Wickedly Charming by Kristine Grayson Page B

quirks. He hoped he found it.
    Today would tell. They had just experienced their first day at a Greater World School.
    And he’d been worried all day. Worried, and thinking of Mellie. Thinking he should call her.
    Of course, he had thought that ever since he got back, but he wasn’t sure what he would say. He would need to apologize for failing to call. (He could have called from the Kingdoms, but he kept putting that off. Truth be told, he didn’t like the phone.) He wanted to see her, and he kept making excuses to himself that he wouldn’t call her until he could see her.
    Which meant a lot of time went by, more time than he had planned.
    He glanced at his phone again. Nine minutes until school ended. Nine minutes to worry about his daughters. Nine minutes to think of a way to approach Mellie.
    He scrolled through the contacts list, saw her name, and stared at it, like he had done countless times before. He was scared. Not of women, but of relationships. Things had gotten so bad with Ella that he didn’t even want to try.
    That was the bottom of it all. His marriage had left him so badly injured that he—a man who had fought three separate wars—was afraid to contact a woman.
    So his thumb did it for him. It pressed her number, and the phone dialed.
    His breath caught. He had to hang up. He needed to hang up.
    But before he could, Mellie answered.
    She said hello.

Chapter 10
    Mellie sat in her third coffee shop of the day. This one was large and crowded, with some kind of jazzy music playing in the background. It had a large counter and efficient baristas, who worked like a well-planned team.
    She was becoming a coffee shop connoisseur. The coffee shop closest to the Malibu beach house she had rented had a lot of “aw-shucks-whatever” employees who couldn’t seem to make a simple latte.
    She could make a simple latte these days. She had bought a laptop—her fourth since she had begun this project—and had started lugging it to coffee shops where—she’d read—writers spent their days, able to concentrate on their work and yet feeling as if the people around them were—what? Companions? Co-workers?
    Mellie didn’t know, but she was beginning to think they were all more interesting than she was. And here, with all the tables filled by scruffy-looking people tapping contentedly on their laptops (or talking about deal points on the phone—loudly, so everyone else heard), she was beginning to think they were all more successful than she was too.
    They were more successful at writing. Or at least, at typing.
    She was no longer sure why she was trying this. She had been so inspired by Charming. His solution to her problems seemed so elegant, so simple.
    Write a book, he said, as if anyone could do it.
    Write a book.
    She was trying. At first, it seemed easy. She rented a house in Malibu—writers all lived in Malibu or in New York. She’d set up her computer in her fancy office overlooking the ocean, and for the first week, she reclined on the deck, reading all those books she’d gotten for free at the book fair.
    And trying not to feel abandoned by Charming.
    Those moments in the book fair had seemed magical. He was so handsome, and he seemed to know everyone. He walked her through the place, her hand tucked in his arm, his other hand occasionally covering hers. Some of his glamour trickled down on her, making her feel beautiful.
    People smiled at her. They talked to her. They explained things to her.
    They didn’t call security guards on her.
    If only she hadn’t kissed him.
    Not that the kiss had been a bad one. He hadn’t felt it, of course, but she had—that tingle when their lips touched, that moment of yes, this is right . Followed immediately by panic when she realized he hadn’t participated, had in fact just stood there, staring at her, waiting for her to get done.
    At least, that’s how she interpreted it. How