Chapter One
Charlie spent months curating Pinterest boards, pealing and sticking tile backsplash under her kitchen cabinets, saving up for her West Elm white oak canopy bed, and only buying paintings from Houston artists to decorate her urban, midcentury modern studio that overlooked Montrose. Her space was where she was most content. She surrounded herself with greenery and spent a majority of her time watering her peace lilies and snake plants, sitting on her tan leather sectional and reading something that would feed into her hopeless romanticism. Her rose-painted walls reflected devotion to herself, along with always hanging eucalyptus in her shower to calm her before sipping zero proof wine from stemmed glasses.
It became routine after she redirected her mind from CSS back to the quiet disdain she tried to suppress about her day-to-day life. She’d journal it out before cooking blackened catfish over rice or shrimp and langoustines over grits, her favorite meals she’d cook at least once a week. She hated her job, but it was stable. It was her best option with no direction when it came time for her to pursue a career after her failed college dream didn’t have a plan B attached. She was already designing website for fun. She even blogged a bit. When the opportunity came for her to design a website for a startup, she found that she could get paid by doing something she already knew how to do. She freelanced for five years making decent money until the pandemic hit. Then she needed to make a waitlist.
One by one more people reached out to get a website developed. The boom of situational entrepreneurship and the Great Resignation forced her to find a way to manage all her new inquires. She knew all about monetizing skills and her home décor was an outlet that wouldn’t drain what creativity she had left after hours of being creative for everyone else. She never complained about her job no matter how much she hated it. She made her own hours and could now afford her luxury high-rise. Her clients were generous, and she never had an issue with invoices going unpaid.
Every day she forced herself to go outside to let the sun hit her warm skin - also to make sure she wouldn’t become a recluse since she could spend days at a time with no social interaction due to solopreneur life. She’d walk to Credo di sì, a small Italian coffee shop that refused to serve Americanos, and order an espresso after she was finished with her morning client sync meetings. If she had time she’d sit and people-watch as she finished her cup or talk to Charlie the barista who loved making jokes about having the same name. No matter the mood she was in, he’d make sure she was taken care of before she left – and today was no different. What would break from their routine was the barista's defeat, because she didn’t leave smiling.
On this day she had an extra hour to pass, so she found a seat next to the panned windows that had the right amount of sunlight to comfortably warm her on this fall day. The shop was typically empty around this time, but she’d seen Charlie greet a few visitors, make them lattes, then send them on their way. Montrose is a unique neighborhood of characters filled with artists, fellow tech remote workers, and the corporate folks who you knew just took the job because of the security – they’d rather being writing, taking photos, or doing something else creative. From time to time she’d also spot River Oaks old money who would order their drinks and tip well, or not at all. She had plenty to see as she sipped her espresso, but she could go without seeing the person who caused her to leave the shop that day.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him, but she could have gone a lifetime without seeing him again. When their eyes met, she lost a breath before taking a filling inhale hard enough to tighten her chest. She stayed in her seat and let him walk over to her. He asked to sit and she nodded before he pulled out the chair, set down his matcha, and placed his backpack on the floor.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“This is definitely a surprise,” she followed. “Are you visiting?”
“I just moved back,” he said with a smile. She didn’t return his gesture.
“I’m sure your dad is happy about that,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, I’m sure he would have been,” he said.
Still impassive, she was able to let out an, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he sighed.
“And your mom?” she asked.
No response.
“Well, it’s great running into you,” she says as she grabs her bag and empty mug before pushing her chair out to prepare to leave. He follows her.
“Can we grab a coffee here soon and catch up?” he asked, “Is this still your spot after your client meetings?”
“It is,” she said, “and I don’t think so.”
“Let’s talk, Dion. Come on. I moved to the neighborhood and you know how we move. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Let me warm that cold shoulder you’re trying to give me just so it won’t be this awkward.”
“I doubt we’ll run into each other, Houston is huge. Why’d you pick this neighborhood?”
“You’re making me work hard to get a ‘yes’ from you. Like always.”
“Fine,” she says on her way out of the door.
“Amoré, where’s my smile!?” the barista shouts as she rushes out of the shop.
“Not today, Charlie,” she says.
“Dion!” the guy shouts as he chases her out of the shop. She stops. She’s not used to hearing that name anymore, but she knew the voice clear as day.
“Yeah?” she replied, collecting herself from the built-up adrenaline that had formed from trying to keep her composure getting out of there.
“When are you free?” he asked. He attempts to grab her hand but stops mid motion. Because she’s so standoffish, he could sense that’s probably not the best approach.
“Later tonight,” she said, “Is that cool with you?”
“I mean yeah, that’s cool with me,” he responds, taken aback a bit. “I didn’t want to impose that option based on your vibe right now.”
“I’ll help you unpack a few boxes,” she says.
He smiled. “Why are you assuming I’m not unpacked already?”
She looks down and stares at the worn shell toes he’s wearing, then looks back up at him with a smirk. “Let me guess, you got here a few days ago?”
“You’d be correct,” he says, “And I need you to stop trying to play me right now.”
“I’ll help you set up your 1s wall.”
He smiles and stares. She keeps her composure, only giving him a tiny smirk back. That’s all she was going to give him, even though she thought he deserved way less.
“You’re much appreciated,” he said.
“Uh huh. Where do you live?” she asks.
“This high-rise with the tinted blue windows,” he says pointing down a increasingly congested road. “It’s on Montrose right before you hit the museums.”
Charlie’s smirk disappeared, returning to her blank face. She was surprised, but she didn’t want him to read it through her expression. She was very familiar with that building. It was right across from hers, taller and blocking the scenic views her building once had before it was built. She thought she had made a major accomplishment when she moved in, but thanks to newer and nicer building for those with much more money than her, she’s always reminded that she has more work to do whenever she looked outside her window.
“Are you still living at these apartments right here?” he asked as he pointed above Credo di sí.
“No, I moved,” she said, “But I’m still in the neighborhood.”
“Oh word? Where are you now?”
“I need to head back to get some work done for a deadline I have today. I know where you’re staying. Send me your apartment number and I’ll come over around 8ish.”
“I’m on the top floor, at penthouse 3. I don’t have shit else to do today besides unpack so come over whenever.”
“Of course, you’re on the top floor,” she mumbled. He didn’t hear her.
“Alright,” she said.
He went in for a hug, but she quickly dismissed it and watched as he pulled back, smiled at her, and started walking back to those tall blue windows she hated.
Chapter Two
Charlie was annoyed with herself. Why did she extend an invitation to help this man unpack? Why was it so second nature to find ways to help him?
She lied about that deadline; she’d finished it before heading to the coffee shop. She spent the rest of the day beating herself up about inviting herself over to his home and tried to make sure she was completely out of his sight before heading back to her place. The likelihood of them living in buildings so close to each other in this huge city was high, but knowing him, it was definitely not impossible. He had a way of making himself known to Charlie whenever he was in town. It had been years since he left, but he did say he’d be back. She just didn’t believe him.
More tightness in her chest came as it got closer to the time Charlie had said she would arrive to help. She put on her University of Houston crewneck with some matching sweats and her Jordan 1 Lost and Founds. She pulled her hair up in a puff and put on small gold hoops before spraying her Coffee in the Morning perfume. She headed to the elevator and pressed the button to her apartment lobby, then crossed the street where she was greeted by a doorman who opened a large glass door and directed her to the concierge. Before she could take in the lobby, a young woman greeted her and asked who she was there to see.
“River Ransom,” Charlie said. “Penthouse three.”
The woman guided her to the elevators and gave her access to the top floor. She thanked her as the elevator doors closed. Charlie rolled her eyes at how sophisticated this place was. Her lobby wasn’t this nice, and neither was the concierge. She had to let her visitors up herself, defeating the purpose of the amenity she was paying for, she thought.
The elevator arrived at the top floor, and penthouse three’s door was the first thing she saw as the doors opened. She walked to River’s door and collected herself before knocking.
She was irritated. She had always been annoyed that he was doing just a bit better than her. She worked hard to afford a one-bedroom apartment in her high-rise, and he had to come show he was doing better by getting a three-bedroom penthouse on the top floor of the building that obstructed her view. She shook it off and knocked. The side of her that extended herself needed to show now; not the standoffish side she should have kept showing during their entire interaction that morning. She could unpack this irritated feeling later, but for now, she needed some answers.
“Dion,” he said as he opened the door with a smile. He was in the same fit as earlier, just now in slippers, not worn Adidas.
“Hey,” she said, seeing herself fall into old rhythms like muscle memory. “Shoes off, or no?”
“Yeah, go ahead and kick them off. Let me see what you got on your feet today. You were moving so fast I didn’t get to see earlier while you were talking about mine.”
“My bad,” she said with a chuckle. “It was too easy for me not to say anything.”
“Don’t forget, I put you on sneakers,” he playfully boasted. “I got you your first pair of 1s.”
“I’m aware,” she said. “You want to take credit for my full collection now?”
“Nah, just that I started it. I’m cool with whatever you did afterwards.”
“Yeah, okay. Where do you want me to start with yours?”
Charlie started to roam around his place. It was huge compared to her unit. It had two floors, with a bedroom overlooking his living space that already had a dark leather sectional and a 75-inch TV mounted on the wall with a fake fireplace installed. The rest of the home was pretty empty, only full of boxes. Some with his kitchenware, most with his closet. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened up to a beautiful view of downtown Houston, with a wicker set sitting on his balcony, ready to be used when the sun set and cooled the city a bit.
“Have you been sleeping on your couch?” Charlie asked as she walked over to grab the knitted blanket lying on the edge of the sectional.
“Yeah, my bed doesn’t come until this weekend,” he said. “I’ll be thugging it out until then.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing too much of that. This place is nice.”
“Thank you, Dion.”
“How long are you going to be here?”
“I’ll be here for a while. I have some reasons to stay around this time.”
“This time, huh?” Charlie said passively. He didn’t respond. He knew when not to respond to her passive-aggressiveness she couldn’t control. He just let her do it and acted like it didn’t happen, which irritated Charlie.
“Where are you putting your sneaker wall?” she asked, trying to break some of the tension she had created. She made a note to watch that behavior, but with him, that was hard to do. If she kept this up, she’d probably need to leave. What she was holding onto was old, and if she came over to extend help, some part of her clearly wanted to let it go. But another part was fighting hard not to.
“I actually haven’t put it up yet,” he said. “But you can help me unpack my office.”
Charlie followed him into another room full of boxes towering against the wall, a bookshelf, and a disassembled desk. A monitor sat in the corner of the room, propped up with a few books to create a makeshift mount.
“Have you been working in this corner since you got here?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, a bit embarrassed. “I had to make something happen as soon as I got in town because I was trying to lock in a new client.”
“Did you end up locking them in?”
“Of course, I did,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah. Of course,” she said.
“Can you help me unpack these books? Be careful, the boxes are heavy.”
Charlie started opening boxes, finding one after another filled with books. He had a mix of titles from Atomic Habits, Fourth Wing, and UH alum Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly, with no rhyme or reason to his collection at all. It was all over the place, but that made sense for him. It was nothing like Charlie’s collection, which was full of works by Tia Williams, Kennedy Ryan and Akwaeke Emezi.
“How do you want these organized on your shelves?” Charlie asked. “These titles are all over the place.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine with me, honestly,” he said. “I’ll find what I need when I’m ready for it.”
“I guess,” she said hesitantly. “It just doesn’t seem like the best way to find anything since you have so many genres.”
“It’s cool, Dion. Just throw them up there. I just need to get everything out first.”
“Whatever you say.”
Charlie unpacked box after box while he started assembling his desk. The silence was painfully awkward, but he didn’t know how to approach talking to her. She was always so hot and cold with him, and he was a bit rusty at reading between her lines. But he knew how to start. She was already here with him, so he knew she wanted to talk in some capacity. She’d never admit it, but running into him at Credo di Si was somewhat pleasant.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “what brought you back this time?”
“I wanted to come back,” he said. “Nothing had to bring me back.”
“And why’d you choose Montrose? Your family lives on the north side.”
“Probably the same reason you chose it. You don’t live close to your family.”
“You know my fam doesn’t live here. That’s different.”
“But there’s a reason you chose to be here. You can work from anywhere, still, right? Why not move back to Oak Cliff, close to your family?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“And that’s my answer as well.”
“You haven’t changed,” she said passively again. Strike two.
“Neither have you,” he said. He could ignore her tone for a while, but he eventually reached a limit. His tone never changed, but his words did. They became more direct. Charlie clearly understood what he meant, and there was no questioning it. When Charlie started, he finished. But, he’d rather not.
The awkward silence returned as Charlie continued putting up book after book, finishing box after box. She recognized a majority of the titles, even if she hadn’t read them. They were ones he had talked about in their past. Old business textbooks, self-help, fantasy, even a bit of historical fiction. But as she scanned title after title, one book didn’t belong: Dearest Dion by River Ransom.
“Riv,” Charlie said, getting his attention. She held up the book so he could see the title clearly. “What is this?”
“Oh yeah,” he said as he screwed in the final leg to his desk. “I meant to give you that last time I was in town, but you know how that went. Take it with you when you go home.”
“Did you write this?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah, I did,” he said casually, flipping the desk upright and shaking it to test how sturdy it was. “Read it when you get a chance. I know you lean heavy on the prose and romance side, but you’ll still probably like it.”
“You’re joking, right? You don’t even like writing.”
“I did for a semester, remember?”
“And you happened to write a book of what looks like short stories and poems on top of our work during that time and publish it?”
“I didn’t t publish it, i just printed that copy. I just wanted to see if I could physically make something. I think it’s pretty good, but you’re the one with the Creative Writing degree.”
“English, Riv. Stop.”
He stopped. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. He could tell she was triggered by his remark, and he felt bad about it.
“I’ll read it,” she said, before Riv could start apologizing.
“Thank you,” he said. “And sorry for making that joke.”
“You’re fine.”
River slowly walked over to give her a hug. A bit hesitantly, because he knew she might not accept it, but she did. There was still silence, but the awkwardness was gone.
She finished unpacking the boxes full of books, then headed home, Dearest Dion in hand.