Charlie stood before the natural and homeopathic skin creams searching for the right brand of eczema cream. She sighed.
When her mother called, asking for a favor, Charlie had a sneaking suspicion something was up.
Charlie’s mom told her that she needed to drop by the health food store and pick up some cream for Mrs. Strickland’s eczema. Apparently Rosie had a breakout on her back, and in this case, she didn’t want help from her grandson. Her mother said she would drive into town from Lace, but knew Charlie was much closer.
She sighed for the second time.
“Can I help you?” a friendly, homely looking woman asked from the side.
“Yes, please. I need to find this cream.” Charlie showed her the paper with the brand name written on it.
“Oh, that’s here, on the end. It’s one of our best sellers.”
“Great. Thank you,” she retrieved the bottle and headed for the checkout.
Several minutes later, she found herself in front of Rosie’s house. She’d gotten here later than expected. The sun had almost set, and the view was breathtaking. Colorado is God’s country, she thought.
All afternoon Charlie could think of one thing—Blake. She dreaded seeing him. For the past several days, she’d successfully avoided accidentally running into him like last week at Catwalk. He’d said hello, but she could see his defenses were up. After all these years. She shook her head. She didn’t understand it. He blew her off, and it surprised her how much it hurt.
She exited her car and closed the door. An SUV was parked in the drive. She took in a deep breath and made her way up the walkway.
She rang the doorbell and waited.
Blake opened the door, and his eyes went wide. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Blake. Nice to see you too. Is your grandmother home?” Keep calm, she reminded herself.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yes. Why do you need her?” His voice sounded only vaguely less defensive.
“I got a call—” She stopped herself. She closed her mouth and pursed her lips, and glared at him straight on.
After a few seconds, he spoke. “What?”
“Any chance you can dispense with the hostility toward me? Or are you actually hostile toward everyone?” She tipped her head to the side.
“Charlie, I don’t have time for this,” he huffed. “If you want to see my grandmother, come in, and I’ll go get her,” he said curtly. He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to walk through.
He pivoted on a heel and proceeded up the stairs in search of his grandmother. He returned a short while later without her, and said, “She’s asleep.”
Charlie furrowed her brows and stared down at the paper bag in her hand.
“What’s that?”
“Your grandmother’s eczema cream.” Her tongue swiped her upper lip. What should she do now?
She raised her arm before her. “Would you please take this and give it to her? I can return later if she needs help putting it on.”
He huffed again and grabbed the bag from her.
Her eyes rounded. “Blake, what the hell is your deal?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s my deal?” He pointed to himself. “Seriously, you’re going to ask me that? I think you damned-well know what my deal is.”
There it was again—a big ol’ bucket of blame.
Willing an even temper, she replied, “Blake, it’s been eight years. Don’t you think we’ve moved passed all that?”
He stepped closer, invading her personal space, and pointed at her chest. “You may have moved passed it, but I haven’t,” he growled.
He was so close, she could feel his hot breath on her face. She could barely move a muscle, but she wouldn't back down. She raised her head to meet his stare. His body heat fell across the whole front of her. At this range, she could see the flecks of gray and green in his blue eyes. Even in his anger, he looked handsome as sin.
But still, she wanted to slap him and say Stop acting like a three-year-old and grow up. Wouldn’t do any good. This was a pissing match without end. He had thought she cheated—clearly still thought she had—and there was nothing she could say to make him change his mind.
She relaxed her shoulders. “Well, that’s a shame. I thought at least while you were here we could be friends, go hiking and climbing, maybe take in a movie.” She held his gaze and as she spoke, for the briefest moment, Blake’s eyes softened. In fact, she was so certain of it that now the stern, defiant look he presented seemed contrived.
Charlie blinked a few times, turned to open the door, and walked out.
The desire to cry was stronger than when she’d run into him at Catwalk. She blinked feverishly and willed the tears to go away.
She’d been doing well for the past eight years. The first year had been rough, but slowly she adjusted to losing him. Now it was like every hurt, every pain was new and fresh. Dammit!
She knew she shouldn’t have gone to Rosie’s house.
Damn her! How was it that after all this time she still got under his skin?
She was the last person he expected to see at his grandmother’s front door. She looked heavenly in her hip-hugging skirt and sweater. If he didn’t despise her so much, he’d put on a full-court press to win her back—kiss her soft skin causing her to sigh, tell her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, and bring her to orgasm after delicious orgasm in his arms.
Christ! What was he thinking?! She slept with her ex while they were dating. That’s something not to be forgiven.
A footfall on the hardwood floor sounded behind him. He spun around.
“Grandma.” He strode to his grandmother in earnest. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, dear. I must have dozed off. Did Patrice come by?”
Blake sighed and shook his head. “No. She sent her daughter, Charlotte. But you were sleeping so she left. She brought your cream.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I missed her. Lovely girl. Didn’t you use to date her? Charlie. Wasn’t that what you called her?” She said, looking up at him as an eager smile graced her lips.
“Yes.” He really didn’t want to discuss Charlie.
“So, why isn’t she here?” his grandma asked with a lilt in her voice. Her eyes twinkled with concern and love.
Shit! How could he explain what Charlie now meant to him? Years ago, she was his world, and that world came crashing down like a bomb to earth. All their hopes and dreams exploded into millions of tiny, useless bits with that betrayal. Her betrayal.
He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away.
“Grandma, she means nothing to me now.” Damn! That didn’t come out right.
“What? No,” she stretched out the word. “You were so close once. Talked about marriage.”
He circled and made his way back to the kitchen. “I don’t want to talk about it, Grandma.”
She followed him. She sat at the table and waited for him to pop the cap off his beer bottle. He knew trying to escape this discussion would be futile.
“Blake Strickland,” she started in a firm tone, “I am very disappointed.”
He turned her way. “Grandma, please.”
“I don’t know what happened between you two. But it takes two to tango. I suspect you are as much to blame.”
His face flushed at her words. He could not correct his grandmother, but she was flat-out wrong. His hand gripped the bottle tighter.
“Now, Blake, several years have passed. The past needs to stay in the past,” she insisted. She exhaled. “And you were raised better than that.”
His jaw dropped. He shut it immediately because he had no words to reply.
“I want you to think long and hard about how to correct this. I expect you to at least be civil with her.” She rose, went to him, and patted his cheek. “I love you, Blake. Now that’s all I have to say. I’ll be in the TV room should you care to join me.”
Blake was stunned, to say the least. He shook his head. When did his grandma become so perceptive? Maybe she’d always been that way. He was being a jerk. And there was no good excuse for it. Anger boiled inside him when Charlie was near—an irrational anger considering the time that had passed.
His grandma was right. For his remaining time in Fort Collins, he should at least be civil toward her.