A/N: These next two chapters really were a struggle for me to write, but thanks to @vintagehouse (go read her Tom fic! It's awesome), I was able to whittle it down and find what I was really looking for.  So here is one chapter, and I am going to post the second chapter either tonight or early tomorrow.  Thanks for rooting for Charlie!!

Tom and I haven’t talked for two days.  After he left the bakery the other morning, I passed the torch over to Mandy, who was a bit dumbstruck, and then I made the trek home.  I feel bad about how I treated him.  Of course, I feel bad.  I feel irrational and irritated, and like my skin was crawling.  I’m a passionate person but I pride myself on being pretty level headed.  I was not level headed that morning.  I just couldn’t get over the idea of Tom and Keegan together.  It made me physically ache.  I hate that he spent time with her.  I hate that no matter what he says, I still feel like she has a hold on him.

And let’s be honest.  Perhaps I’m jealous.  Envious of whatever it is that Keegan has that has captured his attention for so long.  He’s been with her for as long as I’ve known him, but he never saw that in me.  He thinks I’m a fantastic friend, and a lovely confidant, but I am not girlfriend material.  Not in his eyes.  I know it’s something as simple as chemical reactions or pheromones or just a matter of a slight personality difference, but it still feels like this wide, open wound in my chest.  It has a life and a mind of it’s own, and I can barely control it anymore.

My feelings for Tom at the moment are about as clear as the Chesapeake Bay…which means not at all.  When I get home from the bakery that night, my phone has a missed call and a voicemail.  It’s Mrs. Jones’ nephew.  His name is Paul and he wants to take me out to dinner Friday night.  I call him back and we have a pleasant chat.  He seems normal and well spoken, so we agree on dinner tomorrow in Baltimore, which is where he lives and works. It’s only about 30 minutes from Havre de Grace, so it’s not a difficult trip.  I like Baltimore, and it will be nice to be in a bigger city for once.

After the phone call, I get into bed, not feeling excited at all.  Shouldn’t I feel excited about a date? A date with a normal lawyer, no less.  Paul. Paul. It’s not a great name, but it’s not terrible.  He probably has responsibilities, and fun hobbies and maybe a house and a dog, and definitely not a ex-fiance named Keegan.  That’s always a plus. 

 But I feel heavy, and unhappy, and not at all like my regular old, snappy self.  As I close my eyes, it’s a bit hard to breathe.  I want to talk to Tom.  I wish I could, but now I’m pretty sure I’ve totally pissed him off.  We’ve fought before, but maybe I was wrong.  We’ve never fought like this.  What am I supposed to do? I have to live my life.  He’s living his.  If we are a scale, I feel like we’ve been equal for quite some time, and now suddenly, things seem to be offset.  I’m not sure how to tip them back, and make things feel right again.

I’m not sure going on a date is the answer.  I’m instantly reminded of one of the worst dates I’ve ever been on.  It was a few years ago, and I’d been pretty excited about it.  I’d talked about it for a week before it happened.  I’d finally made a date with a gorgeous bartender I’d been eyeing up at the local pub.  Tom had listened, laughing and egging me on the whole time, and when I’d finally gotten the guts to talk to the guy, his name was Andy, Tom had congratulated me when I’d sealed the deal with a date.  That was about as good as it got.  That date is what we now fondly call the “Roadside Assistance Date”.

****

I walked along the side of the road, gravel flicking into my shoes.  I felt like such an idiot.  After weeks and weeks of flirting with Andy at O’Rourke’s, we’d finally gone out.  The night had started okay.  He’d been a bit late for dinner, and when he’d shown up he was on his phone half the time.  I finally got him talking about his band around the end of the meal, and then the conversation had been great.  We’d talked for awhile, and I’d felt like we’d hit it off.  Go me! One for Charlie! Bagging the hot bartender!!

When he offered to drive me home, I’d agreed, mostly because I’d taken a cab to the restaurant.  Things got awkward as soon as we got in his car.  Despite mediocre conversation, and strangely enough, not a lot of chemistry despite weeks of bar flirting, he seemed to think the drive home was the perfect time to really “get to know each other”.  He’d immediately started groping me, his hand on my thigh as soon as I’d sat down.  I’d laughed it off for all of three seconds, before giving him a firm “No”.  He’d promptly stopped the car, and told me to get out.  Wow. Low point.  But hell, I gladly got out, on the side of a four lane road and made sure to kick his car as he drove away. 

I pulled my phone out of my bag, wobbling slightly on the uneven road.  Why did I wear heels? Why did I wear heels for some shitty guy named Andy? I’m not a big fan of heels. I dialed the number that was at the top of my contacts.

“Charles.” He answered right away.

“I’m on the side of the road. Can you come get me?” I said.  I bit my lip and clenched my fist.

“You what?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.  Please?” I begged. 

“Of course.” He said resolutely.  I gave him a ballpark range of where I was, somewhere between a gas station and a shady looking motel, and then he told me to stay put and he’d be there in a minute.  He must have driven pretty fast, because I only had two random drivers cat call me, and one creeper start to slow down before I saw his Jag gliding down the road.  I’d never been happier to see a ridiculously overpriced luxury vehicle in my life.

“How much?” Tom asked, as the passenger side window rolled down.  I rolled my eyes and hopped in.  He waited until I was buckled in and then he took off, driving with a confidence and power that I sadly lacked.  Then again, I drive a Civic not a Jaguar.

“Are you alright?” Tom glanced at me after a few quite moments.  I managed to pull myself together, and then I nodded.

“I’m fine. He was a complete dick.” I said quickly.  Tom nodded.

“I would agree with that.  Want me to put a hit out? I know some people.” He asked, changing gears and moving faster down the nearly vacant highway.  I laughed softly, and reached down, unclasping my heels.  Tom glanced down and saw what I was wearing, then shot me a look.

“Those are some shoes.” He grinned.  “Sweet, why don’t you wear those for me?” He pouted and I laughed as I pulled them off.  My feet thanked me. 

“Thank you for coming to get me.  You weren’t busy were you?” I sighed, leaning back in the seat.  His seats were heated, which was nice considering it was a chilly night. 

“Never too busy for you.” He said without taking his eyes off the road.  I smiled and relaxed.  He kept driving, and before I knew it, we were back at his apartment.  He didn’t even have to ask.  He just knew I’d want to come over.

We spent the rest of the night watching terrible movies and played a really bad game of drunk charades.  I pranced around him in my little flouncy dress and he made me laugh by wrapping his shirt around his head, pretending to be some character for a movie.  It had started as one terrible date, and had ended as quite another story.  It wasn’t the first time I ended a terrible night at Tom’s.  He always made it better. 

****

Paul is extraordinarily normal and rather good looking.  I arrive at the Capital Grille, and I’m sort of in a terrible mood.  I’ve been in a terrible mood all week, stewing over the Tom business.  I go to bed thinking about that man and wake up with his ridiculousness in my head.  I contemplated cancelling the date, but I also sort of figured a day out of Havre de Grace might be good.

Capital Grille isn’t the sort of place I’d pick for a date.  It’s known for it’s amazing steaks, but it’s a bit uptight for me.  And of course, as I pull up to the front, and hand the valet my keys, I can’t help but think that Tom would love it.  For the steaks, not the atmosphere.  The atmosphere is a bit stodgy and dark, and I’m immediately on edge.

Paul is already there, and as I walk to the table, I’m pleasantly surprised.  He stands up to greet me.  He’s tall with short blond hair and light eyes. He’s wearing a very expensive suit, and he strikes an imposing figure.  Especially since he’s not smiling.  This is rather intimidating at first, and I am instantly doubting my outfit choice.  It’s a formfitting strapless cocktail dress, with a sweatheart neckline and a corset style top.  A bit fancy for my taste, but every now and then I like to wash the flour off and see what’s underneath.  It’s a pale, ivory gold color that goes nicely with my dark hair, and the cut does wonders for my curves.  I feel good in it.  But Paul isn’t smiling at all, and I’m beginning to wonder if I have something stuck in my teeth or a boob popped out.  I look down and the girls are tucked nicely in place. 

“Hi, Paul?” I say with a smile. “I’m Charlie Kaye.” I hold out my hand, and thankfully, Paul takes it.  He shakes my hand, and his hand is warm and he has a rather firm handshake.

“Hi, Charlie. Nice to meet you.” He pulls out my chair for me.  Is it nice to meet me? Is it nice? Because he’s still not smiling.

Over the course of the next hour, I find out a lot about Paul.  He’s a Mass Tort and Class Action Litigation attorney, and even though he explains it to me two times, I honestly glaze over a bit when he starts talking about fiduciary duty class actions. He has a condo in Harbor East, and says it has a terrific view of the Harbor.  He says he’d love to show it to me some time.  This strikes me as surprising since he still has yet to smile once during our dinner.  Our conversation is pretty easy going, and as first dates go, it isn’t all that bad.  He’s a good conversationalist, and not bad to look at.  When he talks, he has the sort of command of the space, where you want to listen.  Must be an attorney thing.

I find myself relaxing as the meal goes on. Maybe it is the $50 steak or the expensive wine (which honestly tastes like the $12 bottle I had Tom buy the other week).  Paul’s succinct and to the point, and surprisingly pleasant, if not a bit serious but it’s not a bad thing.  After he tells me about his job, his slightly ridiculous sounding condo (he says he has a sauna) and his hobbies—which include participating in marathons, a softball league on weekends and traveling, he asks about me.

I ramble for a bit.  I talk about Tiny Baker. I tell him I live in Los Angeles, but I’m in Maryland right now to get things in order.  I go into a long, painful speech about the hobbit hole.  He doesn’t smile once while I talk, but he does nod his head and keep some serious eye contact.  He’s definitely listening, and though I don’t think he thinks I’m very funny (I’m not sure he thinks anything is funny), I don’t think he’s totally repelled by me either.  This one…is quite a puzzle.

At the end of the meal, Paul takes care of the check, and then he leans forward.   I’m focused for a minute on his slightly square jaw, and his white teeth, and his rather straight, elegant nose.

“Would you like to come back to my place for a night cap, Charlie?” He asks, his voice serious.  He says it as if he’s asked me to help him save the world, and it’s hard for me not to want to laugh. 

I surprise myself when I say “Yes.”

****

His condo is seriously impressive.  I’ve seen a lot of great places, but the combination of the wide open space, the large picture windows and the view of the harbor makes the building seem absolutely breath taking.  Paul admits to having an interior decorator come in, which makes sense because the inside is rather generic.  It looks straight out of a magazine, and there’s no sign that an actual human being with a personality lives there. 

There are dark hardwood floors, and non descript abstract art on the walls.  A baby grand piano sits in the far corner and when I ask him if he plays, he shakes his head no.  The furniture is all white.  Two semi circle shaped sofas sit opposite each other in the middle of the room, and they seem to be made out of some kind of white leather.  Everything is white, or gray and made out of stone, wood or leather.  It’s impressive, but a bit cold.  Sort of like Paul.  Maybe it fits him perfectly. 

He shows me around.  The kitchen has concrete counters, and I drool over the double ovens and huge, chef’s stove top.  I have been living with the hobbit kitchen for far too long.  The bathroom has amazing huge windows that overlook the glow of the harbor.  We are on the 22nd floor, and there’s little chance of being seen from up that high.  The bathroom is all marble, and white porcelain.  He sweeps into his bedroom, which has the same high ceilings and white walls.  His bed faces more huge windows, and there is an electric fireplace against the far wall.  It’s a gorgeous house, but I feel as if I am in a show room.

“Can I get you something to drink? A cocktail? Or some champagne?” He asks.  He undoes his tie, takes off his jacket and begins to roll the sleeves on his shirt up.  He’s rather muscular, and for a moment I’m sucked into the “Lonely 29 Year Old” tv show where anything with a pulse and hint of testosterone makes me a bit dizzy.  If he notices me staring, he doesn’t show it.

“A vodka tonic would be great.” I say quickly, after I snap out of my house porn, forearm porn daze.  It’s all a bit much to take in at once. 

“Excellent.” He says.  “Want to wait out on the balcony? I’ll bring it out to you.” He says with the first smile of the evening.  If you can call it a smile.  It’s a small lift of the sides of his mouth.  Emphasis on the small.  I nod, and I let myself out onto the darkened balcony.  It’s a narrow space, but the view is terrific.  I can see all the lights in the darkened harbor.  There’s a lovely summer breeze that moves gently through my hair and over the bare skin on my shoulders. 

Paul comes out a few minutes later and hands me a glass tumbler.  He has an imported beer in his hand.

“It’s gorgeous out here.” I say softly.  He nods and leans against the metal railing.  He must be 6’2” or 6‘3”, at least.

“It is.  I’ve lived here for three years and it never gets old.” He takes a deep breath and then a drink from his beer.  I sip my drink. It’s strong, but not too strong.  I feel like an odd version of myself.  I’ve hardly laughed tonight.  I feel subdued.  I’m me, but a less colorful version.  I’m not sure it’s a bad thing.  Maybe the colorful version of myself is a bit too much.  It seems to get me in trouble. 

“You know, Charlotte, you’re smoking hot but you’re not the kind of woman I normally go for.” Paul turns to me then, his gray eyes looking down at me. It’s always the “but” that gets me. I’m not sure how to respond.  I don’t really take it as a compliment.  And he’s been calling me Charlotte all night, despite having introduced myself as Charlie. 

“Um, thanks?” I raise an eyebrow.  He smiles then, and this is a full on smile.  He looks good with a smile.

“That came out wrong.  You’re gorgeous, you know.  You must have men telling you that all the time.” He leans a hip against the railing, his big body turned toward me.  I feel a blush travel up my neck.

“Oh, yeah, of course, all the time.” I say with a laugh.  He leans forward, and I freeze. 

“You’ve got meat on you.  I like that.  I like you.” Paul’s voice is a low whisper.  He is definitely Mrs. Jacob’s nephew.  He’s got the backhanded compliment down pat.  Something my mother and her friends invented. 

“Well…wow.” Is all I can say.  Is Paul mean or just completely oblivious and ignorant?

“I’d love to see you again, Charlotte.” He leans a bit closer. Still with the Charlotte.

“It’s Charlie.” I quickly down the rest of my drink, but there’s no where to put the glass, so I keep holding it.  Paul takes a step toward me, and his presence is very…masculine.

“Charlie. Can I take you out again, Charlie?” He asks.  He takes another step forward, and I’m wavering between a lot of things.  I can’t tell if he’s hot, or if his creep factor is a little too high right now. He’s direct, that’s for sure.

“Yes.” I say, before I can really think.  There’s something sort of demanding about him that just makes me want to say “Yes.”  Paul smiles for the second…or is it third? time that night.  He takes another step forward, and closes the gap between us.  I can hear the noises from the harbor, I can feel the night breeze coming off the water.  Everything seems to be in slow motion, and it’s as if this is my first time at the Rodeo.

Paul leans down and one big hand comes up, pushing into my hair.  His face nears mine and then he kisses me.  Instead of being in the moment, feeling the kiss and enjoying it, I get a few different images that explode in front of my eyes.  It takes me a minute, but they fade, and then I am there.  Standing on balcony on the 22nd floor of a multimillion dollar condo, kissing Paul-the-Conqueror who has a permanent scowl on his face.

   It feels a bit awkward for me.  I’ve got my glass still in my hand, and it’s smashed between us like this sort of rock hand.  He’s not a bad kisser.  He goes right in for the tongue, and I let him. For a moment, it’s all lips and tongue and he groans a bit, which again, sends off this weird mix of alerts in my head.  Hot? Sexy? Creepy? Weird? I’m all confused at the moment. 

I can practically feel the heat coming off his body as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him.  The glass tumbler in my hand is sweating, and the cold condensation is running down my hand.  Suddenly, I get the image of this huge, lumbering man, hot and muscle-y, huffing on top of me, sweat running down his chest and dripping onto me while he calls me “meaty”. Ugh. Jesus, Mary…Jelly doughnuts.  Save me. 

I push against him, pulling back from the kiss.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head.  It’s all wrong.  I look around, and find a tiny glass table off to the side.  I set down my drink, and take a few steps back, giving us some space.  Paul is looking at me, concerned.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“I am…” I am not feeling like myself at all.  “I need to take things slowly.” I say, and I suddenly want very badly to leave.

“Oh, absolutely, Charlotte.  I understand.” He says, and then he takes my hand and is leading me back inside the condo.  The lights inside have been dimmed and he leads me over to one of the weird, semi circle leather couches.  He sits down, and pats the spot next to him.

“I should go.” I tilt my head to the door. My mind is dreaming of the shitty little Kia parked in the posh underground garage a few floors down.  I just have to pay the attendant my first born child to get it out.

“Are you sure?” He asks, crossing one big thigh over the other.  I shift, feeling my heels dig a bit into the side of my foot. 

“Yes. I’ve had a nice time, Paul. Thank you.” I say, feeling my stomach tie in knots.  I keep thinking about his kiss.  I keep thinking about where my mind went.

“Well, so did I.  I’m sorry you have to go.  Can I walk you down to your car?” He asks, standing up and following me toward the door.  I shake my head, rather violently.  I probably resemble one of those bobble heads.

“No, no, I’m fine. Thank you.” I raise up a hand.  He nods and continues with the whole not smiling thing.  We get to his door, and I yank it open. 

“I’ll call you then? Dinner next weekend.” He says, leaning against the open door.  I nod, though I am already thinking of how to gently let him down.  He is nice, and very…in charge, but he is not for me.  Not at all. 

“Thanks again for dinner.” I smile.  He nods, and then leans down, and kisses me much more gently on the lips.  I let him, though my hands stay dangling at my sides.  Who knew?! I’m completely dead inside.

“Goodnight, Charlotte.” Paul raises an eyebrow.  I turn and walk quickly to the elevator.  Once I’m safely inside the tomb, shooting down quickly all 22 floors into the basement garage, I finally have time to think.  I finally have time to think and ask myself “Why?” Even though Paul is a normal seeming, very good looking guy…the first thing that popped into my mind when he started to kiss me was…Tom.