Charlotte touched the pretty ornament. “This memory hurts you?”
Jane blew out a breath. “Okay, no. Not that one. It’s actually one of my favorite memories.”
“Then why don’t you hold on to that feeling whenever you look at it? Trust me, you can’t run away from your past forever.”
Jane snorted. “One breakfast with Dr. Hottie Patottie and all of a sudden you’re Dr. Phil.”
“Ha-ha.” Charlotte handed back the ornament. “Is it possible someone from your past left it for you? Like your grandpa?”
“I guess . . . but doubtful. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Jane turned the pretty ornament in the light. “It’s so fragile. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll end up breaking it if I take it with me when I go.”
“Then leave it here, in your bedroom, for when you come back next season.”
“I don’t like taking up your space with my junk. Plus, you never know if you’re going to need the room for another renter while I’m gone.”
Charlotte’s first instinct was to sigh with annoyance, but instead she took in the anxiety on Jane’s face and ached for her. “There’s always going to be a room for you here. For you and your stuff, Jane.”
Jane stood up. “Don’t say that, because you never know what’s going to happen. Have you talked to Sandra? She wants to extend her stay.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking of buying bunk beds for the downstairs bedroom. Zoe said she wouldn’t mind sharing.”
“You don’t need to spend the money on a new bed,” Jane said. “Seriously. The easier solution is for me to head out early.”
Okay, Charlotte was done with this convo. Spinning on her heels, she opened her junk drawer, grabbed a Sharpie. Without another word, she headed down the hall.
She heard Jane mutter, “What the—” and smiled grimly to herself when she also heard footsteps following after her.
“What are you doing?” Jane asked.
Charlotte uncapped the Sharpie and wrote JANE in big letters across her bedroom door. “Does this make it clear?”
“That’s permanent ink,” Jane said.
“Yes, as permanent as your place is here.”
Jane looked at her. “You do realize that paint could cover it up.”
Charlotte pointed at her with the Sharpie. “Don’t ruin this for me. We’re having a moment.”
“I’m not good at moments.”
“No kidding. Now hush, or I’ll make you hug me again. Maybe even cry too.” She snagged an arm around Jane’s neck and dragged her in close. “Never mind. I’ll hug you.” And she did just that, holding tight while Jane sighed dramatically. “Bad shit happens,” Charlotte said. “To all of us. We’ll deal.”
“You deal better than me,” Jane said.
“That’s because when things get bad, I know I can fly home, where my mom has my name on my bedroom door. It makes everything so much easier knowing I have a room out there waiting for me, always. And I want the same for you.”
“But what if you need the money?”
Charlotte’s throat tightened at the genuine worry on Jane’s face. “I won’t. I don’t rent out my rooms because I need the money. You know that. I need time with my best friend, the sister of my heart, whenever she can get into town.”
Jane looked simultaneously touched and upset. “If I’m your best friend, you’re in trouble.”
Charlotte smiled. “I think I’m in good hands.”
Jane sighed. “You are. You know how I feel about you.”
“Well, I do my best to guess, since you’re such a miser with words.”
“I . . . we’re . . .”
Charlotte raised a brow.
“You’re my person, okay? Happy now?” Jane finally said, and Charlotte felt her eyes sting. She sniffed and Jane stared at her. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
Charlotte’s eyes filled.
“No. No crying in the hallway!” Jane blinked, her own eyes looking suspiciously misty. “I mean it. You know I have a sympathy cry thing, and you also know I hate to cry!”
Charlotte laughed through her tears. “Maybe I’ve just got something in my eye.”
“Yeah, right.” Then suddenly Jane straightened up like a light bulb had gone off over her head. “Levi.”
Charlotte blinked, confused. “Huh?”
“The present! I think it could be Levi. He’s the one who got me back my locket. And he knows what a sugar plum fairy would mean to me.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. What was he thinking?”
Charlotte watched Jane pace back and forth. “I don’t know about him, but I’m guessing you’re thinking he knows you far better than you’re comfortable with.”
“It’s like he can read me. What the hell is that?”
It was a man falling hard, not that she could say so without freaking Jane out even more. “And you’re not comfortable with that, not even a little bit.”
Jane gave her a “duh” look and Charlotte felt her mouth curve. “You know you have to thank him, right? And a gift with this level of sentiment requires an in-person thank-you. It’s etiquette.”
Jane leaned back against her bedroom door and thunked her head against the wood.
Charlotte knew better than to laugh, but as it was her greatest wish for Jane to find someone special enough to keep her here in Tahoe, she allowed herself a small smile.
Chapter 15
That night, Jane showered, pulled on her fave pj’s, which were an old oversize tee and undies, and went into her favorite thinking position—curled up in her bed under a thick down comforter.
Nothing could get to her in here. Not destructive thoughts, not unhappy memories, not the stress of her job, nothing.
She intended to have a good think. Maybe over whether she was doing the right thing about not contacting her grandpa, letting him know she was around.
But that’s not where her brain took her. Nope, instead it kept replaying snapshots in her head of how she’d felt the other night, making s’mores with Levi. Why had he left her a present when they were only pretending to be involved?
But maybe the better question was, why did she care?
When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. She’d slept the entire night through without waking up racked with anxiety.
What was that?
She had to laugh as she got out of bed. She hated anxiety, but now that it had gone missing for a night, she was anxious about losing the anxiety.
Which settled it.
She’d lost her mind.
She hustled through her morning routine. Then she and Charlotte hit up the diner for breakfast before their shifts. The cook came out and slapped a twenty into Charlotte’s waiting palm before vanishing back into the kitchen.
“He lost a bet,” Charlotte said. “Last week he sliced his hand open when I was here.”
“Wait. You come here without me?”
“No, when you’re busy, I stay at home, frozen in time until you come home.”
Jane rolled her eyes and Charlotte smiled. “Jealous. Cute. Anyway, he sliced his hand wide open. I wanted to stitch him up, but he insisted on using Super Glue because he’s got a needle phobia. I told him it was a terrible idea, but have you ever successfully talked a man out of a stupid idea? No, right? So he found some sort of construction glue and electric tape and told me to pick my poison. I told him that either would land him in the ER with an infection. We bet on it—his idea,” she said, raising her hands like she was innocent. “Not mine. So he Super Glued his hand.”