"I'd like a hotdog with everything," I say.
I'm met with blank stares. "Are you drunk?" the receptionist asks me. "Do you need help? What's your name?"
I stomp my foot and let out a bloodcurdling scream, at which all three of them drop whatever they're holding and look at each other.
I take their moment of surprise to run out. Silas is waiting for me outside the door. He's laughing so hard; he's bent over at the waist.
I punch him on the arm and then we both run for the Rover.
I can hear my own laughter blending with his. That was fun. We jump into the car and peel away just as Grouchy One, Two, and Three walk outside to watch us.
Silas drives for a few miles before he pulls into another parking lot. This time I can see the glowing sign advertising: THE BEST COFFEE AND BEIGNETS IN LOUISIANA!
"We're soaking wet," I say, not seeming to be able to wipe the smile from my face. "Do you know how messy beignets will be?"
"Silas says eat ten beignets," he says stoically.
"Ugh. Why do you have to act like a robot when you play this game? It's creeping me out."
He doesn't respond. We get a table near the window and order coffee and two dozen beignets. The waitress doesn't seem bothered by our wet clothes or the fact Silas is speaking in a robot voice.
"The waitress thinks we're cute," I tell Silas.
"We are."
I roll my eyes. This is fun. Would Charlie think this was fun?
When our beignets come, I am so hungry I don't care about my wet hair or clothes. I dive in, moaning when the warm pastry hits my tongue. Silas watches me in amusement.
"You really like those, huh?"
"They're actually really gross," I say. "I'm just really into this game."
We eat as many as we can until we're covered in white powder. Before we leave, Silas rubs some of it across my face and hair. Not to be outdone, I return the favor. God, this guy is fun. Maybe I kind of see what Charlie sees in him.
She's into this. She hasn't smiled nearly enough in the last few days I've had with her, but now she can't stop smiling.
"Where are we going now?" she says, clapping her hands together. She still has powdered sugar on the corner of her mouth. I reach across the seat and wipe it off with my thumb.
"We're going to The French Quarter," I tell her. "Lots of romantic places there."
She rolls her eyes, scrolling through her phone. "I wonder what we actually used to do for fun. Besides take selfies."
"At least they were all good selfies."
She shoots me a look of pity. "That's a contradiction. There are no such things as good selfies."
"I've been through your camera roll. I beg to differ."
She ducks her head and looks out her window, but I can see the pinks of her cheeks grow redder.
After we park, I have absolutely no plan. We filled up on so many beignets for breakfast, I'm not sure she's quite ready to have lunch yet.
We spend the first part of the afternoon walking up and down every street, stopping in almost every store. It's as if we're both so fascinated by the scenery, we forget we have a goal today. I'm supposed to make her swoon. She's supposed to swoon and fall in love with me. Get back on track, Silas.
We're on Dauphine Street when we walk past what claims to be a bookstore. Charlie turns around and grabs my hands. "Come on," she says, pulling me into the store. "I'm pretty sure the way to my heart is in here."
There are books stacked floor to ceiling, every which way. Sideways, top to bottom, books used as shelves for more books. A man sits behind a cash register to the right, which is covered in even more books. He nods a greeting as we enter. Charlie heads to the back of the store, which isn't very far away. It's a small store, but there are more books than a man could read in his entire life. She runs her fingers along the books as she passes them, looking up, down, around. She actually twirls when she gets to the end of the aisle. She's definitely in her element, whether she remembers or not.
She's facing a corner, pulling a red book off the shelf. I walk up behind her and give her another Silas Says task.
"Silas says...open the book to a random page and read the first few sentences you see..."
She chuckles. "That's easy."
"I wasn't finished," I say. "Silas says read the sentences at the top of your lungs."
She spins around to face me, eyes wide. But then a mischievous grin drags across her mouth. She stands up tall while holding the book out in front of her. "Fine," she says. "You asked for it." She clears her throat, and then, as loud as she can, she reads, "IT MADE ME WANT TO MARRY HER! MADE ME WANT TO BUY HER A MAGIC AIRPLANE AND FLY HER AWAY TO A PLACE WHERE NOTHING BAD COULD EVER HAPPEN! MADE ME WANT TO POUR RUBBER CEMENT ALL OVER MY CHEST AND THEN LAY DOWN ON TOP OF HER SO THAT WE'D BE STUCK TOGETHER, AND SO IT WOULD HURT LIKE HELL IF WE EVER TRIED TO TEAR OURSELVES APART!"
Charlie is laughing when she finishes. But when the words she read begin to register, her laughter fades. She runs her fingers over the sentences like they mean something to her. "That was really sweet," she says. She flips through the pages of the book until she comes to a stop with her finger on a different paragraph. Then, in just barely a whisper, she begins reading again. "Fate is the magnetic pull of our souls toward the people, places, and things we belong with."
She stares at the book for a moment and then closes it. She places it back on the shelf, but she moves two books out of the way so that this book can be displayed more prominently. "Do you believe that?"
"Which part?"
She leans against a wall of books and stares over my shoulder. "That our souls are pulled toward the people we belong with."
I reach out to her and pull at a lock of her hair. I run my fingers down it and twirl it around my finger. "I don't know if I normally believe in soul mates," I tell her. "But for the next twenty-four hours, I'd bet my life for it to be true."
She rolls her shoulder until her back is pressed against the wall of books, and she's facing me. I would absolutely bet my life on fate right now. I somehow have more feelings for this girl than will fit inside of me. And I want more than anything for her to feel the same thing. To want the same thing. Which...in this very moment...is for my mouth to be on hers.
"Charlie..." I release her lock of hair and bring my hand to her cheek. I touch her gently...tracing her cheekbone with my fingertips. Her breaths are shallow and quick. "Kiss me."
She leans into my hand a little and her eyes flutter. For a moment, I think she might actually do it. But then a smile steals her heated expression and she says, "Silas didn't say." She darts under my arm and disappears down the next aisle. I don't follow her. I grab the book she read from and tuck it under my arm as I head for the register.
She knows what I'm doing. The whole time I'm at the register, she's watching me from down the aisle. After I purchase the book, I walk outside and let the door shut behind me. I wait a few seconds to see if she follows me immediately out, but she doesn't. Same stubborn Charlie.
I pull the backpack off my shoulder and shove the book inside of it. Then I pull out my camera and turn it on.
She stays inside the bookstore for another half hour. I don't mind it. I know she knows I'm still out here. I take picture after picture, engrossed in the people who pass by and the way the sun is setting over the buildings, casting shadows on even the smallest of things. I take pictures of all of it. When Charlie finally makes it back outside, my battery is almost dead.
She walks up to me and says, "Where's my book?"
I hoist the backpack over my shoulder. "I didn't buy that book for you. I bought it for me."
She huffs and follows after me as I make my way down the street. "That's not a good move, Silas. You're supposed to be thoughtful. Not selfish. I want to fall in love with you, not become irritated with you."
I laugh. "Why do I feel like love and irritation go hand in hand with you?"
"Well, you have known me longer than I've known myself."
She grabs my hand to pull me to a stop. "Look! Crawfish!" She yanks me in the direction of the restaurant. "Do we like crawfish? I'm so hungry!"
Turns out, we do not like crawfish. Luckily, they had chicken strips on the menu. We both like chicken, apparently.
"We should write that down somewhere," she says, walking backward down the middle of the street. "That we hate crawfish. I don't want to have to go through that awful experience again."
"Wait! You're about to..." Charlie falls on her butt before the rest of the sentence can make it out of my mouth. "Walk into a pothole," I finish.
I reach down to help her up, but there's not much I can do about her pants. We had finally dried off after the rain from earlier today, and now she's soaking wet again. This time from muddy water. "You okay?" I ask, trying not to laugh. Trying being the key word here. Because I'm laughing harder than I've laughed all day.
"Yeah, yeah," she says as she attempts to wipe mud from her pants and her hands. I'm still laughing when she narrows her eyes and points down at the mud puddle. "Charlie says sit in the pothole, Silas."
I shake my head. "No. No way. The game is called Silas says, not Charlie says."
She arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" She takes a step closer to me and says, "Charlie says sit in the pothole. If Silas does what Charlie says, Charlie will do whatever Silas says."
Is that an invitation of sorts? I'm liking flirtatious Charlie. I glance down at the pothole. It's not that deep. I turn around and lower myself until I'm sitting cross-legged in the puddle of muddy water. I keep my eyes on Charlie's face, not wanting to witness the attention we're probably attracting from bystanders. She swallows back her laughter, but I can see the pleasure she's getting out of this.
I stay sitting in the pothole until it even starts to embarrass Charlie. After several seconds, I lean back onto my elbows and cross my legs. Someone snaps a picture of me in the pothole, so she motions for me to stand. "Get up," she says, glancing around. "Hurry."
I shake my head. "I can't. Charlie didn't say."
She grabs my hand, laughing. "Charlie says get up, you idiot." She helps me to my feet and grabs my shirt, pressing her face against my chest. "Oh my God, they're all staring at us."
I wrap my arms around her and begin to sway back and forth, which is probably not what she was expecting me to do. She looks up at me, my shirt still clenched in her fists. "Can we go now? Let's go."
I shake my head. "Silas says dance."
Her eyebrows crinkle together. "You can't be serious!"
There are several people stopped on the street now, some of them taking pictures of us. I sort of don't blame them. I'd probably take pictures of an idiot who willingly sat in a mud puddle, too.
I unclench her fists from my shirt and make her hold my hands as I force her to dance to non-existent music. She's stiff at first, but then she seems to let the laughter take over the embarrassment. We sway and dance down Bourbon Street, bumping into people as we go. The whole time, she's giggling like she doesn't have a care in the world.
After a few minutes, we come to a break in the crowd. I stop twirling her long enough to pull her to my chest and sway softly, back and forth. She's looking up at me, shaking her head. "You're crazy, Silas Nash," she says.
I nod. "Good. That's what you love about me."
Her smile fades for a moment and the look she has in her eyes causes me to stop swaying. She places her palm over my heart and stares at the back of her hand. I already know she's not feeling a heartbeat inside my chest. It's more like a drumline in mid procession.
Her eyes meet mine again. She parts her lips and whispers, "Charlie says...kiss Charlie."
I would have kissed her even if Charlie didn't say. My hand wraps in her hair a single second before my lips meet hers. When her mouth parts for mine, it feels as though she punches a hole straight through my chest and makes a fist around my heart. It hurts, it doesn't, it's beautiful, it's terrifying. I want it to last for eternity, but I'll run out of breath if this kiss goes on for just one more minute. My arm wraps around her waist, and when I pull her closer, she moans quietly into my mouth. Jesus.
The only thing I have room for in this head of mine right now is the firm belief that fate absolutely exists. Fate...soul mates...time travel...you name it. It all exists. Because that's what her kiss feels like. Existence.
We're momentarily jolted when someone bumps into us. Our mouths seaparate, but it takes effort to free ourselves from whatever hold just took over. The music from all the open doors along the street comes back into focus. The lights, the people, the laughter. All the external things that ten seconds of her kiss just blocked out are rushing back. The sun is setting, and nighttime seems to transform this entire street from one world to another. I can't think of anything I want more than to get her out of here. Neither of us seems to be able to move, though, and my arm feels like it weighs twenty pounds when I reach for her hand. She slides her fingers through mine and we begin walking in silence back toward the parking lot where my car is.
Neither of us speaks a word the entire walk back. Once we're both inside my car, I wait a moment before cranking it. Things are too heavy. I don't want to start driving until we get out whatever it is we need to say. Kisses like that can't linger without acknowledgment.
"Now what?" she asks, staring out the window.
I watch her for a moment, but she doesn't move. It's as if she's frozen. Suspended in time between the last kiss and our next one.
I buckle up and put the car in drive. Now what? I have no idea. I want to kiss her like that a million more times, but every single kiss would end just like that one did. With the fear that I won't remember it tomorrow.
"We should go back home and get a decent night's sleep," I say. "We also need to make more notes in case..." I cut myself off.
She pulls on her seatbelt. "In case soul mates don't exist..." she finishes.
During our drive to Silas's house, I think about everything we've learned today. I think about my father and how he isn't a good human. Part of me is scared that being a good person is inherent. I've read enough about how I used to be to know that I didn't treat people very well. Silas included.
I can only hope that the person I turned out to be was the result of outside influences, and not because that's who I'll always be. A vindictive, cheating shell of a person.
I open the backpack and begin reading more notes while Silas drives. I come across something about files that Silas stole from his father, and how we suspect they might implicate my father. Why would Silas steal those from his father? If my father is guilty, which I believe he is, why would Silas want to hide that?
"Why do you think you stole those files from your father?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "I don't know. The only thing I can come up with is that maybe I hid them because I felt bad for you. Maybe I didn't want your father to go to prison for longer than he already was, because it would have broken your heart."
That sounds like something Silas would do.
"Are they still in your room?" I ask him.
Silas nods. "I think so. I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that I keep them near my bed."
"When we get to your house tonight, I think you should give them to your father."
Silas glances at me across the seats. "Are you sure about that?"
I nod. "He's ruined a lot of lives, Silas. He deserves to pay for that."
"Charlie didn't know you had these?"
I'm standing outside Silas's father's study. When we walked in the door and he saw me with Silas, I thought he was going to hit him. Silas told him to give him five minutes to explain. He ran upstairs and got the files and brought them back down to his father.
I can't hear their entire conversation. Silas is explaining to him that he hid them to protect me. He's apologizing. His father is quiet. And then...
"Charlie? Can you come in here, please?"
His father scares me. Not in the way my father scared me. Clark Nash is int
imidating, but he doesn't seem evil. Not like Brett Wynwood.
I walk into his office and he motions for me to take a seat next to Silas. I do. He paces the length of his desk a few times and then stops. When he faces us, he's looking directly at me.
"I owe you an apology."
I'm sure he can see the shock in my expression. "You do?"
He nods. "I've been harsh on you. What your father did to me--to our company--that had nothing to do with you. Yet I blamed you when the files went missing, because I knew how fiercely you stood by him." He glances back at Silas and says, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed in you, Silas. Interfering with a federal investigation..."
"I was sixteen, Dad. I didn't know what I was doing. But I do now, and Charlie and I both want to make things right."
Clark Nash nods and then walks around his desk to take a seat. "So does this mean we'll be seeing you around more often, Charlie?"
I glance at Silas and then back at his father. "Yes, sir."
He smiles a little bit, and his smile looks just like Silas's smile. Clark should smile more often.
"Very well, then," he says.
Silas and I both take that as our cue to leave. As we're walking up the stairs, Silas pretend-falls, sinking down on the top stair as he clutches his chest. "Christ, that man is terrifying," he says.
I laugh and pull him back to his feet.
At least if things don't work out in our favor tomorrow, we'll have done one good deed.
"Charlie, you were a good sport today," Silas says, tossing me a t-shirt. I'm sitting cross-legged on his floor. I catch it and shake it out to see what's on the front. It's a camp t-shirt. He doesn't offer pants.
"Is that your way of flirting with me?" I ask. "Bringing sport into your compliments?"
Silas makes a face. "Look around this room. Do you see anything sports related?"
It's true. He seems to be more into photography than anything else. "'You're on the football team," I say.