Chapter 23

“All set?” I ask Brian, standing behind the ribbon.

He holds up a finger, using his other hand to press a button on his headset. Moments later, he gives me a thumbs-up to let me know security has done their full sweep and we’re clear to proceed.

I take Charlotte’s hand on my left, Trixie’s on my right as we step onto the small stage just off Main Street. Charlotte steps forward, happiness shooting off her like fireworks as the assembled crowd claps.

“Thank you so much for coming. Today, we begin a new chapter in the story of Roseboro. Once upon a time, families spent hours together. I remember my Grandma Winnie teaching me so much. How to bake, how to garden, how to sew—though that lesson didn’t go so well.” She pauses as everyone laughs.

“But over the years, our culture has succumbed to the dreaded ‘busy’ bug, and the divide between generations grew. There aren’t Sunday dinners where everyone gathers around the table together, or daily phone calls to catch up. In my Grandma Winnie’s honor, I’d like to see this change.”

She looks back at me and Trixie, smiling. “We’d like to see this change. So welcome to the first ever Generations of Hope event. We’ve been fortunate to partner with people of every age, businesses of every industry, and hopefully, your hearts today. Meet, talk, share, impart knowledge, and let us bridge the gap and create a new generation of hope.”

Trixie and I step forward, giant scissors in our hands, and Charlotte holds the ribbon as we cut, the three of us kicking it off together, making the idea we sprouted over work in the bakery come to life before our very eyes.

The crowd cheers as the ribbon drops, the mob surging forward. It’s a good mix of seniors and kids, and everything in between, which I’m glad to see. That’s the vital key to making this a success.

“We did it,” I say proudly. “Mission accomplished.”

Trixie rolls her eyes, punching me in the shoulder lightly. “Military talk, really?” She moves her hand, mimicking a talking mouth. “Roger wilco, hooah, hooah, sir!”

Charlotte, though, has stars in her eyes. Admittedly, they probably have more to do with the smiling faces all around us, but I’ll take some credit for her smile when she curls into my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Hush, I like it when he talks all military.”

Oh? I could think of some orders I’d like to give her.

But now’s not the time, even though Trixie says, “And that’s my cue to leave you two alone. Don’t do anything to scar the little kiddies or cause one of the old farts to have a heart attack.” She winks as she walks off, laughing.

Charlotte and I walk around, checking in with the various booths and getting to see our handiwork firsthand.

In the first tent, Jeanine Matherson, a retired fine arts teacher from Upstate who retired to Roseboro, is leading a beginner class on pencil drawing. She’s got a group of mixed students, some young and some old, but all concentrating on the line technique she’s demonstrating. The next tent has a tiny, grey-haired woman with thick ropes of yarn looped over her arms as she coaches her students through some tricky method of over-under.

“I’ll be back for your second lesson, Mrs. Petrie,” Charlotte calls out, and the woman smiles and nods. Turning, she giggles. “And there’s the competition.”

I look over to see a white-haired woman with a gleaming smile handing out cookies, waving when Charlotte waves. “Who’s she?”

“Joan Harris, the police chief’s wife. I don’t think there’s been a single school bake sale, charity event, or church bazaar in town that she isn’t there with her cookies.”

“Oh?” I ask, amused. “How are they?”

She sighs, but not unkindly. “They’re delicious, and gorgeously decorated by hand. Each and every one of them piped to perfection. Diabetics are warned to stay ten feet away from her at all times. That’s why I stick to every other treat and let her have the corner on the decorated cookie market.”

We watch the storytelling area for a while, where kids are sitting enraptured as older citizens read them stories. A few of them seem to be telling stories of their own, sharing their wisdom with the next generation.

The picture of the day has to be a little girl, probably only three or four years old, fast asleep in the arms of a grey-haired man in a wheelchair. She’d asked if she could sit in his lap, declared him her new grandpa, skin color differences notwithstanding, then promptly passed out from all the excitement.

It’s enough to make a hardened soldier like me get a bit choked up.

We walk on, and I find Cody at a booth showcasing the Jacobs Bio-Tech arm prosthesis. It’s a current offering from our product catalog, though it’s always being updated as new technologies become realities. But the kids and adults gathered around him don’t seem to think it’s outdated. Based on his current discussion of whether the ‘robot arm’ or Iron-Man would win an arm-wrestling competition, he seems to be doing quite well, actually. My favorite is the young man who’s explaining to a grandma who Iron-Man is, using the image on his shirt as a show-and-tell.

I offer a wave, which he answers with a bro chin lift and a smile. Then his eyes turn to Charlotte, and he calls out, “Thanks again for inviting Jacobs Bio-Tech, Charlotte. Your Generations of Hope event seems to be a raging success!” The crowd around him turns to look at Charlotte, who’s blushing at the attention as they all thank her, saying how much fun they’re having and asking when the next one will be.

Eventually, we make our way down the rest of the row. “Your brother is pretty slick with the name dropping,” Charlotte says, “and the gaggle of people mobbing him.”

Pride bubbles up, not that I had anything to do with Cody’s prowess as a representative of the company or the family, but just that he’s my brother and is doing so well.

“You want to head to the grills and grab a bite to eat before your cake decorating demo this afternoon?” I ask Charlotte, who’s looking around with a beaming smile on her face.

She agrees, but before we take a step to follow the delicious aroma wafting through the area, a deep voice sounds from behind us. “Charlotte.”

She whirls as I automatically reach for my Sig, which is stored in a fanny pack, much to my displeasure. Unfortunately, it’d been the best family-friendly way to carry. Instead of a threat, though, I find Thomas and Mia approaching.

Charlotte lets out an ear-splitting ‘eeeee’ and grabs Mia in a big hug, the two of them going total girl-giddy.

Thomas eyes me up and down. “Things look wonderful, Charlotte. And you’re enjoying yourself, Lance?”

“Always. It’s better to build than destroy,” I reply honestly. We didn’t get too much of a chance to talk during the whole Health Inspector drama, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten my measure of the man, and he’s good.

“You know, Lance, you’re quite the subject of conversation,” Thomas says with a chuckle, glancing at Mia. “These two seem to be unable to stop gossiping about you.”

“Hopefully, good things,” I hedge, and Thomas grins, not really divulging any more.

Mia shoves at my shoulder, grinning. “All good, trust me. You were the topic of a whole dinner a couple of weeks ago. Jonathan vouched for you. That’s the only reason we didn’t sic Gabe on you. Well, that and Charlotte says you’re quite—”

“Sweet!” Charlotte interjects, splotches darkening her cheeks as she gives Mia a look that communicates ‘shut up’ loud and clear.

I laugh at the obvious compliments she’s been divulging, throwing my arm around Charlotte’s shoulder and kissing her on the temple. “As long as it’s good, I guess I’m okay with that.”

Mia smirks, nudging Charlotte with her elbow. “Humble, too? Looks like you’ve got a keeper, girl. Lucky bitch.”

I look to Charlotte, half expecting her to have questions, doubts, and nerves rising in the depths of her eyes. But what I find takes my breath away.

I can see the trust she’s placing in me, the hope that I won’t betray her the way others have. It feels like the most important responsibility I’ve ever taken on, one I won’t fail to live up to. Especially not when I know what it’s costing her to have faith in a future with me.

“I think I’m the lucky one as she’s adding me into her busy schedule,” I say, letting Charlotte off the hook. “We were heading over to grab a burger. Want one too?”

Mia links her arm through Charlotte’s, pulling her away from me. “Absolutely! You think you’re getting away from me that easily?”

Thomas and I meet gazes, both of us happy to trail along after our women as they chatter away.

Once we all have burgers in hand and Charlotte has thanked the guy manning the grill for his sponsorship of the event, we find a tall table to perch at. Mia steps away for a moment to grab us all cold bottles of water, returning quickly, and we dig in.

Conversation is light, and Charlotte relaxes without teasing digs for gossip from Mia.

Our burgers disappear bite by bite, and the girls start rambling about a video game I’ve never heard of before, something called TERA.

“They do this often?”

Thomas grins, shrugging like this is a normal occurrence. “Give Mia two months, and she’ll have you playing too.”

I look around and see a surprising sight heading this way.

“Dad! Mom!” I call, giving them a welcoming hug. “Good to see you here.”

Mom is smiling at Charlotte like she hung the moon and stars, or like she might be the key to keeping her baby boy here in Roseboro. Dad, however, is focused on Thomas.

“Great to see you again, Thomas.”

“You too, Bishop. Couldn’t miss an event like this.”

“All for a great cause. Lance and Charlotte did a wonderful job with this,” Dad says, beaming, “launching from idea to reality so quickly. It’d be an amazing asset to continue the get-togethers throughout the year, help the connections grow for all the citizens of Roseboro for generations to come.”

“No need for the hard sell, Dad,” I warn with a chuckle. “Whoever Thomas chooses as the winner for his Hope Initiative will be deserving. And the real winners are the people of Roseboro, no matter what.”

Thomas inclines his head. “Didn’t I see your other son here too?”

“Yes, Cody has really gotten on fire with this. He’s demo’ing our prosthetic arm. He’s quite the showman, but he knows that product inside and out, manages that project team in fact,” Dad brags.

It’s been a little over a week since our sit-down chat. I don’t know what Dad said to Cody or what Cody said to Dad, but their relationship has been improving. It’s still not perfect, but I think Dad finally sees that his fear of the future was the real problem all along, not Cody’s work, which Dad admits is significantly better than he’d let on.

The best side effect of Dad’s epiphany is that Cody and I are no longer getting pressured to perform, at work or with the whole wife-kids-picket fence combo platter.

Thomas and Dad begin discussing how a Jacobs prosthesis project might help with patients at Goldstone Health, and Charlotte leans over to me.

“I need to head over to the community center kitchen for the decorating demo. You coming with me?”

I nod, whispering so I don’t interrupt Dad and Thomas. “Of course. You’re my number-one priority. I’m on your six all day.”

Heat fills her eyes, and I know she reads my double meaning. “Excuse us. We’ve got to be in the kitchen in fifteen. Thanks so much for coming, though.”

Dad and Thomas nod, going back to talking immediately. Meanwhile, Mia is watching us with a knowing look.

Before we’re three steps away, Charlotte pulls on my hand to stop me. She lifts up to her toes and presses her lips to mine. She tastes salty and sweet, my favorite combination.

When she pulls away, I lick my lips, getting one last taste of her. “What was that for?”

Pulling me down, she whispers into my ear, her breath hot and her tone suddenly sultry. “One, for helping me pull this off. Two, for that military talk. You know what that does to me.”

My lips quirk as I fight the smile that wants to stretch my face so desperately. “Oh, you like that? Well, I’ll be on your six all night, making sure every bit of intel is drawn from your body. Three, four, five times, if I have to. I won’t stop until my mission is complete.”

It’s the weirdest dirty talk I think I’ve ever said, but if she knew radio code, I’d fill her ear with word salad. Whatever this woman needs from me is what I’m damn well going to give her.

She laughs, pushing back a little. “On second thought, I think my baking puns are better.”

I growl, pulling her in tight. “You think your dirty talk is better than mine?” I feel her head nod against my shoulder. “Red, all damn day, I’ve been walking around being polite and well-mannered for your event. But what I really want is to take you home, yank those jeans off your ass, leave on that Generations of Hope T-shirt that fits you so damn well, then fuck you until your screams bounce off the walls. I want you coming on my hand, my tongue, and then, if you’re real nice, I’ll stretch that pussy with my thick cock until you come on me again. Then I’ll flip you over, wrap that braid around my fist to force you to arch for me, and I’ll fuck that bubble ass of yours until I fill you up with so much cum you can’t even hold it. But I’ll help you slip your panties back on, pat that pussy, and hold you all night while you sleep in the mess we made.”

She shudders in my arms, and I wonder if she just had an orgasm from my filthy words. And when she pulls back, I can see that she’s damn close, ripe for the picking.

Her eyes are blue flames, fire I want to burn me, mark me as hers. Her chest rises and falls as she pants, her puffy lips open and waiting for mine.

My cock surges between us, thick and hard and wanting to mark her too. Inside and out, cover her with cum so she always knows that she’s mine and I’m not going anywhere.

The lust is palpable, electricity sparking on our skin, but there’s a deeper layer to it, a foundation we’ve built brick by brick, sometimes slowly and other times, faster. All at whatever pace Charlotte needs.

But I can see it now. She’s with me, no longer dancing around the fire but engulfed in it with me.

She bites her lip, taking a jagged breath. “You fight dirty. Because all I want to do is run straight for home, or hell, the nearest deserted corner, and do just that. Fuck yes, to all of that. But I can’t. I have to—”

“Not fighting. Promising. That’s my mission tonight,” I say with a soft vow in my voice. “But right now, you need to go decorate some cupcakes, so let’s go.” I run a finger down the bridge of her upturned nose, an oddly intimate gesture, then boop her at the tip. “Let’s go, Sweet Scarlet. There are cupcakes that need frosting.”

I pull her hand, directing her to the community center kitchen, but I hear her growl behind me, “Yeah, there is. My cupcake.”