“Me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Levi
“So…about that job offer,” Charlie quips beside me. The sun is shining, and the air is warm as we take a walk down the street to her place. There’s no way I could’ve invited her back into my apartment when Conner was inside. Things have been tense, to say the least, which is why it seemed like the perfect opportunity to move in with my mom for a few months until I could find a new place.
“What about it?” I ask before reaching for her hand and tangling our fingers together. Part of me is still afraid she’ll evaporate into thin air, and I’ll wake up in my bed. Alone. And riddled with guilt.
Although the guilt is still there. I have so much to make up for.
“You turned it down,” she says matter-of-factly.
“We already talked about this—”
She cuts me off. “Yeah, but I didn’t get a chance to tell you what a terrible idea that it was.”
I glance over at her. “Is that right?”
“Sure is.”
“Well, unfortunately, I think it’s a little too late for shoulda, woulda, coulda, Charlie.”
“Debatable, my friend. Very debatable.”
Curious, I cock my head to the side. “And how is that debatable? I already turned it down, remember?”
“Yeah. And you’ve also been ignoring their calls.”
I tug her to a halt. When she turns to me with a mischievous smile, my gaze narrows. “How do you know I’ve been ignoring their calls?”
“I already told you. I ran into Alexandra on one of my runs.”
“And?” I press.
“And she asked if I would do her a favor.” Her mouth quirks up on one side, and her eyes are shining like she knows a secret. One that I’m dying to find out.
“Come on, Charlie. Throw me a bone here. What did she ask?”
“She asked if I would convince you to accept Montague’s offer.”
“What?” I practically shout, gaining attention from a few random strangers near Charlie’s building. “But, I already turned it down.” I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round.
Haven’t we already discussed this?
“You said that already,” she teases, reading my mind. “And they’re hoping you might reconsider.”
“They haven’t already found someone?”
“Nope. They could’ve. Obviously. But they want you.”
“You mean, I’m not too late?” My mind can’t grasp the concept. When I turned down the position, I knew what it would mean, but I couldn’t even consider accepting it after coming to terms with all the screwed up decisions I’d made that led to it.
“You’re not too late.”
“And how ‘bout you?” I ask. “Am I too late for a shot with you?”
With a face-splitting grin, she presses onto her tiptoes and whispers, “You’re not too late for that, either.”