when you’re at lunch or picking up Charlie’s cleaning?”
“When he gets off the—”
The office door behind her opened abruptly, and I flinched. “Have you heard from—?” He stopped when he saw me. “There you are. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Irritation flickered across Jamie’s expression. “You were on the phone.”
Charlie glared at Jamie but spoke to me. “Nora, come in.”
In the doorway, I held up the plastic grocery bag. “I brought you eggs.”
Charlie hesitated. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome, and there’s plenty more. Ray’s chickens are shooting eggs out of their asses like AK-47s. I tried to give them to Jamie, but she wouldn’t take them.”
“The chickens or the eggs?”
“Ah, the age-old question.”
Charlie laughed, took the bag and glanced at the eggs. “Can you taste the difference between fresh and store-bought?”
“You can.” I didn’t want to say how delicious my morning omelet had been. I refused to give Ray credit for anything, even with his chickens as proxies.
Jamie appeared next to us. Charlie handed her the bag. “Hold my calls.”
“Do you want me to take notes?” Eggs clicked against each other as she took the bag.
“No.” He shut the door in her face.
Charlie’s office was like the reception area, right down to the midcentury modern desk. My gaze settled on the credenza and an array of family photos: Sophie, face puffy, holding a newborn baby, who wore a pink-and-blue-pinstriped beanie on her tiny head; Logan at four or five in ballet attire; Sophie in tennis whites, holding a trophy; Charlie with three vaguely familiar men with a long line of dead geese or ducks laid in front of them; Charlie, Sophie and a six-year-old Logan at his law school graduation; Charlie, Sophie and a ten-year-old Logan at Sophie’s college graduation; and on, and on.
Charlie looked embarrassed that these photos showed the events of their life, their life without me. Or was he embarrassed that these pictures only told part of the story? The happy parts? What filled the gaps between the moments of smiles, laughter and achievement?
“I’m sorry. I should have put those away.”
“Bygones, Charlie. We were all young and stupid. I’m glad y’all have been happy.”
A shadow flickered across his face and was gone. He held out his hand for me to sit down, and sat in the chair next to me. He crossed his legs and smiled. Charlie Wyatt was good-looking in high school, but he’d grown into the type of man who turned women’s heads. His light blue dress shirt had a faint texture to it, enough to make the shirt interesting but not enough to distract from the feature that had defined Charlie since he was a child: his ice-blue eyes framed by long eyelashes and dark eyebrows. His bottom lip was slightly plump, and his upper lip was a perfect bow shape. Unlike so many men who were giving in to age, or possibly found it freeing, Charlie was still trim and moved like an athlete. He wore his clothes well.
I thought of seeing Sophie at the club, how the classy and professional version of my friend would look on Charlie’s arm and understood all at once how they had slid easily into the role of the Lynchfield power couple. I suddenly felt very out of place, with most of my fashion tending toward my military days—blues, blacks, whites and grays. I’d always enjoyed the simplicity of a capsule wardrobe, but confronted with the stylishness of my friends, it was my turn to be embarrassed.
If the way Charlie was looking at me was any indication, my feelings were misplaced. His smile was in full effect, the Deadly Dimple sunk deep into his left cheek, halfway between his cheekbones and his square jaw, and his gaze roamed over my face as if mapping out which features he would kiss on his lips’ path to my mouth. I had no doubt if I asked him to take me on top of his desk, he would oblige. Despite myself, my stomach fluttered.
“It’s so good to see you, NoNo,” Charlie said.
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile wavered and his brows furrowed. “Outgrew it?”
“Something like that.”
“Nora.” His gaze lingered on my lips, and I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at me with such intensity. Alima said I turned more heads than I thought, that I was merely clueless. I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t trust Charlie’s attention, either. Sophie’s warning rang in my ears.
“Tell me about this will.”
“Right down to business,