Hate Notes Page 7

  Then she had to go and hand me those damn Twizzlers, making me feel like an even bigger asshole.

  Who does that?

  Who gives candy to someone who just treated them like a piece of shit?

  Charlotte Darling does. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, spirited, blindingly optimistic Charlotte Darling. And I’d done nothing but try to dampen her spirits from the moment we’d met to ensure that none of her fucking sparkle rubbed off on me.

  Her bringing up Allison forced me to put up my guard worse than ever. Because the only truthful answer to her question about what happened would have required me opening up to her. Only immediate family knew the truth about what had gone down between my former fiancée and me. I needed to keep it that way.

  I’d honestly forgotten I even had that photo stashed away in my wallet. But I understood how it must have made me look—like a sentimental sap. Maybe I was one before Allison made me lose my faith in love. Charlotte must have figured my carrying the photo gave her a ticket to try to get me to spill my guts.

  With a towel wrapped around my waist and my hair soaking wet, I lay back on the bed and pondered just falling asleep that way. But I hadn’t eaten anything besides that entire package of Twizzlers. I had to leave the room to get food. At least, that’s what I told myself. The real reason was that I couldn’t shake Charlotte from my mind. Maybe I’d sleep better tonight if I apologized for lashing out at her.

  I put my clothes back on before venturing a few doors down to Charlotte’s room.

  Taking a deep breath in, I knocked on her door a few times. Several seconds passed with no answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.

  Well, without a car she couldn’t have gone very far. I took the elevator down to the lobby and peeked into the sports lounge, but there was no sign of Charlotte.

  The only other restaurant within walking distance was a Ruby Tuesday. As I exited the front sliding doors of the Holiday Inn, drizzle hit my face. Raindrops glistened on the cars as I walked across the windy parking lot to the restaurant.

  Once inside, I saw that the hostess station was empty. It was late, probably close to closing time, so there were merely a few patrons. It only took a few seconds before my eyes landed on Charlotte. She was sitting in a corner booth, looking pensive as she chewed on the end of her pen. She then began writing something on a napkin. I chuckled, thinking that maybe the words were expletives and that she was cursing me.

  I knew I needed to apologize, but in that moment I much preferred just watching her without her knowing it. I could put my guard up as much as I wanted in front of her, but lying to myself was a lot harder; it was impossible. There was no part of me that truly disliked this woman. I only disliked the fact that she reminded me of all the things I was trying to forget. It was more than just her prying that got to me. Plain and simple, the joyful attitude that always resonated from Charlotte reminded me of a time in my life when I was happy. That was painful to think about, particularly the fact that a part of me still yearned for that happiness.

  I made my way toward her and decided to bust her balls. “Did they run out of coloring books?”

  She jumped. Whatever she was writing down, she was so into it that she hadn’t noticed me standing just to her right.

  She flipped the napkin over. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard there was an all-you-can-eat salad bar. And I could use a drink.”

  “And a chill pill.”

  “I can’t mix the two, so I’ll settle for a beer.” I sat down across from her. “Am I allowed to join you?”

  “I’m not sure if I like the idea of you trying to weasel your way into my dining experience, Eastwood.”

  Weasel. She was using my own terminology against me. Fuck. I deserved it.

  Sucking up my pride, I forced out an apology. “I’m sorry that I used that term in reference to you, earlier. And I’m sorry that I lost my temper.”

  “You could’ve just said you didn’t want to talk about it. You don’t have to be so mean about everything.” Her face was red. She was really angry.

  “You’re right.”

  Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “You’re agreeing with me? That’s a first.”

  “There were a lot of firsts for me today.”

  “Like what?”

  The waitress came by to take my order, interrupting my ability to address Charlotte’s question. When we were alone again, she pushed for an answer.

  “So, what firsts?”

  “Well . . .” I scratched the scruff on my chin. “This is the first time I’ve ever set foot inside a Ruby Tuesday.” I laughed. “Today also featured the first time I’ve ever ridden in a Mini. First time I’ve ever stayed in a Holiday Inn. First time I’ve ever been in a car accident . . .”

  She looked shocked. “Really?”

  “Yes. Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to me? You were the one driving.”

  “You distracted me.”

  “You weren’t paying attention. That’s why you didn’t see the squirrel.”

  That’s right. I wasn’t paying attention because my eyes were glued to your legs. Just like they’re currently glued to your lips.

  “Maybe I was a little distracted.” Our eyes locked for a moment of silence before I changed the subject. “So what were you writing down?”

  She placed her hand over the napkin, preventing me from taking it. “I’m not sure I really want to tell you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “For some reason, I think you’ll make fun of me,” she said, her expression serious.

  Boy, she really had me pegged as an insensitive asshole.

  “Nothing with you really surprises me anymore, Charlotte. I’m well prepared for anything at this point. Try me.”

  She flipped the napkin over and hesitantly slid it in front of me.

  It was a numbered list she had started. At the top it said Fuck-It List.

  “‘Fuck-It List’? What is this?”

  “It’s like a bucket list. But I’m calling mine a Fuck-It List because that’s how I truly feel. Life is short, and we should never just assume we have all the time in the world to do the things we want to do. So fuck it! I mean, we almost died today.”

  Her comment caused me to belt out in laughter. “We almost died? Isn’t that a little bit of an exaggeration? It was a chain-reaction fender bender at best. What would we call our demise . . . like . . . Death by Squirrel?”

  “You know what I mean! It could have been a lot worse. None of us know when our time is going to come. So this whole experience today has motivated me to think about doing some of the things I’ve been putting off.”

  “Are these in order of importance?”

  “No. Just in the order that they came to my mind. I’ve only just started. I have to really think about the rest.”

  “I was going to say . . . I hope these aren’t the most important things to you . . . because number one—Sculpt a Nude Man—is certainly bizarre.”

  “That might seem bizarre to you, but for me, it would be one of the most challenging and exhilarating projects I’ve ever undertaken as an artist. The opportunity would be a dream.”

  That reminded me of the vase she’d made—the one I’d caused her to break. From what I remembered, it looked like she definitely had some talent.

  Number two was even more . . . interesting.

  “Dance with a Stranger in the Rain?”

  “That came from a romance novel I read once. It started out with two strangers, and the man pulled the woman in for a dance. Then it started pouring on them. I think it would be cool to randomly dance with a stranger, doesn’t even have to be romantic. Music and Mother Nature bringing two people together. They bond over the mere fact that they’re both alive. Doesn’t matter what their political or religious beliefs are. They know nothing about each other. All that matters is that they’re unified in that amazing moment, one they’ll each never forget for as long as they live.”

  “So some
unsuspecting person is going to be doing the tango with you this year . . .”

  “Maybe . . . if I have the guts to follow through.”

  “I have no doubt you have the guts. But how do you know when it’s the right moment to pull the trigger?”

  “I believe that you just know. That’s how a lot of things are in life.”

  “So that’s it? Just these two?”

  “Well, the rest haven’t come to me yet. You interrupted my brainstorming. I have to come up with nine.”

  “Why nine?”

  “Well, it’s really ten. But I feel like I should leave one permanently open because there’s probably something I don’t yet realize I want. So, nine for now.”

  This woman was truly like no one I’d ever met before. In many ways, it was like she was wise beyond her years, and in other ways, like she was born yesterday.

  On some level, I agreed with her live for today attitude, because you never know when life will throw you a curveball. I’d imagined myself married, living in the suburbs, and picking out dog names by now. In actuality, my situation was far different. I suppose the time to grab life by the horns is when things are going well instead of waiting for them to implode.

  “Where did you come from, Charlotte?”

  She paused for the longest time before her expression turned serious. “I don’t know.”

  “My question was sort of rhetorical,” I clarified. “But what do you mean, you don’t know?”

  Letting out a deep breath, she said, “Well, your question was ironic, then. Because I really don’t know where I came from.”

  “Adopted?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a closed adoption?”

  “Pretty much as closed as they get.” She glanced out the window at the rain droplets, then said, “I was abandoned. Someone left me at the local church. They rang the doorbell to the rectory and fled, leaving me on the doorstep.”

  I could hardly believe it. My body stiffened. That was heavy and not something I was prepared to respond to. There were no words. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could abandon their child. My own feelings of abandonment seemed trivial compared with that.

  “I’m sorry. Wow.”

  “Don’t be.” She paused, looking reflective. “It wasn’t a tragedy. I ended up with two great parents. But obviously, knowing how I came to be with them is something I can’t exactly forget. And I do feel like a huge part of me is missing. Whoever she is, I forgive her. She must have been pretty desperate, but she made sure I was safe. I’d just like to find her so that I can tell her I forgive her, in case she feels guilty.”

  Her response blew me away. What an interesting outlook. I couldn’t say I’d feel the same if my parents had done that.

  “Have you ever considered hiring a private investigator to help figure it out?”

  “Sure . . . if I could pay him in . . . what . . . peanuts? I’d never be able to afford that.”

  That was definitely a dumb question, and I immediately regretted it. When you came from money, it was easy to forget that not everyone had the world at their disposal.

  “Fair enough.”

  She placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Why?”

  “The pool is closing in a half hour.”

  “Keep your money. I’ve got the bill.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but thank you.” She took the twenty back.

  Charlotte began to make her way toward the door when I called after her.

  “Charlotte.”

  She turned around. “Yes?”

  “Why did you give me those Twizzlers?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . I had just barked at you. You were angry. But then you handed me the candy as if nothing had happened.”

  She seemed to ponder that, then said, “I could see that you were upset. I knew it had nothing to do with me but rather what my question prompted you to have to think about. I didn’t take your anger personally—aside from your using the term ‘weaseling.’ Your anger was directed toward me, I suppose, but it really wasn’t meant for me. And the truth is . . . as curious as I may be about you . . . what happened isn’t any of my business.”

  I cocked a brow. “Why are you so curious about me?”

  Her eyes seared through mine. “Because from the moment I met you, I knew you weren’t the person you were portraying.”

  “How would you come to that conclusion so fast?”

  Apparently I’d asked one question too many, because she simply walked away without an answer.

  I told myself I wasn’t going to venture over to the pool on my way back to the room. But I had to pass it anyway in order to get to the elevators.

  Maybe just one little peek.

  If she was swimming, I’d just pop my head in and say hello.

  Feeling the steam emanating from under the crack of the door, I stood outside of the entrance to the indoor pool and peeked through the glass window. Charlotte had it all to herself. Her blonde hair swayed in the water. She reminded me of a mermaid, moving with smooth precision. She stopped at one point to push her wet hair back off her face, offering me a glimpse of her drenched cleavage. It was like watching water streaming down the most beautiful mountain. My eyes darted away from her rack, not because I didn’t want to see it, but because this somehow felt creepy and voyeuristic given that she had no clue I was watching her.

  She resumed swimming back and forth across the length of the pool.

  I envied her ability to lose herself in the water. The more I watched her, the more tempted I was to jump in.

  I actually laughed out loud at that thought.

  Could you imagine? If I just jumped in and joined her?

  Charlotte would probably have a heart attack. She thought she had me pegged as a guarded, miserable person. She’d been trying to figure me out from the moment she first met me, evidently. The one thing I was certain of—if I jumped in that pool, it would be the last thing she would ever expect me to do.

  That was exactly why I wished I had the balls to do it.

  Maybe it was her little list that influenced me—not sure. But I suddenly felt motivated to step out of my comfort zone—and my pants.

  CHAPTER 11

  REED

  Charlotte Darling, I typed into the search bar.

  It had been at least six months since I’d even signed on to Facebook. Social media wasn’t my thing. But it was after midnight, and I still couldn’t fall asleep. Surprisingly, the bed was comfortable enough in the standard economy hotel room my whack-job assistant had booked me into. I just felt restless and couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.

  Since Charlotte had invaded my privacy and stalked me, I figured I’d return the favor. I started with her pictures. The last picture she’d posted was a few hours ago—an arty-looking shot of the hotel pool with some kind of a filter on it. The caption underneath it read Just keep swimming. Those three little words pretty much summed up Charlotte Darling’s outlook on life. Her ability to see the positive in a negative situation drove me nuts, yet I couldn’t help but admire it in some way.

  Fender bender and stuck in the sticks at a three-star hotel? While I groaned and thought “inconvenience” and “bed bugs,” Charlotte picked up her pom-poms and cheered “hotel pool” and “Ruby Tuesday!”

  I clicked to the next picture. What the fuck? Is that . . . me?

  She must’ve snuck and snapped the picture on the drive out here. The picture was only of my hand, so no one except me would even know who it was. But, of course, I recognized my own damn hand. My fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping it so tight that it looked like I was attempting to choke the shit out of it. My knuckles were white, and the veins in my hand and forearm were bulging. Why was I strangling the damn steering wheel? My eyes dropped to the caption she’d given the shot: Let it go.

  What the hell? She had some nerve taking a picture of me an
d posting it on social media, even if no one would recognize it was me. Let it go. I had the urge to march three doors down and let it go, alright.

  What else might Ms. Darling have posted about me? I clicked to the next photo. It was a shot of a vase painted with bright purple flowers. The caption read Create your own happiness. Create irises. This was probably the vase I’d knocked from her hands that she’d made for my grandmother. I zoomed in on the photo. Wow. Charlotte had talent if she’d made this—it was actually beautiful.

  The next photo was a close-up of Charlotte and an older woman that I thought might be her mother. Their cheeks were pressed together, and their smiles were wide. The caption read Because of you, I am.

  The next photo was of her and a woman about the same age standing on the beach, wearing bikinis and big straw hats while holding up drinks with umbrellas. Damn. Charlotte had some body—a lot of curves for a tiny girl. She wasn’t stick thin like Allison. And unlike Allison, who had perfectly plumped, round, fake tits, Charlotte had full, natural, feminine breasts. I might’ve zoomed in on that shot for a while, wondering how much softer they’d feel in my hands.

  Fuck.

  This was a bad idea.

  I clicked back to my own Facebook page to escape getting sucked into the little blonde vortex any further. Only there wasn’t much to see there. The last pictures posted were of Allison and me out on a boat last summer. I remembered when she’d taken that last shot on my phone and admired it. We looked happy. At least I thought we did at the time. What a goddamn fool I was. I gazed at her like she was the sun causing the warmth on my face. Little did I know, I should’ve doused myself in sunscreen because I was about to get burned.

  I blew out a deep breath. Why hadn’t I posted anything since then?

  Then again, what the hell would I post? Me at the office at eleven o’clock at night? A picture of takeout Chinese for one? Maybe a shot of my dog and me? Oh, that’s right. Allison took him, too, when she packed the rest of her shit.

  I couldn’t stand to look anymore. I began to close my laptop but stopped myself and instead clicked back to Charlotte’s page. She had a shitload of recent pictures. Not knowing what I was looking for yet unable to stop searching, I clicked for the next picture, then the next, then the next.