Charlie stared out the passenger window of mid-sized SUV two weeks later, wondering what Simon was thinking.

It was a three-and-a-half-hour drive to the hotel in the mountains of West Virginia, and they’d been driving for more than two hours. They’d had some casual conversation about the traffic, about the weekend’s schedule, and about who they knew was likely to attend the wedding. But Simon had been quiet for the last forty-five minutes and didn’t appear inclined toward any further chatting.

She stared at his face—square jaw, high cheekbones, eyes the color of very dark chocolate, heavy eyebrows, and the kind of rough lines and contours that only came through years and experience. He wasn’t handsome in any traditional way, and at seventeen she’d found his brooding cragginess intimidating and off-putting.

Now she found it mesmerizing.

She found him mesmerizing.

She’d never known anyone who seemed to hide so much depth and character behind the stoic lines of his expression.

When she’d been studying his face for a few minutes, he slanted her a sideways look. “Is there a problem?”

“What would be a problem?”

“You’re staring at me like I have a hole in my head.”

She chuckled at his dry tone, although not a trace of a smile had softened his face. “If you had a hole in your head, maybe I could see into your mind a little.”

This time, he actually turned his head for a moment to look at her. “You don’t want to see into my mind.”

“Yes, I do. If you don’t talk and I can’t read your mind, then how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking.”

“Why do you need to know what I’m thinking?” Anyone else would have assumed he was in a bad mood because his eyes and mouth were perfectly sober, but she knew him really well, and there was an edge to his tone that told her he was teasing.

“Somebody has to. It might as well be me.”

“Why does anyone have to know what I’m thinking?”

“You’re a human being, aren’t you?”

His thick dark eyebrows lifted. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes, it’s a serious question. It’s the first step in my covert strategy to get you to admit something.” Her tone was light but serious, and she arched her eyebrows just as high as he had.

He actually chuckled, which was always a victory. “Okay.”

“So are you or are you not a human being?”

“I’m a human being.”

“And do you or do you not accept the obvious truth that humans aren’t supposed to be completely alone?”

He was silent for a moment as he passed a tractor-trailer going uphill. When he moved back into the right lane, he glanced over at her again. “I could debate that statement.”

“You could debate nuances of it, but not the core principle. Obviously people are different and some people are more introverted than others. But social dependence is a core characteristic of humanness. Are you really going to try to debate that?”

His eyes flickered over to her face again, and for just a moment she felt validated, appreciated, valued. From nothing more than the flicker of admiration in his eyes. “You sound like a sociology class.”

“I studied sociology in college. And I’m willing to bet you did too, in some long-ago general education requirement.”

The flicker of appreciation faded out as he stared back at the road in front of them. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

She chuckled. “You can’t have it both ways, Simon. You can’t pretend to be some old grouch whose too old and antisocial to have any fun and then get riled up when someone implies you’re not in your twenties.”

“Why can’t I? When you’re an old grouch, it’s perfectly reasonable to get grouchy when a pretty girl says you’re old.”

She stared at him until she saw his mouth twitch just slightly. Then she broke into giggles, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “You are an old grouch. You know that, right?”

“Yes. I know that. You’re the one who pressured me into coming to this wedding, so I don’t want to hear any whining about my grouchiness.”

“That doesn’t follow. I can want you to come to the wedding with me and also not want you to be grouchy about it.”

“If you didn’t want grouchiness, you should have gotten yourself a real date.”

She was briefly bothered by the fact that he implied he wasn’t a real date, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about. He obviously thought she wanted to go to the wedding with him for reasons other than being his date. “I wanted to go with you.”

“Yeah. And you usually get what you want. So now you’re stuck with me.” He paused before he added, “What about that lawyer you were dating?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. She occasionally talked to him about her social life, but he’d never once asked her about it. She hadn’t even known he was aware of the men she’d dated over the past few years. “That was six months ago.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “We went out a few months, but we didn’t seem to click.”

“And what about that lobbyist?”

“That was more than a year ago. Same thing. He was okay, but we didn’t click.”

“And you didn’t click with the surgeon either, I guess.”

“No. I didn’t. Well, I wouldn’t have really known if we did because he always seemed to be working or on call. But no. I didn’t click with any of the guys I’ve dated—ever really.”

He slanted her another quick look—one that seemed to see a lot more than it should. “They seemed like the kind of men you might like.”

“What does that mean? What kind of guys do you think I’ll like?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Young. Smart. Successful enough that they don’t need your money. Good-looking.”

She snorted. “You thought they were good-looking?”

“I think women would think they’re good-looking. Weren’t they?”

She sighed, leaning back against her seat and feeling a little depressed. “Yes. They were good-looking.”

“So what was the problem with them?”

She didn’t really know how to answer the question. The main problem for the last year with the men who were interested in her was that they weren’t Simon.

“Charlie?” he prompted.

“I don’t know. It just felt like I was going through the motions with them, like I was playing some sort of part. They didn’t seem to… get me.”

Simon was quiet. So quiet she darted him a quick look, but she only saw thoughtfulness on his face.

“It didn’t feel like the woman who was with them was really me,” she added softly.

There was another long moment of silence before he asked, “Who do you feel like the real you with?”

Charlie had a lot of friends, and she interacted with people easily. But she was surprised when she realized the answer to his question. “Just Hannah and Madison, I guess. And you.”

She was watching him as she admitted the last bit, and so their eyes met when he shot her a quick look. He didn’t respond with words.

“Who do you feel the most like yourself with?” she asked after a minute, when the silence started to make her uncomfortable.

He didn’t answer.

“Simon? I told you.” Obviously, she wanted him to say he felt like himself with her, but she only wanted him to say it if it was true.

Her one comfort was that Simon never told her soft, little lies. He never told her anything just to make her feel better.

He let out a breath. “I feel like myself with you,” he murmured at last, his voice thicker than normal.

***

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