of the time, and something didn’t sit right about those particular words. As if they weren’t true, though I didn’t understand how. “Why?”
“Why…?” He hesitated as if puzzled once more. “Why do I believe open relationships are right for me?”
Duh! “I’m not saying we need a relationship. Or that I even want—” What the hell am I saying?
The fucker laughed, and with his free hand, he brushed his thumb against my cheek. “Breathe. It’s okay. I don’t think either one of us is about to propose beside the dumpster.”
Despite everything, I snorted out another little laugh. How the hell did he do that?
He dropped his hand from my cheek and his other released its grip on mine as he leaned against the brick wall once more.
And I missed his touch. Just one more of the endless questions… How was that even possible? He was right there. He’d just been touching me. How could I miss it?
“It’s what works for me.” He shrugged. “I’ve kind of quit trying to explain it to people. You either get it or you don’t. But… for me, the freedom feels more loving. More real. I don’t think there’s just one kind of sex. And I don’t equate it to love or commitment, or building a life with someone. I’ve seen plenty of long-term couples, straight and gay, who are monogamous, sexually committed, whatever, and don’t have the openness, honesty, or connection that I’ve seen in other couples who have nontraditional relationships.”
“I don’t know why we’re talking about this.”
Was it because I wanted a relationship with Seth? Clearly. Well, no. I didn’t want it. Not at all.
But I did, with everything in me. If only I could choose not to want it.
And did the idea of an open relationship truly bug me that much? I wasn’t sure. Some part of it even… if I was being really, really honest… sounded appealing.
“We can talk about anything you want.” He hesitated, and maybe, because I just started doing it myself, I realized he was testing the sincerity of whatever he was about to say. “I’m even open to discussing what might work best for u—” He barely caught himself. “—what might work best for a relationship if it looked different than what I believe I want, what I believe works.” As his blue eyes met mine, I could see the honesty in them, and the strength. “I’m not saying I would be convinced, but I’m willing to consider the needs of both people, absolutely. That’s what a relationship is.”
More than the thoughts of open or monogamous, the very repeated word of relationship was making my blood pressure spike, making the noise increase. “You need to go help Heather, don’t you?”
He laughed again, sounding a little irritated. “I do. Dammit. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think…” Huh, being transparent with him is getting easier, not to mention with myself. “I think I kinda need a break anyway.”
“Makes sense.” Once more he took my hand. “And no, neither of us knows exactly what we’re doing”—he gestured between us with his free hand—“together, but I’d like to keep going, see if we can figure it out. No rush, no pressure.”
Both relief and terror in equal parts went through me at that. “Fine.”
He nodded, though there seemed to be a bit of disappointment in his eyes.
I spoke a little more truth. “I’d like us to keep going as well.”
That disappointment vanished with a smile. “Great. Maybe tonight after…” He shook his head, gave yet another laugh. “I just said no rush or pressure, didn’t I?” He considered, then made another offer. “Please be honest, you truly won’t hurt my feelings—would you be comfortable if I attend your panel tomorrow?”
I’d wondered if he’d come. Even considering it had made me nervous, but the thought of him not being there felt like a loss. “Yeah. Sure. That’d be okay.”
He smiled, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me again. He didn’t, but squeezed my hand before he walked away. “See you tomorrow, then.”
EIGHTEEN
SETH
AS THE cameraman counted down, Charley scanned the crowd that filled up his tavern. His gaze landed on me for a brief second. There was a flicker of acknowledgment, something between a smile, squint, and a nod. He’d only come out of his office a few minutes before. The rest of the staff had been welcoming everyone who’d showed up for the panel. I searched for some other meaning than yes, I see you in his reaction, but couldn’t tell.
I’d forgotten this part. I didn’t like it. With sex, when it was only sex, there was that thrill of anticipation. Will they, won’t they? They always did. That buzz of excitement of being with someone new, the odd comfort of either not knowing names or the awareness that the names would be forgotten in a matter of minutes, or hours, depending on the interlude. But this? This anticipation, this wondering… it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t exciting. It just… kinda hurt. There was a thrill of hope, but that kind of hurt too. And… all in all, it seemed to strip away the fact that I was four years shy of fifty and left me feeling like I was a fresh-faced kid with a crush. Even with Micah, I hadn’t felt that, at least not in the beginning—we’d started off as purely a hookup, and my feelings built slowly and gradually and never…
My gaze flicked to Charley once more as he took a few deep breaths, getting ready to begin.
Micah and I had never built to this level. That was fucked-up and terrifying. Parting with Micah had been painful, but a short-lived agony. As sudden and quick as this had come on with Charley… he could hurt me a hell of a lot more than he ever managed when it was pure and simple hatred between us.
The cameraman called out action, and Charley’s smile grew a little wider, and a little more forced. “Welcome to Charley’s Tavern, everyone. Are you all enjoying the first couple of days of the food-and-wine celebration so far?”
There was a smattering of applause and a few supportive catcalls.
Charley took another breath. He was making me need one; the buzzing in my veins transitioned from thoughts of Charley and me to more of a white-knuckle cringing when someone was about to make a fool of themselves. “Here at Charley’s Tavern, we focus on a wide variety of Mexican dishes that are favorites across the country. All of them are easily accessible in your own home.” He paused as if expecting some reaction, though I wasn’t sure if there was supposed to be laughter or applause.
The crowd wasn’t either and remained silent. God, I wanted to rescue him. I inwardly cringed at the thought, as I’d spent a good portion of the night before wondering if that very sentiment was the basis of my attraction to him.
He took another breath and stretched out his hand. “First up, Brenda is going to walk you through the secrets of a perfect margarita.”
On cue, Brenda arrived from the kitchen and went directly to her place beside him. She instantly reached for a couple of limes and opened her mouth.
Before she could speak, Charley started again. “Brenda has made more than her share of margaritas, let me tell you.” From her wide-eyed reaction to him, clearly Charley was going off-script. “Charley’s Tavern has been open almost twenty years, and Brenda’s been my right-hand for fifteen of them.” His voice grew stronger and calmer as he spoke, and though he didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes glued to the camera as if it offered salvation, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve discovered that the secret to running a successful restaurant are the people you surround yourself with. Ones who are smart, strong, creative, and have a dedicated work ethic.” He patted her shoulder. “And can put up with the chef’s shi…” His eyes went wide, and then he chuckled. The laughter that issued from the crowd was only slightly nervous. “Well, let’s just say… putting up with a chef who’s a hothead isn’t for the faint of heart. Luckily, she’s as talented as she is patient and determined.” Abruptly he released her shoulder and moved aside.
Brenda stared at him, then with a jerk, seemed to remember that she was on camera as well. “Those of you at home may not work for a hotheaded chef, but chances are some of you get frustrated with your spouse or loved ones from time to time, and the secret that I’m getting ready to share with you for margaritas, will help you with that frustration.” She grabbed a thick wooden tool with one hand and lifted the limes with the other. “We’re going to beat the holy moly guacamole out of these babies, and let me tell you, it’s cathartic. So get ready.” She winked, and the laughter from the crowd was an audible sigh of relief. She was a natural.
As she spoke, I focused on Charley. He stood off-camera, hands in his pockets, and appeared to watch her. I could tell he wasn’t. He was somewhere else. He didn’t look angry, he didn’t even look sad, but there was something…
Within five minutes, Brenda had finished her margaritas, and other members of Charley’s staff served sample portions to the crowd. As they did, Charley took center stage again and called Lonnie up, once more bragged on him, and once again received a shocked expression before turning him loose to demonstrate how to fold the tortilla around a chimichanga perfectly and without using toothpicks, so it wouldn’t burst open during frying.
The program wasn’t what had been planned. It was the same lineup of food, and followed what was in the booklet, but Charley had originally been the one to manage the whole thing. He was going to talk about specific ingredients, and the importance of quality in a recipe, along with a few other talking points. Almost more of a history lesson than a demonstration. Now, in a way, it was like he was copying Mabel’s panel from the day before.
When Lonnie was done, and mini chimichangas were making their way through the audience, Charley approached once more, and without being called, to my surprise, Alex joined him. I glanced across the room to Heather, and could tell from her expression that this was news to her as well. “Alex is relatively new to Charley’s Tavern, but she’s going to share with you the perfect combination and ratio of cheese for delicious enchiladas. Before that, I want to tell you a little bit about this young woman.” As he had with Brenda before, he put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, though this time he chose the one farther away so his arm was draped protectively over her. “Alex Kelly is the epitome of what makes Lavender Shores such an amazing town. She’s only seventeen, but she’s learning lessons that have taken me four decades to even come close to beginning to understand.” Emotion seemed to tighten his words, and he cleared his throat. Beside him, Alex looked utterly terrified. “It takes more strength, more bravery, and more pride to be who you truly are. And that while sometimes… or most times… you have to fight for that right, sometimes tooth and nail, it’s possible to do so with grace and humility.” He glanced at her. “And there’s beauty to be found in the strength it takes to simply stand with your head high, instead of shout and swing with your fists.” He had to clear his throat again. “We have a lot of things to offer in Lavender Shores—amazing forests, wildlife, beaches, fancy little shops, countless restaurants with some of the best food in the world—but more than any of that, are the amazing people who make truly remarkable things possible within the city limits.”
With no other warning, he stepped away. Alex seemed even more terrified than she had before, her face pale and her fingers, each one tipped with red, white, and green stripes, trembled as she held up the cheese. “Cotija is a hard cow’s milk cheese from…”
I didn’t listen to a word she said, instead staring at Charley again. He was making amends. He might not even be aware… I shoved that notion aside. He was aware. I hadn’t expected it, nothing close to it. That he would use his panel, his time in front of thousands of people, not to talk about Charley’s Tavern or demonstrate his skill in the kitchen, nor his knowledge of ingredients, but to change how he treated those around him… blew my mind.
While the night before had been full of introspection, wondering if I had some newly developed hero complex where I was trying to rescue Charley, the day had been filled with another question, at least as much as I could spend pondering it in between different events at the Blue Blossom.
What are we doing?
I supposed it was Charley’s question. But it had become mine.
