in the palm of her hand.
And it was locked on the other side of a thick panel of wood.
“Patience, Thompson,” I reminded myself. “The important things take the longest.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tig snapped.
I glanced up from my phone three days later, trying to decide between sending Charlie a cookie bouquet and DoorDashing her another pint of double fudge brownie ice cream. My plan had been sidelined for the moment, so I was calling an audible.
Using more of Sam’s chocolate advice.
“What?”
“This shit with Charlie, what are you playing with?” He crossed his arms, glared down at me. “You put in your notice, Garret. You’re leaving in less than two weeks, and she tells me that you had flowers delivered, that you swung by and brought her ice cream.
Cookies then, I thought.
I’d already given her ice cream.
I pressed the button on my phone, used the facial recognition tool to put my credit card information in, and ordered the cookie bouquet.
“About that,” I said.
“About what?” Tig asked.
“I want my job back,” I said. “Or, I guess, I want that permanent position you offered at the beginning of this.”
“Because of Charlie?”
I sighed, set my cell down, then leveled with Tig. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know it already. “Yes, because of Charlie.”
“Hmph.”
“What?” I asked.
“Charlie know about this?”
I hesitated. “Well, I did bring her ice cream.”
Tig rolled his eyes. “So what, you expect the ice cream to do the talking for you?”
“No. I just—” I began. “Well, I didn’t do a good job in telling her what she meant to me.”
“So, you ignored me telling you to leave her alone,” Tig said. “And then fucked up and hurt her.”
Fuck.
Yes, that.
But I was going to fix it.
“I didn’t want—”
“Excuses. Charlie is special, and you shit on that.”
I shot to my feet. “She is special. She’s funny and brilliant and sassy. She’s sexy and smart. She’s fucking incredible Tig and—”
The truth dawned on me.
It was so different from what I’d felt for Lorna that I hadn’t realized.
But Charlie was different. I was different with her.
Tig coughed. “And what?”
“And . . . I love her.”
Finally, the arms came uncrossed, though the stare was still hard. “You sure?”
I bristled. “What the fuck, Tig?”
“Are. You. Sure?”
My jaw clenched. “I’m absolutely sure,” I gritted out. “Now, for fuck’s sake, are we done with the heart-to-heart?”
“No,” Tig said. “When are you going to talk to her?”
“I fucked up,” I said. “She needs time to trust me again and—”
“Bullshit. You’re scared.”
“I’m not—”
“Sure, whatever makes the bullshit stew go down easier.”
“I—”
“Trust me, man,” he snapped. “Take my advice and pull your head out of your ass sooner than later. You’re scared. Everyone is scared when it comes to the people they love.”
“I—”
“They don’t want to lose them or be hurt and so they hold back. Don’t,” he said. “Don’t hold back, don’t give bits and pieces until you work up the courage. Because Charlie deserves everything.” He waited until my gaze met his. “And so do you.”
“I—”
He rolled his eyes, turned, and started to walk away. “I guess I’d better get you a nameplate for that station.” He paused, glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and just so you know, rent in New York City is a bitch.”
My lips twitched, even as my heart was still pounding, from irritation that Tig had called me out, but mostly because . . .
I loved Charlie.
But then that shouldn’t be a surprise, now, should it? I hadn’t been able to ignore her from the moment I’d met her. She was a puzzle and intriguing and—
I needed to talk to her. I picked up my cell, started to compose a text—
“Garret?”
Tig had popped his head out of the hallway.
“You may have the job, but tell the girl how you feel.” A beat, his lips twitching, signaling that shit-giving was coming. “Sooner, rather than later. Otherwise the pipes of communication may get clogged.”
Pipes.
Clogged.
Terrible.
But also, yes.
Because just like that, my plan was back in the game.
Nineteen
Charlie
I hurried up to the door of Tig’s Tattoo and Piercing exactly one month after my initial visit, hands full of supplies and using my foot to knock on the plate glass.
Full circle.
Snorting, I kicked the glass again, seeing the light on in the back room and wondering how in the hell there was a pipe leaking when I’d replaced every last one of them.
“Garret probably rotted my brain,” I muttered, foot tapping against the door.
Thump-thump-thump.
He’d certainly seemed to be attempting to rot my teeth.
Ice cream. A cookie bouquet. Donuts. Flowers.
Okay,