Chapter 15

"Okay, so what do we do now?" Wes asked.

He and Charlotte stood together in a corner of Winter Berry Bakery, pressed closer together than she'd normally stand next to a near stranger, but desperate times and all that.

It had been two days since the Forest Incident, as she'd come to refer to it in her head, refusing to attach the word kiss even in her own ruminations. For the most part, she'd managed to avoid Brighton at the Berry house, dragging her quartet into the basement for rehearsals anytime they all agreed. When they weren't practicing, most everyone else lay around watching Love Actually and The Muppet Christmas Carol while drinking spiked hot chocolate.

But Charlotte worked.

She checked arrangements, reordered set lists, sent emails to their manager checking on venues and equipment, even though she'd already verified all of those details weeks ago. She knew she was driving Mirian crazy, but she had to do something. Sitting around watching Kevin McCallister's improbable defeat of two buffoons wasn't in the cards, especially since she knew Home Alone was Brighton's favorite Christmas movie. When she ran out of emails to deal with and her quartet rebelled against her work ethic, she practiced on her own, sitting on a chair in the Berrys' finished basement between the comically large flat-screen and the leather sectional, unfurling song after song after song.

No one bothered her.

No one asked her to take a break. Her quartet knew better, and Brighton…well.

Brighton hadn't spoken to her since the Forest Incident.

And that was exactly how Charlotte wanted it.

Except now she found herself at Winter Berry Bakery in a waking nightmare called Speed Date and Decorate. It was the second Two Turtledoves event, with Nina and her friend Marisol at the helm, during which half of the group stayed at tables and started decorating a giant sugar cookie, and the other half moved around the room whenever Nina struck a singing bowl, shifting to a new table and a new partner.

"Then we'll change up who stays put after about forty-five minutes," Nina had said at the start. "That way, everyone will get to talk to everyone, no matter your sexual orientation!"

"Good god, Mother," Adele had said under her breath, causing Manish to start snickering.

"And," Nina had gone on with a glare at her eldest, "you can decorate the cookie any way you'd like while you're at that table." She gestured to the pastry bags and ceramic bowls full of icing in various colors, sprinkles, edible glitter, M&M's, and Red Hots. "Once we're all done, we'll have a set of cookies as unique as all of you!"

"And we'll see if we have any lovely love matches!" Jenny Hazelthorne had chirped from the back, a mug of coffee in her hands and a plaid shirt on her back.

"That's right," Nina had said, winking at one of her daughters. Charlotte hadn't been able to tell which one. "For now, enjoy the cheeseburger sliders—vegetarian options are on the second tray—and we'll get started in about half an hour!"

That was five minutes ago, the clock ticking down to when Charlotte would have to decorate a communal cookie—god, that couldn't be sanitary—with strangers. All the food was set up on a table at the other end of the bakery, with smaller tables set up in the middle for eating and the speed dating event. The shop's atmosphere was cheery, to say the least—Christmas music filtered out of a speaker somewhere, garland and lights hung everywhere, and in one corner there was a tree decorated with ornaments in the shape of muffins and slices of pie. Despite the holiday decor, Charlotte had to admit the bakery's vibe was lovely, with its white vintage counter and pastel-colored stools, and white shelves filled with mugs and tumblers made from milk glass in various colors.

"I have no idea what to do," she said to Wes's question.

"Drastic measures, seems to me," he said.

He was dressed smartly in dark-gray jeans and a checkered button-up under a navy sweater, and his beard looked freshly trimmed. He was handsome, there was no doubt, and Charlotte found herself really wishing they would find themselves in a romantic comedy and fall for each other.

It'd be so much easier.

She spotted Brighton moving through the line with Adele, piling tiny cheeseburgers on her plate. She was dressed in jeans and a cream-colored vintage blouse with mesh sleeves covered in velvet polka dots. Her hair was long, her bangs sleek and shiny.

Beautiful.

Except she wasn't, because Charlotte didn't notice her at all.

Of course, at that moment, Brighton glanced up, catching Charlotte's eyes on her.

"Dammit," Charlotte said, looking away quickly.

"Deer in the headlights," Wes said.

"Shut up," she said, and he just laughed. "Okay, what sort of drastic plan do you propose?"

He grinned. "It's big."

"Hit me with it."

"It requires some physical contact."

She narrowed her eyes. "How much?"

"Don't look so horrified."

She laughed. "I'm just not a very touchy-feely person."

Wes's smile only widened. "Nothing sordid, I promise." He pressed his hand to his chest. "But maybe I'm the one who's changed your life. Turned you. You just can't keep your hands off me."

"That seems like a stretch."

He laughed. "Fair. But do you trust me?"

"I don't know you."

"I won't corrupt you, I promise." Then he held out his hand, his eyes glittering. "Just a little—how do I say this?—harmless fun."

"Harmless fun?" Charlotte said. "What does that even mean?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "I gather subtlety is not your strong suit."

"You gather right."

He lifted her hand and placed it in his, then tangled their fingers together.

Charlotte sucked in a breath.

"It means," he said, kissing the back of her hand, "let's make 'em a little jealous."

"Oh god," she said, but he kept hold of her hand and pulled her toward the food table, getting in line. "You know we're going to have to let go of each other to actually get the food."

"We've got a few people to go yet," he said. "Milk it."

He let his shoulder brush hers, spoke to her in a low voice, his mouth close to her ear. Her palm was sweating against his, her heart pounding.

She hadn't held someone's hand in a long time.

"How do you know Sloane will be jealous?" she asked, turning her head to meet his eyes. He looked at her so intently, so adoringly.

Oh, he was good.

"I don't," he said. "But you're fun to hang out with, so it's worth a shot."

"Fun?"

"Fun," he said, then tilted his head. "Not used to that adjective?"

"To describe me? Not at all."

"All the more reason to loosen up a little here. We're just having fun, Charlotte. That's it. Serving the true purpose of Two Turtledoves, as the founding romantics intended."

Charlotte laughed, let herself lean against him. He was fun, she knew that. And kind and safe. But then she made the mistake—or was it actually a great decision?—of resting her cheek against his shoulder and looking out at the dining room.

Brighton was staring at them from where she sat with Manish, Elle, and Adele, her eyes wide, her mouth open a little. She looked down as soon as Charlotte caught her.

Charlotte turned back to the food, the line moving up. Her heart was pounding and felt three times its normal size. But she also felt…she wasn't sure.

Vindicated.

No, that sounded too petty.

Maybe…satisfied?

That was it. She felt satisfied. Relieved, even. Because for that split second when she and Brighton watched each other, Brighton looking ever so slightly shocked, and Charlotte didn't feel like the unlovable, leavable person she'd felt like for the last five years.

She smiled at Wes, then lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of his fingers before separating so they could get their dinner.

Forty minutes later, Charlotte was holding a tiny pastry bag full of icing while "Jingle Bell Rock" played in the background. She sat across from a very attractive man with auburn hair and freckles who was sneezing so often that she worried about the sanitary state of the large cookie they were supposed to be decorating.

"So what do you do for work?" the man—Jack—asked as he blew his nose into a handkerchief covered in tiny Christmas trees.

She pressed her lips together and sighed through her nose, catching Wes's eye at the table where he was stationed. He looked completely panicked. Not only did Charlotte hate small talk with strangers more than anything else in the world, but the euphoria she'd felt earlier with Wes had totally worn off. Moreover, she'd failed to realize until this moment that this horrid event would eventually pair her with Brighton. In this first round, she was fixed at a table, people moving around her, and it looked like Brighton was currently two people away.

"I'm a violinist," Charlotte said, wincing as Jack folded his handkerchief to reveal a clean side. She'd always abhorred the idea of handkerchiefs, despite their benefits to the environment.

"Oh, well done," he said. "You any good?"

"I am good, yes," she said right before he sneezed again. "Are you okay?"

He dabbed at the corners of his eyes. "Fine, fine, sorry. I'm not sick, I promise. I sneeze when I'm nervous. Makes going to the dentist a real adventure."

Charlotte offered a sympathetic smile, glad her own nerves didn't manifest themselves in a similar manner—she'd be a sneezing mess half the day. Instead, her anxiety held her posture so tight and straight she usually gave herself a headache.

Mercifully, Nina gonged a wooden mallet against the singing bowl just then, the warm and brassy sound reverberating throughout the room.

"Nice to meet you, Jack," Charlotte said politely, moving her hands to her lap to avoid shaking hands. He smiled and moved on, and Wes crashed into the seat in front of her.

"Jesus H. Christ," he said, dropping his head into his hands.

She exhaled, flopped back against her seat. "Yeah."

"I mean, Nina is truly evil."

She laughed, glancing at the undecorated cookie in the shape of a snowman in front of her. "Quick, help me get started on this."

He dipped a knife into a tub of white frosting and started spreading it over the naked sugar cookie.

"Looks like Brighton's up next," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his work.

Charlotte glanced to the right, where Brighton was currently chatting up a lovely woman with gray and black tattoos all over her arms. Brighton rolled up her blouse's sleeve to reveal something inked on her upper arm, and Charlotte felt her stomach plunge to her feet.

She'd had no idea that Brighton had gotten a tattoo.

They'd talked about it before, how Brighton wanted one and had even wanted to get matching ones, but Charlotte had always been hesitant, worried it would diminish her professionalism. Now she knew that was silly, but as a fledgling in the music world, she'd been high-strung about missed opportunities.

She forced her gaze away, forced her brain not to care.

"Yeah" was all she said back to Wes. "Have you seen Sloane yet?"

He nodded, his expression going a bit dreamy. For a second, Charlotte envied him—at least he knew what he wanted, even if he didn't think it was possible. She found Sloane across the room, now talking to Gemma and laughing about something. Sloane's gaze slid to Charlotte. Charlotte smiled, but Sloane didn't react, so Charlotte offered a little wave. Still nothing. Charlotte frowned…until she realized Sloane wasn't looking at her—she was looking at Charlotte's current Speed Date and Decorate partner.

"Did she mention our hand-holding?" Charlotte asked him.

"Um…she did, actually," he said, still spreading icing.

Charlotte tilted her head. "And?"

"And…" He blew out a breath and shoved the knife back into the tub of icing as though committing a murder. "She told me to go for it."

"Go for it?"

"Go for it." He waved his hands between the two of them, looking like someone had just run over his puppy.

"Hmm," she said as she watched Sloane's eye flit to his back over and over again.

"Hmm? That's it? That's all the sympathy I get?" he asked.

She just shrugged. "Obviously, you're not going to go for it. Nor am I."

"I feel like I should be offended."

"Wes, come on," she said, taking the knife and filling in some thin spots of icing Wes had left behind.

He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, that's it."

"What's it?"

"What happened?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "When?"

A lifted brow. "You know when. Your little trip into the forest with Brighton the other day. Doesn't seem like you."

"Oh, because you know me so well now?"

"I know that you're not the type to take off into the woods in the dark. Or put up with any bullshit from your ex."

"It wasn't dark." She finished her icing work and gently set the knife back inside the tub.

"Twilight. Close enough in the winter."

Charlotte sighed, then grabbed the pastry bag full of red icing and started to make a sugar scarf as the Forest Incident replayed in her mind. The song, the ridiculous tears she couldn't seem to control, Brighton's hands on her face, then—

"No," she said out loud, her grip on the pastry bag a bit too tight. A blob of red puddled onto the snowman's neck, like something out of a holiday horror movie.

Wes frowned. "It was dark. I was there."

Charlotte shook her head, the word kiss teasing the edges of her mind. She couldn't seem to vanquish those four tiny letters, the action, the memory of Brighton's mouth and tongue and—

She squeezed her thighs together under the table, as though she could strangle any and all emotion or lust relating to Brighton Fairbrook.

And goddammit, she could. She'd been doing it for five years and had been just fine. No, better than fine—she'd thrived .

"We kissed," she forced herself to say quietly. Speak it, take away its power. Simple as that.

Wes's eyes widened. "You and Brighton?"

"No, me and Jack," she said, waving a hand at her former conversation partner the next table over.

He laughed. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

He smirked. "And how was it?"

Incredible .

Another damned word she couldn't seem to get any control over, ten letters popping into her brain like a randy jack-in-the-box, a gateway adjective that only led to others— mind-blowing , stunning , perfect .

"Speaking of, I think you should tell Sloane the truth," she said.

Wes blinked. "Nice diversion."

"Thanks, I'm an expert. So?"

He laughed, shook his head. "What about us? I distinctly saw Brighton eyeing us while we ate dinner. I should've put you in my lap, dropped grapes into your mouth."

"There were no grapes," Charlotte said, refusing to look over at Brighton again. "And besides, this charade is short-lived. Eventually, this will all end, and we'll leave for Europe, and you'll still be here sad and in love."

"Don't sugarcoat it or anything."

"Oh, I won't."

Wes laughed. "How would I even tell her? At the open-mic event? Woo her with a Pablo Neruda poem?"

Charlotte smiled. "I mean…maybe?"

Wes's own smile vanished. "I'm kidding. I'm not setting myself up for another heartbreak where Sloane is concerned."

Charlotte glanced again at Sloane, whose gaze definitely kept drifting to Wes.

"I don't think heartbreak is in your future," she said.

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised. "Has she said something?"

Charlotte opened her mouth before realizing that the answer was no, but not for the reasons Wes would assume. She searched her memory, trying to remember the last time she'd actually asked Sloane about her love life, her past, her desires for anything romantic. She knew Sloane didn't want anything serious, but had she ever actually asked why ? Charlotte had just assumed they shared the same ambitions—career first and above all else.

But deep down, Charlotte knew those weren't even her own reasons for staying single, though she didn't like to think too hard about it. Career was the easy excuse, something no one could fault her for.

She looked again at Sloane, her oldest friend other than Brighton, something pulling tight in her chest.

"Wes, I—"

But then the singing bowl sounded, and Wes groaned, cast a wary eye at the next table.

"It's Jameson," he whispered.

"The glue eater?"

"The very one."

"Well, at least you know what to prepare as an appetizer if you ever cook him dinner."

Wes flipped her off, and she couldn't help but laugh. They both wished each other good luck, and Charlotte's stomach clenched even tighter. She felt rather than saw Brighton approaching, and she busied herself with fixing the bloodied scarf on her snowman. Brighton's hand came into view, taking the pastry bag full of chocolate icing. She went to work on a top hat for Frosty, but she didn't say anything.

Neither of them did for what felt like an hour, even though it couldn't have been more than a minute or two. In the silence, Charlotte thought she'd have to fight to keep her thoughts off the k-i-s-s, but she didn't. Instead, another thought nudged at her mind, crescendoing to a push, a shove, something she'd thought of several times over the past couple of days and hoped she'd just forget about.

Stop caring about.

But with Brighton sitting right here, they were trapped in each other's company for at least another five minutes, and she couldn't seem to think about anything else.

"How did the Katies get that song?" she asked. She didn't look up. Didn't stop her scarf mending.

Brighton's hand stilled.

"In the woods, you said you didn't give it away," Charlotte said. "So how'd they get it?"

Brighton was quiet for long enough that Charlotte dared a glance. Brighton was staring down at the top hat she'd started, brushing the pastry bag's nozzle through the icing mindlessly, her eyes a little hazy in thought.

"Brighton," she said sharply.

"Are you and Wes dating?" Brighton asked without looking up.

Charlotte opened her mouth. Closed it. Waited for the satisfaction of knowing that that was the question on Brighton's mind right now, but it didn't come. Instead, she felt almost embarrassed playing these games with Brighton.

Charlotte closed her eyes, counted to four. Opened them again. "Answer my question."

Brighton finally lifted her head.

Their gazes snapped together like lightning crackling through a stormy sky. Charlotte felt nearly breathless. Her fingertips started to tingle, and her stomach fluttered like they were sixteen again.

Like they were anything again.

"I played it for Emily," Brighton finally said, looking back down. "When we first met."

"Who's Emily?"

"The Katies' keyboardist," Brighton said. "I was…we were…"

"You were in the Katies, I know," Charlotte said, and Brighton flinched. Charlotte softened her tone, an instinct. "Sloane told me."

Brighton sighed. "Anyway, that's how they got the song."

Charlotte frowned. "So you did give it away."

"No, I…" Brighton shook her head. "I played it for Emily when we were getting to know each other's style, and once we formed the Katies, we put the lyrics and guitar tab into our drive on the cloud, like our song database. I never wanted to play it live, really, and both Emily and Alice said it was too…"

Charlotte leaned forward. "Too what?"

Brighton shrugged. "Too emotional? Too…I don't know. Lovey-dovey was the term Alice used. And I was fine with that, because it was our song, and I just—" She cut herself off, sat back in her chair. "Can we talk about something else?"

"No."

"Fine. Then we won't talk at all." Brighton picked up a tiny canister of green glitter and started shaking it over the snowman's body.

"Brighton."

Nothing.

"Brighton, for Christ's sake. How did that song end up as a Katies single?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter," Brighton said.

"The hell it does. That's your song. Did you sign away the rights? Did you give them permission? Did they give you writing credit? You're owed royalties. They can't just—"

"Drop it, Charlotte."

Charlotte flinched. She'd asked Brighton to stop using her nickname, true, but the reality of it—hearing Brighton call her anything but Lola — was like hearing a symphony played just a hair off-key.

"Just like that, huh?" she said as Brighton continued to sprinkle green all over the snowman.

"Just like that what?"

"You're giving up just like that? Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Brighton's hand stilled, her jaw tight. "I'm not giving up. There's nothing to give up on." She started her glittering again, shaking way too much over the snowman's belly.

"Oh, I see," Charlotte said. "You're just a coward, is that it?"

"I'm not a coward. I just know when something is futile."

Charlotte's jaw dropped of its own accord, hurt zigzagging through her like electricity. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

Brighton laughed, a bitter sound. "Me? I'm the piece of work?" Shake, shake, shake. The glitter was now more of a blanket than a detail. "When you're the one who couldn't see what was right in front of you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Charlotte said, her voice rising. "And what the hell are you doing ? You're making my snowman look like a swamp creature."

She reached out to grab the glitter from Brighton's hand, but Brighton held on tight, yanking it back toward her. Charlotte wouldn't give in, though, and she tugged it in her direction.

Hard.

Brighton let go. Charlotte saw a puff of green sparkles before she squeezed her eyes shut as the glitter went everywhere—her face, her neck, her hair. It coated her like a second skin. She sat still for a second, willing herself somewhere else as silence settled around her—a silence she knew meant everyone in the bakery was staring at her while "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" played like a lullaby from hell.

December had struck again.

"Oh, honey, it's okay," she heard Nina say. "We'll get you cleaned up in no time."

Charlotte cracked an eye open but yelped as pain seared across her cornea and she slammed her lid shut again.

"I've got it, Nina," she heard Brighton say. "It's my fault."

Then she felt someone take her hand—Brighton, she knew, from those callused fingertips, though they were a little softer than Charlotte remembered—and pull her out of her chair.

"The restroom is just through there," Nina said, and Charlotte let herself be led to wherever there was, as she really didn't have a choice here. She even had glitter in her mouth, the taste too sweet with a plastic undertone.

A true delicacy.

"Here are some towels," Nina said, and Brighton said thanks. Soon Charlotte heard a door click shut, the conversation that had started back up at the event now muffled.

"Over here," Brighton said softly, guiding her forward. Charlotte heard the squeak of a faucet followed by the sound of water, the soothing whoosh of it slowing her pulse a little.

Then the warm glide of a damp towel over her closed eyes. Brighton held Charlotte's face with her other hand and wiped gently. Charlotte could hear Brighton's breathing, slow and steady, as though she were making an effort to keep it that way. The breadth of her touch changed, a towel-covered fingertip carefully working the glitter from the corners of her eyes, her lashes.

Charlotte held perfectly still, worked on her own breathing. The air between them was charged, like lightning about to strike at any second. Her chest felt tight, packed with emotions she didn't know what to do with.

You're the one who couldn't see what was right in front of you .

She curled her fingers into her palms, breathed in slowly. Defensively, she wanted to ask Brighton again what she'd meant by that…but deep down, Charlotte knew.

Maybe she'd always known.

"Do you remember Senior Day?" Brighton asked softly as she moved the cloth up to Charlotte's eyebrows.

Charlotte smiled without meaning to. "Of course I do," she said softly, a whisper. She didn't open her eyes, even though Brighton had moved on to her hairline, her temples. Somehow, shutting off her sight—the vision of Brighton in front of her, taking care of her like this—felt like the only thing keeping her from falling to pieces.

"I think this is worse," Brighton said, scrubbing at what seemed to be a particularly stubborn piece of glitter near Charlotte's ear.

"Worse than paint in my hair?" Charlotte asked.

"At least that was washable."

Charlotte laughed, keeping her eyes closed as her memory drifted back to Senior Day at Grand Haven High, an event every spring where the school rented out the local fairgrounds and hosted a small carnival for the seniors, including rickety roller coasters, games with giant polyester stuffed animals as prizes, and a labyrinthine paintball course constructed from old rubber tires and shapeless inflatables. Charlotte and Brighton had banded together with some other orchestra kids, trying fruitlessly to take down the school's championship-winning baseball team.

Not that they'd ever expected to win against a group of athletes, but they'd given it their best shot. The battle itself wasn't what was memorable, even though both Charlotte and Brighton had gotten so much paint in their hair that it had taken days for all of it to wash out completely.

No, what Charlotte remembered most was the final showdown. Only Brighton and Charlotte had been left standing, and when Brighton had gotten caught at the end of Kyle Peterson's paint gun, Charlotte had flung herself in front of Brighton, taking all of his fire, red and purple and blue splatters to the chest.

Of course, he nabbed Brighton in the shoulder as soon as Charlotte fell, but it was the gesture that mattered. The sacrifice. They both crumbled into a heap on the paint-stained grass, Brighton flailing dramatically.

"I'm hit, I'm hit!" she yelled as she went down next to Charlotte's already prone form. Laughing, she leaned over Charlotte, slapping her cheeks gently. "Lola! Lola, talk to me! Don't tell me this is the end!"

Charlotte tried her best to lie still, even stuck out her tongue and let it hang limply from her mouth.

"No! Lola!" Brighton screamed, wailing at the sky and clinging to Charlotte's shoulders. "It can't end like this! I won't let you die for me. You can't die, you hear me?"

Charlotte released a giggle then but managed to stifle a full-blown laugh.

"The horror!" Brighton continued to lament. "The indignity! The unfairness of life! Why? Why, goddess, why?"

She shook Charlotte, then sobbed at the heavens until Charlotte finally lifted her head.

"Know that I loved you," Charlotte whispered, her voice strained from her dying breaths. She drifted her hand over Brighton's face.

Gently.

So gently that Brighton's dramatics stopped abruptly, her smile fading into something like wonder. Charlotte's hand felt electrified, and what started as a silly declaration, a touch of theatric flair, suddenly felt charged, the five years since they met culminating into this one moment.

"Yeah?" Brighton asked, leaning closer to Charlotte.

"Yeah," Charlotte said, such a simple answer to a simple question, but the effect was world-changing. Charlotte realized, right then, that they'd been dancing around this for years. She'd always thought Brighton was beautiful, talented, funny, smart. But she was her best friend.

And best friends didn't kiss.

They didn't dream of a romantic future together.

Or did they?

In that moment on the paintball course, while the baseball bros whooped around them in victory—she wasn't sure about anything except that her fingers ached to pull Brighton even closer.

To get rid of all the space between them.

So that's what she did.

She slid her hand from Brighton's cheek to the back of her neck and pulled, slowly, giving Brighton plenty of time to stop the whole thing, but Brighton didn't and soon they were kissing—their first kiss—covered in a rainbow of paint, not caring that the baseball guys had stopped hooting about their win and started whistling at two girls kissing in the grass.

None of it mattered.

Nothing mattered but smiles against each other's mouths and hands in paint-streaked hair.

Now, in the cold Winter Berry Bakery restroom, walls a pale blue and adorned with vintage black-and-white photographs of Winter River's small downtown, Charlotte opened her eyes. Brighton was looking right at her, though her eyes flicked to her work every now and then, still swiping glitter from Charlotte's neck. Her breathing sounded a bit shallow, her cheeks a bit flushed, as though she, too, had been reliving the same memory.

And goddammit, Charlotte missed her. Suddenly, after days of fighting it—no, five years of fighting it—she could admit it. And it was a relief just to let the feeling have its way.

She missed her best friend, her best everything.

She missed Brighton Fairbrook.

She felt dizzy, confused by the swirl of different emotions, because no matter how much she missed Brighton and what they'd shared, she was still angry.

So, so angry.

And hurt. Devastated, even, still, after all these years. But the last few days since they'd collided in the Berrys' driveway had felt like decades, a lifetime of wear and tear on Charlotte's heart. Ignoring Brighton's existence, who they were , wasn't working.

Not one bit.

She felt unhinged by the effort, exhausted in a way she hadn't felt since the first few days after their wedding. Still, she wasn't sure how to move forward. If she kept on going this way for the next week, she worried she'd be a complete mess for tour, but she couldn't risk opening herself up to Brighton like she had in the woods.

She could never let her guard down like that again. That's how she'd gotten here, adrift in a dizzying mix of lust and anger and longing and sadness. No, she had to get ahead of this. And one didn't get ahead of things by pretending they didn't exist.

One got ahead of them by planning.

By being the one in control.

For the past few days, things had just been happening to her, and she didn't like it. She felt small and helpless, like she had when Brighton had left her, incapable of changing anything.

But it didn't have to be like that now. She made things happen. That's who Charlotte Donovan was. Who she'd always been, how she'd always combatted the shitstorm of her mother, her childhood, her loneliness. She could do the same now—control her interactions with Brighton. Do them on purpose. If she planned a friendship of sorts—or at least a cordial coexistence—she would never again find herself in the middle of the woods stress-kissing her ex.

She stilled Brighton's hand on her neck, took the cloth from her. Brighton let go of it easily, but her eyes never left Charlotte's.

"I think we need to start over," Charlotte said. She made sure her voice was steady, her fingers deftly folding the cloth to hide the glittery mess on the cotton.

Brighton tilted her head. "Start…over?"

Charlotte nodded. "We're stuck with each other for the next week, and I think we should use it."

"Use it," Brighton said. "For…?"

"For moving on." Charlotte's voice cracked a bit on the last word, a thickening in her throat she didn't expect, but that was the whole point here. Exposure therapy—spend enough time with Brighton so that the mere thought of her didn't feel like wood splintering under Charlotte's fingernails.

"What does that even look like?" Brighton asked, folding her arms. "Moving on."

Charlotte paused. Turned to look in the mirror. Despite Brighton's efforts, she still looked like a mess, glitter dotting her cheeks and hairline, her neck. She flipped on the water and rinsed out the cloth, green sparkles swirling down the drain. Then she handed the cloth back to Brighton.

"It looks like this," she said, closing her eyes and angling her chin forward a little in invitation.

Brighton hesitated but only for a second. Soon Charlotte felt the warm press of the cloth against her skin again, Brighton's touch gentle and sure.