That Tuesday Dean led John outside, across the alley, and into the barrel building. They were nearly midway into June and the temperature inside was becoming oppressive.
“Damn,” John said behind him, blowing out a breath.
“Yeah, we don’t regulate the temperature in here.”
“What’s the reasoning for that?”
“Taste. The barrels are wood—obviously—which expands in the heat and contracts in the cold. The liquid inside soaks in and out of the wood throughout the process. Gives that caramel, oaky flavor.”
“That all makes sense. Every day I learn something fascinating.”
“A lot to learn, but it’s all pretty straight forward,” Dean said, leading John to the back of the warehouse. They were going to use a dolly to move a couple of empty barrels into the main building to fill with bourbon. Dean quickly gave John a rundown of how they filled, stored, and organized the barrels.
The minute they carted the first two barrels back across the alley, Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his insides instantly warming.
“I’m gonna take this real quick,” Dean said over his shoulder before stepping over to a quiet part of the backroom.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice went low, and he had an odd desire to grin—which he held in check.
“Hi. Busy?” Charlotte replied. He could tell by her voice alone that she hadn’t held in her own smile.
“I have a minute. What’s going on?”
“I just … well, I went to the craft store this morning and bought some more things to make some decorations for the fireplace. Simple, I just … I don’t know. I really just wanted to call you.”
This time he did grin. Glancing back toward John, Dean found the other guy messing around on his own phone, just waiting.
“I’m glad.”
“I haven’t seen you in five days.”
She was right. Their busy schedules had prevented them from seeing each other since she’d gotten back from North Carolina, although they’d talked and texted plenty.
“What are you doing today?” he asked.
“I’m actually doing Tara’s maternity session today.”
“Oh really? She’s able to?”
“We’ll have to be quick. Her doctor only allowed her a short amount of time. We’re doing it later in the day so it’s not too hot, which is fine because it’s my favorite time to shoot.”
“Let’s go to dinner afterward.”
“Okay. I would love that.”
“Good. I’ll be at your house … what time? You tell me.”
“Eight thirty?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Dean.”
He chuckled as he spoke. “Bye, Charlotte.”
Disconnecting the call, he stared down at his phone. How did this woman manage to make him feel so young and hopeful? It was ironic: All this time he’d been worried she wouldn’t seriously be interested in someone his age, and yet it felt like he’d gone back in time emotionally. What he felt for her … it was still scary, but slowly it was starting to feel right. It was that heart-pounding, nervous, panicky kind of sensation you felt when you saw the girl you had a crush on in the hallway at school. With all the perks of being adult, of which there were many.
He turned back to John, who was stuffing his phone into his pocket.
“Charlotte?” the other guy asked, which put Dean on alert.
“Uh, yeah. It was.”
John nodded. “She doing okay today?”
His tone implied he knew something Dean didn’t, which made his skin itch. “Yeah. Of course.” Except he was now dying to know why she wouldn’t be. “She’s got a shoot today. Tara is our receptionist but she’s on bed rest. Her pregnancy isn’t going as they’d hoped. You’ll meet her when she comes back from maternity leave.”
Dean wasn’t normally one to ramble, but at this moment he found himself annoyed with John’s presence. He knew it was petty and immature to have hard feelings toward someone who’d dated Charlotte years ago, but he couldn’t help it. Especially after he’d seen how they’d interacted in the hall the week before.
“She’s photographing a pregnant woman today?” John looked shocked, and then his face quickly crumpled into annoyance and he shook his head. “Why would she do that?” he mumbled to himself.
Dean’s concern for Charlotte overrode his frustration with John. “Why would she not?”
John’s eyes met Dean’s and then his expression almost looked … sympathetic.
“Forget it.”
“No, no. Why shouldn’t she do a shoot today?”
“She didn’t tell you.” John said matter-of-factly.
“Didn’t tell me what?”
John shook his head. “It’s not my place. I just assumed since you guys were a couple…”
“What did she not tell me, John?” His desire to know overrode the fact that it majorly pissed him off that John had one up on him where Charlotte was concerned. But how could he not? They’d been engaged. Dated for years. He knew things about Charlotte it would take Dean a long time to figure out or learn. God, that made him mad. And the worst part was the concern on John’s face.
“Listen, you need to ask her. I won’t betray her confidence. I shouldn’t have assumed, because … well, she may not want you to know.”
Dean’s head jerked back. That was obviously possible, but the thought had him raging inside. Why in the world would it be a bad thing for Charlotte to photograph a pregnant woman?
“Charlotte photographs pregnant women all the time.”
“Yeah … but today. Just, never mind, seriously. Talk to Charlotte.”
An awareness came over Dean. “Charlotte’s been pregnant. Hasn’t she?”
John’s lips pursed, and then he let out a breath. “Don’t do this, Dean. I like you, and I like this job, but don’t make me say something that makes things uncomfortable between us.”
“It’s already uncomfortable, so I suggest you just shake your head yes or no. I’ll make sure she doesn’t know it was you who told.”
John’s eyes closed for a moment, and then he nodded his head yes slowly.
“Yes, she’s been pregnant?”
Another nod.
“Was it yours?”
Irritation crossed John’s face. Dean knew he was pushing it, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Charlotte. Finally, the guy nodded.
And yet, there was no baby. Was there? “Did she … lose it?”
“Obviously,” John answered.
“Shit.” Dean ran a hand down his face. All his own demons rose to the surface, playing through his head. The sound of his wife sobbing in the bathroom. The doctor telling them there was no heartbeat. Her screaming at him that he wasn’t sad enough. As if every loss didn’t rip him apart. The guilt had nearly consumed him. Had John felt that way? “Does this have anything to do with why you two broke up?”
John put up a hand. “Huh-uh, I’m done talking. Nodding, too. She’s your girlfriend, you have to talk to her about it. But I’ll say this. What we went through … it was nowhere as hard on me as it was her, and yet, this day, every year, it kills me. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling.”
Dean turned away. He knew exactly what it felt like to experience a miscarriage. It was hell. And Charlotte had lost a baby on this very day. How far along had she been? Who had been there for her? Something in his gut told him it was related to the breakup between her and John, but he wasn’t going to ask any more questions.
And on top of all of that, she was photographing a pregnant woman whose pregnancy wasn’t going perfectly. Had she seemed strange on the phone? No, she hadn’t, but she had called him just to talk. Knowing that this woman he was so wrapped up in had gone through such a tragedy made him want to punch something.
Dean pulled out his phone and opened a text to her. He just wanted to reach out to her again. Needed her to know he was thinking of her.
DEAN: I’m excited to see you tonight.
CHARLOTTE: Not as excited as I am.
With a tilt of his lips, Dean stared at her words. He cared for this woman, maybe more than was good for him.
“Listen, man, I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine, John.” Dean said, cutting him off as he slid his cell back into this pocket. “I’m sorry I pushed you, but I appreciate you telling me.”
“So are we good then? I don’t want things to be weird.”
“They won’t be.”
John hesitated and then gave a quick nod. “I’m glad she has you. Charlotte needs someone who can take care of her. Give her everything. I hope you’re that guy.”
Dean was frozen in place, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “I hope so, too.”
Except he knew for a fact that he wasn’t the guy that could give her everything. He could only hope that what he could give her—himself—would be enough.
* * *
Fat tears ran down Charlotte’s cheeks as she drove home from her shoot with Tara and her husband. She’d known better than to play this song, and yet every year at some point on this day, her fingers seemed to work on their own accord, shuffling through her phone and pulling it up from her playlist. If she was smart, she’d delete it.
The past half hour she’d gazed through her lens at the beautiful Tara, round and glowing in the sunset, her hands around her belly, her eyes full of love for her husband and their unborn baby. The second she’d gotten behind the wheel Charlotte had gone right for her playlist, turned up the volume, and given herself completely over to the heartbreaking lyrics that currently pulled quiet sobs from her chest.
She’d listened to this song on repeat the days after her miscarriage. At the time she hadn’t known if it was terribly unhealthy to wallow or part of the healing process. Probably both, but either way she’d been unable to function for days. John had tried to get her up out of bed, tried to care for her, but it had been useless. The loss had been devastating, physically traumatic, and emotionally draining.
Looking back, she should have told her mother. She’d needed help, and John had needed support. Driving Charlotte to the emergency room in the middle of the night with uncontrollable hemorrhaging had been terrifying for him. But he’d kept her secret, as much as he’d hated it.
At first she hadn’t wanted to ruin everyone’s excitement for the wedding. Or her own, but part of her had just enjoyed the selfishness of mourning her baby in whatever way she saw fit. She hadn’t wanted someone to make her feel better. It had been bad enough that she’d had to go through the final weeks of wedding prep silently dying inside.
After her tragic non-wedding-day, she’d remained silent still. The weight of her pain had almost been like a comforting blanket. The overwhelming sadness of both events coalescing into one heartbreaking tragedy. This sad song had been part of that, and here she was, letting it drag her down into its abyss once more.
Charlotte pulled into her drive and let her head fall back against the rest. She needed to pull herself together. Dean would be there in twenty minutes. She needed to grab some bags of frozen peas and hold them on her eyes stat.
With a deep exhale, Charlotte grabbed her gear and got out of the car. Once inside she quickly grabbed the peas from the freezer and headed for the bathroom. The minute she saw her red swollen face, her mouth dropped open.
Racing back out to the living room, she searched her bag for her phone. She’d have to ask Dean to come a bit later. She looked like a mess, mascara streaks under her eyes, her lips and nose puffy.
The minute she located the device there was a knock on the door. She muttered a curse to herself as she froze there in her living room. Surely Dean wasn’t early. With shaky fingers she began to wipe at her undereyes, hoping to get rid of the worst of her raccoon makeup. Grabbing a tissue from a side table, she blew her nose and then went to the door.
She took a deep breath and opened it enough to peek out. The minute she saw Dean standing there, her lips quivered. It was as if she couldn’t help it. He looked so strong and safe standing there on her doorstep.
Their eyes met and his softened with sadness. For her.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. Without hesitation, he yanked open the screen door and his arms instantly wrapped around her, pulling her into the hard warmth of his body. His head bent and his lips found her ear. “Baby, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
With just those words, she let herself melt into him, her pain bleeding out of her like a pulsing, open wound. His arms tightened as her legs went slack and a muffled cry escaped her lips.
Suddenly a strong arm slid beneath her bottom and then she was hefted into his arms. She felt him carrying her, his shoes thunking along on the wood floors, and then he was laying her down on the bed. He came down beside her and pulled their bodies flush.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize, Charlotte.” He angled his head back and ran a hand through her hair. “Not for this. But I do want you to talk to me.”
She clamped her eyes shut and squeezed his shirt inside her palms. Could she hide against him? Just soak up all of his strength and then pretend none of it happened?
His hands continued to brush her hair back off the side of her face. She knew that when she’d opened the front door he must have been alarmed, although he hadn’t really seemed to be. This was a side of her he’d never seen before. She was always happy, fun, good-natured Charlotte.
“Charlotte, please tell me what has upset you.”
His voice was so full of concern, it was hard to imagine him wanting to pull away from her, but she’d need to be ready for that. Dropping emotional female baggage on a man unprompted had to be frowned upon in a new relationship.
For a long moment she allowed the soothing feel of his fingers sliding through her hair to bring her heart rate back to normal. Finally, she scooted up in the bed so her head could rest in the crook of his arm and she peeked up at him.
“I’m sure this wasn’t what you had in mind when you said dinner, huh?”
“Nothing about you is what I had in mind. It’s always better.”
“Stop being so good at this,” she whispered. “It scares me.”
“Me too,” he whispered back. Their eyes locked and then his head dipped down, his lips brushing against hers. They were soft and warm, and so gentle it nearly brought her to tears once more. Several times he kissed her, never changing the intensity, or rushing. Just savoring every little touch of their mouths coming in contact. He turned his head slowly from side to side, letting his lower lip slide back and forth across hers. A shiver rippled through her.
“Talk to me, Charlotte,” he said against her mouth.
“Can’t we just keep kissing?”
She felt his lips tilt up in a smile. “We can kiss all night, after you tell me why you’re sad.”
She pulled back a bit and put a hand on his jaw. A bit of stubble poked at her palm. “Today is kind of a … difficult day for me.”
His eyes locked onto hers. “Why is that?”
Charlotte shifted on the bed, her leg restless. Sensing her needs—as always—Dean lifted one of his legs so she could slide her thigh between his. When he lowered his leg, he had her locked close. And still he waited patiently, never taking his eyes off her. She let out a quiet sigh. “Five years ago…”
Feeling tears press against her eyes, Charlotte stopped and took a deep breath. Dean leaned down and kissed her nose. It was a small action, but it gave her strength.
“Five year ago, I got pregnant. With John.”
She looked up at him, but he only watched her with no change of expression. His hand still stroked her hair ever so gently.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“We were so excited. The timing was awful because it was right before our wedding. But I didn’t care. I was so happy. And then … I miscarried.” Her voice grew shaky, and she fought to keep herself together. “I was only fourteen weeks. But … Ugh, God.”
Charlotte reached up and pressed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, hating that she couldn’t find the right words to say without losing it. Just saying it out loud hurt so much.
“Fourteen weeks is plenty of time to fall in love with someone.”
Oh, how did he know just what to say? It was as if he knew exactly how she felt. Her lips quivered and tears welled in her eyes. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”
She nodded, unable to continue talking. Her throat felt tight and her lungs pressed against her breasts. Leaning up into him, she sought his mouth once more. He gave in to her, their lips pressing together, but Charlotte no longer felt satisfied with tentative and soft. She wanted to feel all of him. Wanted to forget.
Opening her mouth, just the slightest bit, she nearly groaned when he did the same, their tongues meeting and sliding against each other. She ran her hand up his chest, along his neck, and into his hair, pulling him into her, fusing their mouths together. He was letting her set the pace. Not rushing, but obviously willing to give her what she needed.
After a deep, long kiss, she pushed herself up and over him. The minute her hands began to pull up on his shirt, he broke the kiss.
“Charlotte, we don’t have to—”
“I want to. Please.”
His answer was to lock his hands on each side of her face and devour her mouth. This was the best way to forget the sad song, the sight of someone else’s pregnant belly, and the ache in her heart she let bubble to the surface every year on this day. This was what she wanted. Needed and craved. But not with just any man.
This man.
She rocked against him, his body hard and ready for her, and she lowered her hand to grip him through his jeans. He moaned into her mouth and then flipped them over, pinning her beneath his body.
“Last time you gave me what I wanted,” he murmured into her neck. “This time I’m going to give you what we both want.”
Charlotte let her eyes drift close, smiling up to the ceiling as Dean kissed his way down her torso. Pushing up her T-shirt, he exposed one breast at a time, slowly sliding down the cup of her bra, freeing each one. His eyes met hers as he enveloped each tip in his mouth, sucking gently, then licking. After he’d paid plenty of attention to her chest, he placed little kisses down her rib cage, her stomach. It occurred to Charlotte that never in her life had she been caressed, kissed, touched, with such reverence.
It had been a warm day, so she had on a pair of flimsy seersucker shorts. The kind so light that when Dean pressed his mouth on her center, she felt the heat of his breath radiating through the material. His hands worked at the button and she reached down to help him, their hands tangling as they frantically worked to get the shorts pulled off, followed by her panties.
As soon as he’d bared her from breast to toe, her shirt bunched under her chin, he pushed her legs apart and settled onto the bed between them.
The first touch was the delicate fluttering of his fingertip tracing her entire opening. It was maddening in its lack of focus or pressure, almost a ghost of sensation. She let her legs fall open wider, pressing herself against his hand. She swore she heard him chuckle, the warmth of his breath only adding to her frustration.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to get you like this. I plan to take full advantage of it.” Dean smiled up at her and Charlotte gripped the sheets hard on either side as his face dipped down past the horizon of her body.