Thicker Than Water Read online

  I feel like a creeper.

  I don’t care.

  Then another text.

  NK: OMG HE CAUGHT ME

  It’s horrible but I burst out laughing.

  Mom turns around. “Something’s funny?”

  “Nicole is being ridiculous.”

  Mom is used to that, so she turns back to the sink.

  Another text comes through.

  NK: Hey.

  Hey?

  Then another text.

  NK: How intense am I being right now?

  It’s him. He has her phone.

  I choke on air. I cannot breathe.

  HE HAS HER PHONE. And he’s reading her texts.

  This is awful. I need to die.

  Is he mad? Or is he flirting?

  Another text.

  NK: Nicole said you didn’t break your ankle. I’m glad. I’ve been worried about you.

  I still can’t breathe. He’s been worried about me?

  “Almost done with those green beans?” Mom says.

  “Just about.” I haphazardly cut a few more, then check my phone again.

  Another message.

  NK: Should I give her back the phone? I’m texting over my head, but I think she’s going to climb my body to get it back in a second.

  I giggle and text back.

  CR: Knowing Nicole, she’ll really do that.

  NK: Your friend isn’t subtle. I got the memo.

  Once again, I’m not sure how to take that. Playful? Or irritated?

  I can’t believe I’m exchanging text messages with him.

  The next message tells me Nicole has her phone back.

  NK: OMG. Char. He took the phone. He saw everything we said.

  CR: Thanks. I connected the dots.

  NK: I. Am. Mortified.

  I am too. A little bit.

  But I’m also a little excited.

  And a little nervous. He’s working with Nicole.

  I don’t know how to categorize all of my emotions.

  Mom puts a glass bowl on the table, and I quickly scoop all the green beans into it. She brings me some onions to slice, and a piece of bread to put in my mouth so I won’t cry.

  When she turns her back again, I spare a glance at my phone.

  NK: Holy crap, Char. He just asked if you ever come to the library.

  Holy crap! My fingers almost won’t work.

  CR: What did you tell him?!

  NK: I told him you were bringing me lunch tomorrow.

  CR: NICOLE!

  NK: You’re welcome. Just make sure to bring me something good.

  The next day, I have the hardest time getting ready. I want to look nice, but not too nice. Mom will never believe I’m bringing Nicole lunch if I overdo it. They haven’t mentioned Thomas since the day I followed him through the woods, but I’m not in any hurry to relive the lectures.

  I go with a casual sundress and leave my hair loose and air-dried. I can put on mascara and lip gloss in the car. The crutches make me look less sexy and more pathetic, but there’s nothing I can do about that. At least it’s not my driving foot.

  As it turns out, I didn’t even have to worry. Mom is meeting friends for lunch and shopping, so she’s already gone. Dad is working. Grandma is knitting or crocheting or sitting around having judgmental thoughts. I have no idea. The food is packed into an insulated bag, and with a little maneuvering, I can manage the bag, my purse, and the crutches, too.

  My grandmother’s voice catches me. “Where are you going, Charlotte?”

  She’s sitting on the couch in the living room, nowhere near the front door. I’m not even sure how she knows I’m leaving.

  “I’m meeting Nicole for lunch,” I call back.

  “Come in here. Let me see what you’re wearing.”

  I heave a sigh. “I really need to get going.”

  “You can spare a moment for courtesy. You didn’t even tell me you were leaving, dear.”

  I set everything down except the crutches, then hobble back toward the living room. I was right on my first guess: knitting needles fly between her fingers, and pale green yarn trails into a basket by her feet.

  She gives me an up-and-down, and her lips flatten into a thin line.

  “What are you making?” I ask, not because I care, but maybe it will distract her from my perfectly decent outfit.

  “Your father told me one of the secretaries at the station is having a baby,” she says, fanning the start of a blanket out along her lap. It’s quite lovely, actually, alternating shades of green and yellow. I drop the crutches against the arm of the sofa and reach out to touch the yarn. It’s soft and velvety, and something about it is familiar.

  “That’s beautiful,” I say.

  “Thank you. People don’t make things themselves anymore. Blankets always come in handy with little ones.”

  I keep stroking it between my fingers. “This feels so familiar to me. I must have had a blanket like this.”

  “Of course you did.” She gives me a look as if it should be obvious. “Yours was green and lavender, though. Your mother didn’t want anything pink. God forbid we treat you like a young lady.”

  “Sometimes I wish you all would treat me less like a young lady.”

  She frowns, but instead of looking cross, she looks disappointed. “There’s nothing wrong with being a young lady, Charlotte. I don’t understand young women nowadays, so eager to dispose of anything feminine.”

  “I’m wearing a dress!”

  She points a knitting needle at me. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  Wow, for a second there, it seemed like we might get along. “Well, I hate to rush out the door, but I’ve got to meet Nicole for lunch, and then I’m going to shoot a few rounds at the range with Ben. If there’s time, Matt said I could stop by, and we could work on takedown holds for self-defense while I’m injured.”

  She hmphs and looks back at her knitting.

  My hand is still on the blanket, the softness of the yarn sliding under my fingers. For an instant, I feel guilty for what I said.

  Then I think about the pursed lips and the constant stream of criticism that flows from her mouth, and I’m totally over it.

  When I get to the library, I park under a tree, a halfhearted attempt to keep some of the oppressive heat out. Once there, I sit in the car. My thoughts argue with themselves.

  My parents would kill me if they knew what I was doing.

  No! It’s fine! I’m just bringing Nicole lunch! I’ve done it a dozen times before.

  Someone might see me with him. But probably not. Nicole said he was working in the back, so maybe no one knows he works here. It’s not like the library is a hotbed of activity in the middle of the summertime. People come to the Eastern Shore for the beaches, not the reading.

  I think of that last picture she sent me, the one where his arms are flexed and a bit of his stomach is exposed. I think of the feel of his body against me, first in the cemetery, and then later, in the woods.

  I’m having a lot of feminine thoughts right now. Grandma would be so proud.

  The memory of Ben’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  You’ve got to watch out for yourself, Charlotte.

  My hand freezes on the door handle. Maybe I’m being stupid. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  A hand knocks on my window, and I jump a mile. I almost hit the horn.

  Thomas stands there, looking down at me. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no ball cap today. His hair is just this side of messy, and he looks rakish and unruly and immeasurably sexy.

  Shut up, Ben.

  Shut up, Brain.

  “Do you need some help?” he calls.

  I open the door. “I think I can manage.”

  “You don’t want me to carry you again?”

  His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it. Almost a dare.

  Yeah, I want to say. Carry me again.

  I duck my head so he won’
t see the flare of heat on my cheeks, then reach for the bag of food. “If you can carry this, I think I can get the rest.”

  He takes the bag. “What’s in here?”

  “Lunch.”

  “Oh. I thought she meant you were rolling through McDonald’s or something.”

  He sounds disappointed. I spent hours preparing something that would taste good, look amazing, and still not make him think I was trying to impress him, and he’s disappointed that it’s not frigging McDonald’s?

  I try to snatch the bag out of his hands, but I’m not on my crutches yet, and I almost fall out of the car. I get one strap in my grip and yank. “Fine. I’ll go back out.”

  He holds fast, and my yank pulls him close to me. He’s leaning over me, blocking the sun. “You don’t need to go back out. Cold cuts are fine.”

  Cold cuts! I huff before I can stop it.

  He smiles, and it’s a miracle I don’t melt right out of the car. “You look like you want to hit me.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “I’m just yanking your chain. Nicole told me you like to cook. She promised me it would be the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

  Part of me wants to kill Nicole. Another part wishes I’d spent another hour searching Pinterest for recipes. “Well, I’m glad she kept your expectations low.”

  “I don’t think I can repeat exactly what she said. But it involved the word orgasmic.”

  Oh my god. I will kill her.

  I reach for my crutches to give my face a chance to cool. I’m regretting the sundress now, because I’m sure my entire chest is flushed. He watches me carefully lever myself out of the car, and his face loses its teasing look.

  “Are you still in pain?” he asks.

  “Nah. I don’t even need these. I just use them for sympathy.”

  “It’s working.”

  “I’m really okay. I can put a little weight on my ankle, but the doctor said it would heal more quickly if I don’t. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  He walks beside me as I crutch-swing my way across the parking lot. “I’ve been wondering about you since Stan sent me to my room.” His voice is rueful. “He wouldn’t even let me ask how you were.”

  “My parents read me the riot act and told me I wasn’t allowed to associate with you.”

  “Stan said the same thing to me.”

  I stop and look at him. “And yet here we are.”

  He looks down at me, and I could fall into his eyes. “I work here.”

  I half shrug. “I’m just meeting my best friend for lunch.”

  He smiles and starts walking again.

  When I get through the door, Thomas keeps walking, but I stop short and look around. Carla, one of the librarians, is shelving on the other side of the library. There’s a shady looking guy at one of the computers, but otherwise, the place is empty. Nicole rushes out from behind the counter and all but tackles me.

  “You came!” she cries. “I was worried you’d chicken out!”

  “Subtle,” I say.

  Nicole hustles us into the back room. “Carla said she’ll watch the desk while we eat.”

  I was worried that Mrs. Kemper would be back here, but we have the room to ourselves. Nicole has already gotten sodas from the machine for us, and there’s a roll of paper towels in the middle of a folding table.

  Thomas takes my crutches and sets them against the wall, while I begin pulling food out of the bag.

  My hand stops on the sandwiches. I know he was kidding about McDonald’s, but all of a sudden I’m self-conscious. Maybe this was a bad idea. He might hate everything. He might be disappointed that I don’t have a bucket of fried chicken and potato salad or whatever he was expecting.

  “Come on,” he says, that spark of challenge in his voice again. “The suspense is torture.”

  I slowly begin to lay them out on the table. I wrapped each sandwich in parchment paper, then sliced them in half, so they held together well.

  His eyes are on me, not the food, and somehow I feel like I’m doing a striptease instead of unpacking lunch.

  “I didn’t know what you’d like,” I say shyly, “so I made a selection. There’s Green Goddess sandwiches, which are really just avocado, mozzarella cheese, onions, cucumber, and some spread. If you’re more into red meat, I’ve got sliced steak with blue cheese and aioli.”

  “It sounds amazing,” he says in an exaggerated voice. Then he stage whispers to Nicole, “I don’t know what aioli is.”

  “Good,” she says. “Then I can have them all.”

  I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t look at Thomas because his teasing isn’t helping my nerves. “I made plenty.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t pick these up on the way here?” he says.

  “Don’t think I won’t hit you.” I pull a plastic container out of the bag next. “Fruit salad with honey glaze.” Then a large plastic ziplock bag. “Potato chips.”

  He mock gasps. “Something store-bought?”

  Now I do swat him on the top of his head. “Watch your mouth. I made these, too.”

  His eyebrows go up, and he loses the smile. “You made your own potato chips?”

  “Mom doesn’t like buying processed food if we can help it. We make almost everything.”

  “Everything? Like, the bread and the cheese and the . . .”

  “Not the cheese.” I giggle at his expression, then busy myself with pulling paper plates out of the side of the bag. “We don’t have goats in the backyard or anything. But we make bread every weekend.”

  “Do you use electricity?” he says.

  I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, so I keep my eyes down, on the food. “Once you’re used to it, it’s not really a big deal. It’s cheaper, too. I mean, I’ve got three brothers, and my grandmother lives with us. When you buy prepared stuff for a big family, it costs a fortune.”

  I put one of each sandwich on a plate, then a handful of potato chips, followed by a scoop of fruit salad. Then I slide it over to Thomas.

  He looks surprised that I wasn’t making the plate for myself. “I could have gotten my own.”

  I blush again. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  Nicole is already tearing into a sandwich. Despite how skinny she is, she can put away a table full of food. “Char’s family is super traditional. She’ll probably clean up after you, too.”

  I frown, but she’s right, so it’s not like I can say anything to contradict her.

  “Is that why you’re so nice?” he says. “Good upbringing?”

  Nice. It’s such a bland word, and I can’t tell if he’s still trying to push my buttons. I keep my eyes on my plate and take a Green Goddess sandwich for myself. “I don’t think I’m especially nice. I just think I’m myself.”

  “I have a lot of experience with different people,” he says slowly. “Trust me. You’re very nice.”

  I think about the conversation with my grandmother before leaving the house, and I wonder if she’d agree. I take a bite of my sandwich and the avocado practically melts on my tongue.

  Nicole is making unabashed sounds of pleasure to my left. “Oh my god, Char, I swear I’m going to marry you one day, just so I can keep eating like this.”

  “You might have some competition,” says Thomas.

  My eyes flash to his, and I find him watching me. I don’t know what to say to that, but I can’t leave it hanging out there. “A marriage proposal, so soon?”

  “I’m surprised too, but I’ve never had a girl cook for me before. Besides, I said might.”

  “Maybe you should feed him by hand,” says Nicole. “Push him over the edge.”

  I almost choke on my food.

  Carla sticks her head into the back room. When her eyes settle on Thomas, she scowls, but she doesn’t say anything. “Nicole, can you come watch the desk for a few minutes? I need to run down to storage for some more end caps.”

  Nicole heaves a big sigh and heads for the front. She takes her plate with her. �
��Don’t be naked when I get back,” she calls.

  “I can’t decide if working with Nicole is better or worse than getting threatened with arrest at the supermarket,” Thomas says.

  “I’d tell you that you’ll get used to her, but that might not be true.”

  “She cares about you a lot.”

  I look at him again. One of the steak sandwiches is in his hands, and he’s eaten half of it, but I can’t tell if he likes it or he’s just choking it down for my benefit.

  “We’ve been best friends forever,” I say.

  “She said. She also told me that she’d break my legs, stand on my chest, and shoot pepper spray directly into my face if I ever hurt you.”

  I smile. “I’d do the same for her.”

  “I believe it.”

  I wish I could stop blushing when he talks. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him, and it’s reassuring to know his personality isn’t always intense. “You’re the only one,” I say. “To listen to everyone else in my family, I couldn’t swing a flyswatter without a big, strong man to help direct my aim.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to protect you so they can keep eating like this.”

  I smile. “It’s no McDonald’s.”

  “Now I feel bad for teasing you. I really would have been fine with cold cuts.” He leans closer, his voice getting softer. “I’m not sure I’m ready to agree with Nicole’s . . . ah . . . word choice, though. The jury’s still out on that.”

  It involved the word “orgasmic.”

  The air is warmer suddenly. I want to touch him, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself. I think of the way he carried me through the woods, the strength of his arms beneath my thighs. It’s a miracle I don’t leap across the table and tear his shirt off. I’ve never wanted to do that to a guy before—god knows I’ve never done it in actuality—but something about him makes me forget all sense of propriety.