As my hand hit the doorknob of my inn room, panic surged through me. I hadn't changed. I hadn't fixed my hair. I had done nothing to prepare for the evening. What if jeans and a simple blouse weren't enough? But where my mind stuttered in panic, my body continued the smooth motion of opening the door. There he stood, still clad in his tattered jeans, white t-shirt, and flannel. I couldn't help but let out a relieved breath.

"Am I early?" He asked.

"No, not at all," I soothed.

"Then... am I late?" He added with a bit of a chuckle.

"Charlie, you are right on time." I smiled.

"Good to hear. Never been one for watches," he shrugged. "Shall we?" He asked as he stepped aside in the doorway to make a path for me to exit.

"Yes."

Excitement bubbled in me as I passed him. He smelled like a day at the beach; sun, salt, optimism.

"So, I hope you don't mind, but I opted out of a restaurant." He began as we exited the inn to the day, cooling beneath the setting sun. "There is a spot just off the commons that has a splendid view, and you seem to be taken with the views of our little home." As he spoke, he lifted a basket to show the picnic he had packed.

"Sounds wonderful," I admitted.

"Marvelous." He smiled as a hand fell to the small of my back, sending a pleasurable shiver through my body. "Are you cold?" He instantly asked.

"No," I admitted with a bit of a flush.

"Ah," Charlie acknowledged before dipping his face to mask his shy smile.

As we neared the waterfront, Charlie's rounded shoulders straightened, and for a moment, he paused. With his eyes closed, he sucked in the sea mist rising off the waters as though it gave him life. Away from the water, it was as though he tried to be unassuming, invisible almost, despite his handsome features. But here, at the water's edge, he was free to be himself. I was so taken with him that I hardly noticed the spot we had come to a stop.

"What do you think?" Charlie asked.

We were at a clearing on a just out that felt as though the water surrounded us. Perched next to us was a stone table with matching stone benches on either side.

"It's beautiful," I enthused.

"Best table in town, if you ask me."

"I agree."

"Please, sit." As he spoke, he ushered me toward one of the benches.

"Let me help," I offered.

"No, I insist. It won't take long to unpack. I hope you were expecting too much," he admitted as he unpacked a couple of sandwiches, along with a pitcher of water, an assortment of cheese, and grapes. "But I did remember the wine," he noted as he pulled out a bottle of red.

"Oh, I don't drink," I shot.

"I apologize," he murmured as he began to tuck the bottle back into the basket.

"No, no. I just don't care for the taste. By all means, please enjoy," I urged.

"Don't care for the taste?" An entertained smile filled his face, accenting his pronounced cheekbones even more. "Perhaps you haven't tried the right wine," he suggested.

"Perhaps, but I don't expect that will change this evening," I challenged.

"Fair enough. Wine for one," he noted as he poured himself a healthy glass. "Do you have an aversion to water?"

"No, it is among my favorite things," I teased.

He settled across from me as we began to unwrap our sandwiches. "So, tell me more of these favorite things?"

I pondered for a moment before settling on my initial list. "Let's see. I like small things that make me smile."

Charlie smiled at the assessment. "Such as..."

"Oh, things like fireflies and small-batch soaps that smell like citrus. Vinyl albums that I have listened to so many times that the pops and hisses feel like an intentional instrument. Road trips to nowhere. The sounds of buzzing bees."

"That's a fine list," he commended.

"What about you? What are some of your favorite things?" I prodded.

"The sound of sails filling with air." He quickly began, but then paused to ponder more. "Sincere laughter, yellow pear tomatoes straight from the vine and still warm from the sun, and when the children draw on the sidewalks with chalk."

"Do you have any children?" I asked.

"No," he said as he dipped his face. "For a while, I suppose I intended to have kids, but then it seemed that was a life better suited for others."

"I was never one to court parenthood," I quietly added, hoping not to intrude on his pensive thoughts.

"I believe I have been mistaken for your father at least once," he noted. I expected a tease in his voice, but there was a genuine inquisitiveness in the question.

"From an immature, bitter man," I challenged.

"But not off-based; you must be what, twenty years my junior?" He estimated.

"I think you might be on the kinder side. But I don't mind sharing my age. I'm forty-two," I offered.

He nodded as he digested the information. "I was nearly right, as I am sixty-three."

"Should age matter to me? Are we not allowed to enjoy delicious sandwiches together because you are twenty years my senior? That feels limited," I noted.

"I suppose it doesn't matter to me if it doesn't matter to you," he agreed.

"This sandwich is delicious," I added, eager to change from the tense topic.

"Thank you. I took a gamble with roasted vegetables. It proved more successful than the wine," he teased.

"I love summer vegetables. You can add that to my list of favorites. You mentioned you like tomatoes from the vine. Do you have a vegetable garden?" I asked.

"I do. And it is home to many buzzing bees." Perhaps it was my own desires, but his teasing felt flirtatious and sent a surge of energy through me.

"I like you, Charlie," I spat like an unmeasured child.

His face dipped to hide a smile.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?" He asked back as he lifted his face to grace me again with his chocolate eyes.

"Hide your face when you smile?"

"I suppose it comes from shyness, and a bit of shock," he assessed.

"Shock?" I pressed.

"I am a bit perplexed that someone as intelligent and deliberate as you would take an interest in an old mad such as myself," he admitted.

"I don't see an old man." My voice came softly with my admission.

"Is there something more that I don't know?" It was his turn to press, and it felt as though he were making a soft accusation.

"I am impressed with your effortless kindness and predilection to gentlemanliness," I added.

"And I am impressed with your vocabulary. You aren't using words to mask anything else?" He continued to push.

"Charlie, if you think I have concerns that you are a handyman, I do not," I began.

"A handyman?" He chuckled.

"Yeah, I really have not a care in the world if you think that matters. On the contrary, the care you take for your neighbors is one of the more alluring parts of you."

He let out a sigh and picked up my hand. "At this moment, there is nothing I am more than happy to be than a handyman."

"And quite the talented gardener," I noted before taking another bite of the sandwich.

Charlie released my hand and took a long pull of his wine before letting his gaze drift from me to the ocean. I took the opportunity to study his beautiful face again, as he was lost in thought.

"What are you thinking of when you get lost in the waves?" I asked.

Charlie let out a sigh, but didn't bother to move his eyes from the rolling ocean below us.

"What was, what is, and what could be," he began. "And the mistakes I've made, and am making," he admitted.

"Do you consider me a mistake?" I murmured, fearing the answer. He could take the hope mounting within me away with a single word.

"People are never mistakes. Choices are mistakes; motivations are mistakes. Never people," he assured.

He finally moved his gaze back to me from his beloved ocean. As his eyes assessed me, I finally saw the longing in his eyes that mirrored my own. A longing filled with want and lust, but tempered by loneliness. It was at that moment that I realized that I was lonely. The small two-foot stone table that separated me from this man was nothing compared to the distance I finally felt.

"What aren't you telling me, Charlie?" I managed, but my voice cracked from the loss that was beginning to flood me.

"You are an alluring woman, Jess Whitfield. I did not expect that," he admitted.

"But you had expectations?" I questioned.

He smiled. "And quick. But the sun is far too long to keep us warm for much longer, so I believe it is time for me to get you back to the inn," he noted before he finished the last of his wine.

"You aren't going to answer my questions, are you?" I asked.

"Dear Jess, if I were to try to answer all your questions, I would surely drown within them," he teased.

"It is unfair to use my father's words against me," I grumbled childishly as my desire slipped further from me.

"Wise words can never be weaponized. They can only hope to echo," Charlie offered.

We walked silently back to the inn. My mind raced for something, anything, to keep Charlie by my side. I had the uncanny feeling that when he left my side, he would make the choice never to cross my path again.

"Jess, it was a pleasure. Thank you for the invitation." He smiled.

"And if I said we should do it again sometime?" I asked, making my intentions clear.

"I don't think that would be the best path for us," he admitted.

"You aren't attracted to me," I surmised.

"Jess, nothing could be further from the truth. I find you incredibly..." He stopped himself before he indulged too much in the thoughts I wish he would swim into and enjoy. "There are unsavory parts of my life that I won't inflict on you."

"Are you sick?" I pressed.

"Really? That is where your mind goes," he chuckled. "Good night, Jess." He added as he demurely kissed my forehead.

I watched as he turned and began down the stairs. As his foot hit the pavement of the walkway, a fit came over me.

"No," I called after him.

The startle caused him to pause and turn back to me.

"You don't get to decide how I feel about you," I demanded.

"But I get a say in how I wish to proceed," he challenged.

"Or not proceed, as it were," I argued.

"True," he acknowledged.

"Kiss me, Charlie. Kiss me goodbye or kiss me hello, but for heaven's sake, kiss me."

"Jess, I'm not who you think I am," he admitted.

"Charlie, to be completely honest; I don't give a damn," I announced.

My brazenness seemed to please him. "Is that so, Miss Scarlett?" He teased.

"Kiss me, Charlie," I prodded again.

His arm looped around my waist, pulling me into him. "This will not end well," he cautioned.

"I don't care," I admitted.

Just as I finished, his lips crashed feverishly into mine. It was as though the dam of propriety had broken, and all the lust and want was spilling between us. Time stood still, and my mind went into overdrive, both relishing the moment and capturing it, to be recalled for all time. This was the moment that all my wildest dreams seemed possible. The cooling evening suddenly felt sultry and humid as his nose pressed into mine. With each twist of our lips and gentle prod of his tongue, he awoke me; he lit a spark that I had long buried or perhaps had never before burned.

We parted without another word. Later that night, I would ponder if the urgency and power of the kiss was accented by the threat of never seeing him again, but at that moment, as I walked up the stairs, I could only focus on how my entire body was left trembling in his wake.