Page 30 of My Favorite Lost Cause (The Favorites #2)

MAREN

“ S o today’s the day,” Charlie says glumly over breakfast on Friday. “You sure you don’t want to run into town for a last-minute bikini wax?”

I’m not playing this little game with him. He already seems to hate Andrew as much as he did Harvey and they’ve never even met in person.

“I had it all lasered off ages ago,” I reply with my most withering look. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

A muscle flexes in his jaw. “That was probably more than I needed to know.”

“It was more than you needed to know when you asked me the question,” I reply. “Let’s not pretend I was the one who crossed the line.”

I spend the day itching to open Margaret’s journal again, as if it might tell me what I’m in for tonight, but Andrew is no George Graves.

He’s not pompous; he’s not a coward. And Charlie is no William Howard, though perhaps that’s simply because I assume William Howard didn’t have threesomes or claim fatherhood is worse than being murdered.

It’s late afternoon when Andrew’s rented G wagon pulls into the circular drive. Elijah and the guys are gone for the day, and Charlie has made himself blessedly scarce—to my surprise.

Andrew is exactly the guy I remember: fit, handsome, responsible, genuine. The kind of guy I should have married in the first place. He will not try to push me into sleeping with him tonight in Beaufort—I have no idea why I was worried.

With the puppies frolicking underfoot, I show him around the house—the views, the trail, the crazy old root cellar, all the rooms upstairs, and the century-old graffiti from Walter and his brother.

I tell him about the family and the mystery surrounding what happened to them, minus the bit where I dreamed of the journal’s location. He’s probably the kind of guy who’d think my wacky paranormal encounters are cute, but you can never be too sure.

“Seems like the kind of place that ought to hold a family again,” he ventures, and there’s something in his gaze that has me wondering if he’s referring to us .

I swore I was on a cleanse from thinking about my marital situation and my ticking clock, but it’s impossible not to consider the possibility.

Falling for Andrew could certainly solve a lot of my problems at once.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.

“Clearly this place didn’t deserve to be condemned. It might even qualify for a historical designation if there was time to apply for one.”

“So there’s not time?”

He frowns. “If this developer is as connected as you think he is, he’s going to make sure this happens fast. But we can discuss over dinner.”

I nod, reluctantly. I’m not sure why I’m dragging my heels but I suspect it’s simply that I’m sad about missing a night in with Charlie. And speaking of…where the hell is he? We’ve toured the entire property, and there’s been no sign of him.

“Okay,” I reply. “Let me just see if Charlie can watch the dogs.”

I leave Andrew on the back deck and walk toward the cottages. I’m nearly there when Charlie emerges, freshly showered, in khakis and a button-down. So handsome he takes my breath away.

Actually, he’s always that handsome. I’d just gotten sort of accustomed to the version of him in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Are you going out ?” It sounds angrier than I’d intended it to.

His smile is the tiniest bit cruel. “You’re not the only one of us who can make plans, Maren.”

“I was going to see if you could watch the puppies,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “If you’ll just be in Oak Bluff, you’ll be home before me. Can you please let them out when you get home?”

“I’ll be in Beaufort,” he replies, “and it’s the kind of situation where you don’t come home ’til the next day.”

It shouldn’t be the gut punch that it is.

I rack my brain for a way to object to this and come up short. I could argue that he shouldn’t be meeting a stranger for sex—simply in terms of safety—but unless she’s six-foot-five or armed, he’s probably fine, and he wouldn’t listen to me anyway.

“Be safe,” I warn, my jaw locked as I proceed to the cottage.

I set Echo and Narcy up with food and water inside, then apologize to Andrew once I’ve returned. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t be gone long because of the dogs. Charlie’s apparently staying out all night.”

Andrew laughs. “I guess his reputation serves, then. I know nothing about the guy, but I’ve heard the rumors.”

I find it far less amusing than he does.

Andrew still wants to go to dinner in Beaufort, despite the time restriction, which I guess is pretty sweet. On the way there, we talk about his divorce, which sounds far more amicable than mine.

“I’d like to come out of this thing still friends,” he says. “I’ll be running into her for the rest of my life, after all.”

A few months ago, before I came down here, a statement like this would have made him seem like the perfect man. The opposite of Harvey, who’d be out to ruin me right now if he wasn’t terrified of Henry.

Tonight, though, I’m fighting the fear that he’s perhaps slightly too nice? That I sort of like someone with a tiny bit of an edge?

Stop. Andrew is perfect, and it’s a pleasant change after Charlie .

Except I love all the ways Charlie isn’t nice, aside from the one where he stays out all night with a woman he’s just met.

That one isn’t my favorite.

“I’m hogging the conversation,” he says. “Sorry. How is your stuff coming along? Do you want to talk about it?”

My mouth opens, then closes.

Harvey’s accusing me of sleeping with Charlie might sound as crazy to him as it is, or he might think where there’s smoke, there’s fire —especially given how hostile Charlie was to Andrew during their phone call.

“We had a prenup,” I say simply. “My lawyer says I’ll be free by next spring.”

“That’s good,” he says with a half-smile.

Maybe I’m reading too much into everything—I’ve certainly been known to do so—or maybe Andrew’s thoughts are traveling in the precise direction mine would have been even a few months ago: that we want the same things and might make a good team.

It wouldn’t be thrilling, but is any marriage thrilling once you’ve been in it long enough?

Over dinner, Andrew continues to impress me.

He manages to discuss the failings in his relationship without making Kristen out to be the villain.

He is interested in what he does for a living but not obsessed with it.

“I work long hours,” he says, “but that’s mostly because I don’t have anyone to come home to. ”

As far as the house goes, he’s got a couple old friends who are very well connected. He’s placing some calls tomorrow. “I think the other angle we should consider is whether this property developer has done this elsewhere,” he says. “If we can threaten him with bad publicity, he might back off.”

It sounds as if there’s almost no need to go to the Bridgerton -themed ball. Except that I really want to.

Our plates are cleared. Andrew’s talking about golfing at Pebble Beach and for some reason, this makes me think of Charlie.

I don’t know why—Charlie doesn’t even golf.

But all I want in the whole world is to get back to Riverbend and sit on the porch with him, to tell him about my night and all my fears, and the fact that I’d like to be more excited about Andrew than I am.

Kit calls Charlie “the douchiest man in Manhattan” and he hasn’t done a whole lot to disprove the name, but…

there’s no one else in the whole world I want to tell everything to.

There’s no one else I want to be around.

If only he was going to be there tonight.

And he’s not, which ought to be all the proof I need that my interests are better served elsewhere.

“Look,” Andrew says, setting the dessert menu off to the side.

His face is open and genuine. “I’m going to be blunt.

Probably too blunt. I’ve been interested in you since the moment Harvey introduced us.

I was married, and I wouldn’t have acted on it, but Maren…

I liked you five years ago, and I’ve liked you a little more every time I’ve seen you since, so when you’re ready to start dating again, I want to be first in line.

I know you guys were having issues getting pregnant, but I’m ready to be a father, even if the kid isn’t mine.

I’m not entirely clear on how in vitro works, but if you’ve got those eggs ready to go and need someone there to raise a child with, I would like to be that guy.

If you want to adopt, I’m okay with that too. ”

I guess I don’t have to sit around guessing what tonight was about. He couldn’t have been clearer, and it’s everything I could have asked for. I should be bursting at the seams, but I’m not.

“Wow.” My laughter is gentle, awkward. How do you reply to a guy who’s just put all that on the table? “That’s not where I thought tonight was heading.”

His head tilts. “No? Kristen told me she’d shared the hall pass thing with you. I was so fucking embarrassed, but…I assumed you knew I was interested.”

I love that he’s so open. I love that he’s not acting diffident, not keeping his cards close to his chest. I wish I could tell him that all this sounded great to me, and it does sound great. It just doesn’t feel great.

“Harvey and I are not even officially separated yet, so I hadn’t even begun to think about dating.” It’s not true, but it’s easier than saying give me some time to convince myself . “I just need a little time to get myself together?”

“Of course,” he replies, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.

He pays the bill, and we begin to move through the restaurant. We’re nearly to the door when my phone buzzes.

Charlie

I’m outside. I’ll give you a ride home.

How does he even know I’m here? It doesn’t matter. My whole body is weak with relief. He isn’t going home with someone else.

“Charlie’s date went badly,” I announce. “He’s waiting outside.”

Andrew’s brow furrows at that, but he says nothing. He walks me to the door. “I’ll investigate the house situation a little,” he says. “And you’ll let me know when you’re ready to date?”

“I will,” I say, kissing his cheek before I head toward Charlie’s idling car and climb inside.

“Kiss on the cheek,” Charlie scoffs. “Sad end to a sad night.”

I click my seat belt. “It was a lovely night, actually. And you’re one to talk about sad nights. What happened?”

He pulls onto the oak-lined road that will lead us to the highway. “She had a magnet on her fridge that made me lose all respect for her.”

I turn toward him, grinning. “You ended it over a fridge magnet. Was this magnet…pro Hitler? A Confederate flag? I’m really struggling to imagine what magnet could offend you to this extent.”

“It said Live, laugh, love ,” he replies, as if this is an entirely reasonable answer.

“What is that supposed to do? Does she assume I was not planning to live, laugh, or love, but now that I’ve seen it on her refrigerator, I’ll think twice?

Does she forget to do those things and simply need a reminder? ”

“You’re being incredibly picky, Charles.”

“This from a woman now dating Andrew, a man whose only redeeming quality is that he’s not Harvey.”

I let my head rest against the window as I turn toward him again. “I’m not dating him, and he has other qualities.”

“Name one.”

I sigh. “He’s nice. He has a good job. He’s being decent to his ex as they divorce and he’s helping us with the house. He—” I pause because I’m struggling to think of anything else.

“You can’t come up with a goddamn thing you like about this guy other than the fact that he doesn’t belittle you the way Harvey did,” Charlie says. “Not a single goddamn thing. Is he attractive? Is he interesting? Is he charming? Is he powerful?”

“He’s attractive enough.”

He sneers. “That’s a no, then, to all of it. ”

“Why do you care?” I demand, and he blinks, as if he’s been caught at something, just as the light turns green.

“Maybe because you’ve got terrible taste in men, and I don’t want to see you making another mistake.”

“That’s rich, Charlie,” I snap. “You were just about to fuck a girl you’d never met and got turned off by her fridge magnet , while my ‘terrible taste’ led to dinner with a guy who said he’s ready to settle down and have kids.”

“And you want children so badly that you would essentially prostitute yourself to get them,” he accuses.

“I wouldn’t be prostituting myself,” I argue. “He’s a great guy.”

“You’re way happier with me,” he replies.

Maybe he’s right, but how’s that even relevant? We both know nothing with Charlie can last forever.