I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(68)

“Honestly, I think it could be the real deal.”

I kept my eyes shut, even in my dream. I could listen all day to Beth’s ridiculousness, but I was way too tired to open my sandpaper eyes and watch her Rhett Myers–infused mania taking residence in her crazy eyes.

Seriously, why was I dreaming about Beth and her crush? It was a little odd. I should be dreaming about my own man.

“Okay, well, I’m at Charlie’s, so I need to go.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah, love you too, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.” A clunk sounded—Beth putting her phone on a hard surface, maybe?—and feet shuffled toward me.

“Hey,” Beth said, her fingers brushing hair from my face.

I was instantly aware of how stiff and uncomfortable I felt, and it hit me: I wasn’t dreaming. Beth was actually here, and the Rhett Myers–mania was her on the phone with her mom. But oh, why did my muscles hurt so much? It’s not like I’d actually used them.

“Whoa, girl,” Beth said, an amused edge to her tone.

Stretching, I yawned and tried to rub the tired from my eyes. It was much too bright in here . . . and then I remembered where I was, and why I was slumped on the old, worn leather loveseat in my studio.

Beth moved to stand in front of the easel holding my depiction of Bellmead at night and whistled. “This is gorgeous. Is it like a bird’s eye view or something?”

“Something like that.”

She looked over her shoulder. “So . . . you painted?”

I held her gaze. “Yes, and you’re probably the only person who will ever see it.”

She came over and plopped onto the seat beside me. We were way too snug, but she didn’t care about things like personal space, pulling her long legs up and nestling in. “I want to hear everything.”

“Nothing’s changed. I still don’t want to make this a career. I’m not about to call up the Roseria Gallery and submit my work.” I shrugged. Wow, I was doing great at sounding detached. Maybe if I said it enough times I would feel it too. “I just had inspiration and went with it.”

“You haven’t had inspiration and gone with it in, what, three years?”

“Four,” I corrected. “I graduated four years ago.”

Beth’s brown eyes widened. “Exactly. Isn’t this something to celebrate?”

“I don’t see why.”

“And I don’t see why you’re being so blasé about this.” She flung her arm toward the painting. “This is huge, Charlie.”

I stood. I couldn’t handle the inquisition anymore. Stretching my arms high above my head, I lengthened my spine as far as I could and immediately felt less tired. “I need to clean this up.”

Beth took the hint. She didn’t push it any further while I gathered the soiled brushes sitting in water and took them to the sink to wash out. I should have done this last night. I didn’t even remember curling up on the loveseat or balling my hoodie into a pillow.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost ten.”

My body went into immediate panic mode. “Ugh. I’ve got to be at work in an hour.” And I needed a Diet Coke, pronto.

“Your bank has the weirdest hours.” Beth came over and bumped me with her hip. “You go get in the shower, and I’ll clean these brushes.”

“You don’t have—”

“Go,” she said, pushing me over with her hip again to get access to the sink.

“Thanks.” I ran to my room, grabbed a fresh set of work clothes, and got in the shower. By the time I was out of the bathroom and ready to go, I had fifteen minutes before I needed to leave, and Beth was sitting on my couch, flipping through movie choices on our shared family app on the TV.

“So what’s going on?” I asked.

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Nothing. I just haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t working today.”

Her eyes got all wide, and a grin spread over her lips. “My wedding today was canceled. I was halfway to Sonoma when the mother of the bride called me and apologized, then told me not to come. I got paid today for doing nothing.”

“That poor bride.”

She pulled a face. “Smart groom. The bride was loco. I definitely earned the deposit they paid during her trial run last month.” Turning back to the TV, she selected an older romcom and clicked play. “So what time are you off?”

“Four-thirty. Are you gonna stay here?”

She nestled into the couch. “I don’t know.”

I chuckled, grabbing my purse from the coffee table. “I’ll call you tonight.”

She was glued to the TV and the horrible ‘90s music playing over the intro. She pulled a blanket absently over her legs and was completely unconcerned with making herself at home.

“I’ll let my parents know you’re up here.”

“They know,” she said. “Have fun at work!”

I skipped down the stairs, grabbed a Clif Bar from the pantry and an apple from the counter, and left for work. The fog of staying up way too late was hovering over me, and the sun was way, way too bright, forcing me to squint behind my sunglasses.

I definitely needed today to be a calm, chill day at the bank. No drama, no listening to Marissa crying over Todd, just work.