Sheâs into this. She hasnât smiled nearly enough in the last few days Iâve had with her, but now she canât stop smiling.
âWhere are we going now?â she says, clapping her hands together. She still has powdered sugar on the corner of her mouth. I reach across the seat and wipe it off with my thumb.
âWeâre going to The French Quarter,â I tell her. âLots of romantic places there.â
She rolls her eyes, scrolling through her phone. âI wonder what we actually used to do for fun. Besides take selfies.â
âAt least they were all good selfies.â
She shoots me a look of pity. âThatâs a contradiction. There are no such things as good selfies.â
âIâve been through your camera roll. I beg to differ.â
She ducks her head and looks out her window, but I can see the pinks of her cheeks grow redder.
After we park, I have absolutely no plan. We filled up on so many beignets for breakfast, Iâm not sure sheâs quite ready to have lunch yet.
We spend the first part of the afternoon walking up and down every street, stopping in almost every store. Itâs as if weâre both so fascinated by the scenery, we forget we have a goal today. Iâm supposed to make her swoon. Sheâs supposed to swoon and fall in love with me. Get back on track, Silas.
Weâre on Dauphine Street when we walk past what claims to be a bookstore. Charlie turns around and grabs my hands. âCome on,â she says, pulling me into the store. âIâm pretty sure the way to my heart is in here.â
There are books stacked floor to ceiling, every which way. Sideways, top to bottom, books used as shelves for more books. A man sits behind a cash register to the right, which is covered in even more books. He nods a greeting as we enter. Charlie heads to the back of the store, which isnât very far away. Itâs a small store, but there are more books than a man could read in his entire life. She runs her fingers along the books as she passes them, looking up, down, around. She actually twirls when she gets to the end of the aisle. Sheâs definitely in her element, whether she remembers or not.
Sheâs facing a corner, pulling a red book off the shelf. I walk up behind her and give her another Silas Says task.
âSilas saysâ¦open the book to a random page and read the first few sentences you seeâ¦â
She chuckles. âThatâs easy.â
âI wasnât finished,â I say. âSilas says read the sentences at the top of your lungs.â
She spins around to face me, eyes wide. But then a mischievous grin drags across her mouth. She stands up tall while holding the book out in front of her. âFine,â she says. âYou asked for it.â She clears her throat, and then, as loud as she can, she reads, âIT MADE ME WANT TO MARRY HER! MADE ME WANT TO BUY HER A MAGIC AIRPLANE AND FLY HER AWAY TO A PLACE WHERE NOTHING BAD COULD EVER HAPPEN! MADE ME WANT TO POUR RUBBER CEMENT ALL OVER MY CHEST AND THEN LAY DOWN ON TOP OF HER SO THAT WEâD BE STUCK TOGETHER, AND SO IT WOULD HURT LIKE HELL IF WE EVER TRIED TO TEAR OURSELVES APART!â
Charlie is laughing when she finishes. But when the words she read begin to register, her laughter fades. She runs her fingers over the sentences like they mean something to her. âThat was really sweet,â she says. She flips through the pages of the book until she comes to a stop with her finger on a different paragraph. Then, in just barely a whisper, she begins reading again. âFate is the magnetic pull of our souls toward the people, places, and things we belong with.â
She stares at the book for a moment and then closes it. She places it back on the shelf, but she moves two books out of the way so that this book can be displayed more prominently. âDo you believe that?â
âWhich part?â
She leans against a wall of books and stares over my shoulder. âThat our souls are pulled toward the people we belong with.â
I reach out to her and pull at a lock of her hair. I run my fingers down it and twirl it around my finger. âI donât know if I normally believe in soul mates,â I tell her. âBut for the next twenty-four hours, Iâd bet my life for it to be true.â
She rolls her shoulder until her back is pressed against the wall of books, and sheâs facing me. I would absolutely bet my life on fate right now. I somehow have more feelings for this girl than will fit inside of me. And I want more than anything for her to feel the same thing. To want the same thing. Whichâ¦in this very momentâ¦is for my mouth to be on hers.
âCharlieâ¦â I release her lock of hair and bring my hand to her cheek. I touch her gentlyâ¦tracing her cheekbone with my fingertips. Her breaths are shallow and quick. âKiss me.â
She leans into my hand a little and her eyes flutter. For a moment, I think she might actually do it. But then a smile steals her heated expression and she says, âSilas didnât say.â She darts under my arm and disappears down the next aisle. I donât follow her. I grab the book she read from and tuck it under my arm as I head for the register.
She knows what Iâm doing. The whole time Iâm at the register, sheâs watching me from down the aisle. After I purchase the book, I walk outside and let the door shut behind me. I wait a few seconds to see if she follows me immediately out, but she doesnât. Same stubborn Charlie.
I pull the backpack off my shoulder and shove the book inside of it. Then I pull out my camera and turn it on.
She stays inside the bookstore for another half hour. I donât mind it. I know she knows Iâm still out here. I take picture after picture, engrossed in the people who pass by and the way the sun is setting over the buildings, casting shadows on even the smallest of things. I take pictures of all of it. When Charlie finally makes it back outside, my battery is almost dead.
She walks up to me and says, âWhereâs my book?â
I hoist the backpack over my shoulder. âI didnât buy that book for you. I bought it for me.â
She huffs and follows after me as I make my way down the street. âThatâs not a good move, Silas. Youâre supposed to be thoughtful. Not selfish. I want to fall in love with you, not become irritated with you.â
I laugh. âWhy do I feel like love and irritation go hand in hand with you?â
âWell, you have known me longer than Iâve known myself.â She grabs my hand to pull me to a stop. âLook! Crawfish!â She yanks me in the direction of the restaurant. âDo we like crawfish? Iâm so hungry!â
Turns out, we do not like crawfish. Luckily, they had chicken strips on the menu. We both like chicken, apparently.
âWe should write that down somewhere,â she says, walking backward down the middle of the street. âThat we hate crawfish. I donât want to have to go through that awful experience again.â
âWait! Youâre about toâ¦â Charlie falls on her butt before the rest of the sentence can make it out of my mouth. âWalk into a pothole,â I finish.
I reach down to help her up, but thereâs not much I can do about her pants. We had finally dried off after the rain from earlier today, and now sheâs soaking wet again. This time from muddy water. âYou okay?â I ask, trying not to laugh. Trying being the key word here. Because Iâm laughing harder than Iâve laughed all day.
âYeah, yeah,â she says as she attempts to wipe mud from her pants and her hands. Iâm still laughing when she narrows her eyes and points down at the mud puddle. âCharlie says sit in the pothole, Silas.â
I shake my head. âNo. No way. The game is called Silas says, not Charliesays.â
She arches an eyebrow. âOh, really?â She takes a step closer to me and says, âCharlie says sit in the pothole. If Silas does what Charlie says, Charlie will do whatever Silas says.â
Is that an invitation of sorts? Iâm liking flirtatious Charlie. I glance down at the pothole. Itâs not that deep. I turn around and lower myself until Iâm sitting cross-legged in the puddle of muddy water. I keep my eyes on Charlieâs face, not wanting to witness the attention weâre probably attracting from bystanders. She swallows back her laughter, but I can see the pleasure sheâs getting out of this.
I stay sitting in the pothole until it even starts to embarrass Charlie. After several seconds, I lean back onto my elbows and cross my legs. Someone snaps a picture of me in the pothole, so she motions for me to stand. âGet up,â she says, glancing around. âHurry.â
I shake my head. âI canât. Charlie didnât say.â
She grabs my hand, laughing. âCharlie says get up, you idiot.â She helps me to my feet and grabs my shirt, pressing her face against my chest. âOh my God, theyâre all staring at us.â
I wrap my arms around her and begin to sway back and forth, which is probably not what she was expecting me to do. She looks up at me, my shirt still clenched in her fists. âCan we go now? Letâs go.â
I shake my head. âSilas says dance.â
Her eyebrows crinkle together. âYou canât be serious!â
There are several people stopped on the street now, some of them taking pictures of us. I sort of donât blame them. Iâd probably take pictures of an idiot who willingly sat in a mud puddle, too.
I unclench her fists from my shirt and make her hold my hands as I force her to dance to non-existent music. Sheâs stiff at first, but then she seems to let the laughter take over the embarrassment. We sway and dance down Bourbon Street, bumping into people as we go. The whole time, sheâs giggling like she doesnât have a care in the world.
After a few minutes, we come to a break in the crowd. I stop twirling her long enough to pull her to my chest and sway softly, back and forth. Sheâs looking up at me, shaking her head. âYouâre crazy, Silas Nash,â she says.
I nod. âGood. Thatâs what you love about me.â
Her smile fades for a moment and the look she has in her eyes causes me to stop swaying. She places her palm over my heart and stares at the back of her hand. I already know sheâs not feeling a heartbeat inside my chest. Itâs more like a drumline in mid procession.
Her eyes meet mine again. She parts her lips and whispers, âCharlie saysâ¦kiss Charlie.â
I would have kissed her even if Charlie didnât say. My hand wraps in her hair a single second before my lips meet hers. When her mouth parts for mine, it feels as though she punches a hole straight through my chest and makes a fist around my heart. It hurts, it doesnât, itâs beautiful, itâs terrifying. I want it to last for eternity, but Iâll run out of breath if this kiss goes on for just one more minute. My arm wraps around her waist, and when I pull her closer, she moans quietly into my mouth. Jesus.
The only thing I have room for in this head of mine right now is the firm belief that fate absolutely exists. Fateâ¦soul matesâ¦time travelâ¦you name it. It all exists. Because thatâs what her kiss feels like. Existence.
Weâre momentarily jolted when someone bumps into us. Our mouths seaparate, but it takes effort to free ourselves from whatever hold just took over. The music from all the open doors along the street comes back into focus. The lights, the people, the laughter. All the external things that ten seconds of her kiss just blocked out are rushing back. The sun is setting, and nighttime seems to transform this entire street from one world to another. I canât think of anything I want more than to get her out of here. Neither of us seems to be able to move, though, and my arm feels like it weighs twenty pounds when I reach for her hand. She slides her fingers through mine and we begin walking in silence back toward the parking lot where my car is.
Neither of us speaks a word the entire walk back. Once weâre both inside my car, I wait a moment before cranking it. Things are too heavy. I donât want to start driving until we get out whatever it is we need to say. Kisses like that canât linger without acknowledgment.
âNow what?â she asks, staring out the window.
I watch her for a moment, but she doesnât move. Itâs as if sheâs frozen. Suspended in time between the last kiss and our next one.
I buckle up and put the car in drive. Now what? I have no idea. I want to kiss her like that a million more times, but every single kiss would end just like that one did. With the fear that I wonât remember it tomorrow.
âWe should go back home and get a decent nightâs sleep,â I say. âWe also need to make more notes in caseâ¦â I cut myself off.
She pulls on her seatbelt. âIn case soul mates donât existâ¦â she finishes.