Won't Let You Go | Owen Grady

Chapter Twelve

Four Years and Two Hours Ago

Charlie looked in her mirror, staring at her outfit for the millionth time. Why was she so worried about what she was wearing to hang out with Owen? They hung out all of the time. But suddenly, from somewhere, somehow when she was kicking out of her khaki pants and opening her closet, her stomach started to flip flop in a delightfully nervous way.

It was weird. She didn't like it. Charlie prided herself on being able to not let things like this get to her. Yet, here she was, getting nervous about the words that had been exchanged between herself and her handsome, tan, tall, funny, magnetic force of a best friend only earlier that day. He hadn't said it was a date. Neither of them had said it was a date. So why did it feel like it was?

Charlie adjusted the cutoff shorts she was wearing, eyeing her white, button up shirt with leaves rolled three quarters. Did she look nice enough? Did it matter? If this wasn't a date, which it wasn't. That heavy "D" word had never left either of their lips earlier today. So why did it feel like drinks tonight held so much weight?

Charlie sighed and slipped into a paid of hiking boots, running her hand through her blonde hair once more, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. She needed to get her ass out the door now or she was going to be late for their not-date.

Even though their bungalows were right beside one another, she didn't see any sign of him as she hopped down her set of four stairs towards the dirt parking spot where she had left her jeep. Was he back yet? Was he already waiting for her? Dozens of questions spun around in her head that she couldn't figure out a good answer to. She didn't understand where all these questions were suddenly coming from, sending her in a complete tailspin and freaking her out to no end.

Nevertheless, she climbed into her company-issued Jeep and drove off through the jungle trees, canopies of leave providing shade on the road as she whizzed by. She drummed her thumbs against the cushy, black steering wheel, trying to focus on the music that blared over her speakers, rather than meeting her best friend for this dinner.

Just dinner and drinks, not a date. Definitely not a date. He hadn't even implied it was a date, so she needed to make herself chill the fuck out, or he would know something was up.

Was this it? The defining moment she was admitting to herself that she cared a lot more about Owen Grady than she ever wanted to let herself believe? Maybe. But she couldn't focus on that right now, all she could focus on was the road and making sure she didn't throw up from all of the butterflies in her stomach.

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That night wasn't the first night that they officially named a "date." Neither was the next time, or next time, or time after that. Both refused to acknowledge the electrical sparks fusing into form between them, frying the air around them, the sparks everyone else could see, and feel, and couldn't believe they didn't recognize.

That night they got drinks, ate tacos, headed back to their separate bungalows. They stood awkwardly between driveways, before parting ways without so much as a hug. Charlie didn't think she could hug him without doing something else that would be deemed incredibly stupid by herself the next day. After all, coworkers couldn't date. It was in the rules.

Charlie climbed the stairs to her home, pausing at the top to turn back and look. Owen was still standing in the driveway, watching her, making sure she got inside safely. She smiled a little bit, thankful for the dim lighting that hid the rosy blush on her cheeks. That was the last thing she needed him seeing.

She raised on hand and gave him a small wave. Owen grinned and gave her a small wave back, before she slipped inside her house, locking the door behind her.

Owen stared up at that house for a long time, even after her porch light turned off, before he went into his own bungalow, thoughts of Charlie still in his mind, the way her laugh sounded like waves crashing against the shore, the way her ass looked in those shorts walking up those stairs, the way her eyes lit up every time she saw him, or saw a dinosaur. The way she was selfless, and beautiful, and kind. His mind was never not on Charlotte Saunders, not a single moment of a single day. He wondered if she ever felt the same way, if she thought about the way he looked at her.

He stared up at that door for a moment, willing Charlie to walk back outside, run down those stairs, and into his arms, but she didn't. That door never opened that night.

So Owen turned and walked back into his own bungalow, not knowing the whole time he was standing there, she was standing on the other side of the door, staring out of the little peep hole, willing Owen to come knock on her door, so she could finally let him in.