“Because the pretend date is to get good enough at being his pretend girlfriend for his parents’ fortieth anniversary dinner.”
Charlotte stared at her and then laughed.
Jane pointed at her. “Stop that.”
“No promises.” Charlotte loaded up two plates and handed Jane one. “You know what I love? How you go kicking and screaming into anything good in your life, like you’re afraid it’s going to turn out to be a bad thing. So hey, if you have to tell yourself this is pretend, whatever, I’m all for it.”
“I’m not telling myself it’s pretend, it IS pretend. It’s just so that it seems believable and all that.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jane rolled her eyes as she dug in. “Oh my God, this is delicious. Oh, and I bought your birthday present, so don’t go snooping.”
Charlotte was turning forty next week and would really rather not. “I told you not to get me anything.”
“I didn’t listen.”
She sighed like she was put out, but in fact, presents were both rare and a secret thrill. “Okay, so let’s see this present.”
“No way.” Jane was looking smug, which meant she was comfortable enough to be looking smug, and that was actually the gift, whether Jane knew it or not. “You don’t get it until your birthday next week.”
“Spoilsport.” Charlotte watched Jane push around the food with her fork. “What else?”
“How do you know there’s anything else?”
Charlotte just looked at her.
Jane sighed. “I went and visited my grandpa again yesterday.”
“A visit implies you had a conversation. Did you two have a conversation?”
“Okay, correction,” Jane said. “I spied on his weekly lunch with some of his old work buddies.”
Charlotte studied Jane’s face. “So far this season, you’ve stalked his weekly breakfasts with friends and now his weekly lunch with his old work buddies.”
“Yep.”
Charlotte looked at her.
Jane sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ridiculous.”
Charlotte’s heart clenched tight at the unsure look on Jane’s face. “Only if you hide under a table again.”
Jane smiled. “You want to talk about hiding under tables?”
Okay, so that hadn’t exactly been one of her finer moments. “Extenuating circumstances.”
“Uh-huh. And no, I didn’t hide under the table.” Jane paused. “I stayed outside and watched through the window.”
Charlotte laughed. “We’ve made progress.”
“We? The only way we made progress is if you ran into Mateo today, didn’t hide under a table, and agreed to go out with him.”
Ignoring this and the flutter low in her belly, Charlotte went chin up. “How does he look?”
“Sexy as hell,” Jane said. “Dr. Hottie Patottie’s got that whole laid-back, easygoing charm down, and matched with that leanly muscled runner’s build and the fact that he’s brilliant—”
“I meant your grandpa!” Charlotte said. She didn’t need to know how Mateo looked, he was imprinted on her brain. And Jane was right, he was sexy as hell.
Jane grinned, then thought about it as she took a few bites of food. And her smile slowly faded. “He’s a little pale, a little tired. Clearly still recovering from his heart attack. His last EKG showed minor damage, but sufficient blood and oxygen supply to the heart.”
Charlotte’s heart skipped. “Tell me you didn’t break any HIPAA laws, putting your job, not to mention your license, in jeopardy to get that information.”
“I didn’t break any HIPAA laws to get that information.” Jane paused. “I eavesdropped on his conversation with one of his friends in the parking lot after his lunch.” She looked at Charlotte. “You’re not going to suggest I go talk to him?”
Hell, no. “I’m still not sure he deserves you.”
Jane leaned in and gave Charlotte a very rare hug that got her right in the feels. “Better than rent money,” she quipped, making Jane snort.
Jane gathered the dishes. Charlotte got up to help as well, and Jane shook her head. “You cooked. I clean. That’s the rule.”
“We don’t have any rules between us.”
“Yes we do, and you made them.” Jane held up a finger. “Rule number one: I must come to Tahoe for this job every year and I must stay with you.”
“Well, that one’s just good sense,” Charlotte said.
“Rule number two: we tell each other when we’re standing on the edge looking down, ready to jump.”
Charlotte nodded. It’d happened. To both of them.
“Rule number three,” Jane said. “And this is more of an unspoken rule: you cook because I don’t, and I clean because you don’t. Now go. Go be free.” She made a shooing motion at Charlotte with her hands.
She laughed and then went outside to finish with the lights. She was back up on the ladder, her headphones on full blast, dancing in place on the rung, singing to herself as she worked.
When someone unexpectedly put a hand on her foot from below, she nearly jerked right out of her skin. Reacting purely instinctively, she kicked.
And caught Mateo right on the chin.
He staggered back a step. “Nice one, tiger.”
Yanking out an earbud, she stared down at him in horror. “Are you all right?”
“No blood no foul,” he said, seeming more amused than irritated. “And a hundred percent my fault.”
Okay, now that she could breathe again and he probably wasn’t hurt, she climbed down. A proper southern woman always looked a person in the eyes while she yelled at him. “Why in the world did you sneak up on me like that?”
He shrugged. “When I made myself known the other day at the hospital cafeteria, you ran off. So I figured I’d try a new tactic.”
“You figured wrong.”
He cocked his head, smile fading as he studied her. She knew what he saw. Her eyes were misty, her hands were shaking. And while she’d meant to sound angry, the words had caught in her throat, giving herself away.
His expression serious now, he said, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I won’t do it again.”
She swallowed hard at the sincerity in his voice and the regret in his eyes. “Thank you.” She turned to climb back up the ladder.
“Charlotte.”
A sigh escaped her, but she hesitated.
“You’re shaking. Give yourself a minute.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But do it for me.”
She hesitated, but eventually nodded because she really was still shaking. Annoying as hell. And clearly also far too revealing, because he slowly—so slowly it made her ache—drew her in . . . pausing to look into her eyes before he hugged her.
Yeah, she’d definitely given herself away, maybe even more than she thought, because they’d never touched before.
Not once.
And dear sweet baby Jesus, why hadn’t they ever touched before? His arms . . . they were almost as good as his chest, which she had her cheek pressed to.
He drew a deep breath as if he was just as unexpectedly shaken as she by the physical contact, then pressed his face into her hair. “Charlotte?”