Charlie—

She was just finishing up with a particularly complicated tint job and blinking from the fumes when the little bell over the shop door chimed. Charlie looked over and the sight of Douglas and Martin coming in made her stomach flip-flop. She patted Mrs. Stevens on the shoulder, murmuring, "Now let me set the timer and you can help yourself to any of the magazines." Charlie gave the little kitchen device a quick crank and made her way to the door, hugging each man in turn, looking from one face to the other, concerned.

"The appointment . . . you're all right Douglas, aren't you?"

"Yes," he assured her quietly, his smile small but warm. "I'm doing fine my dear. Martin's been a perfect mother hen to me most of the morning."

"Sheepdog more like," Martin huffed. "In charge of one big, stubborn-"

"Ram," Douglas finished smoothly. "We've just stopped by to take you to lunch, if you've got the time."

"Give me half an hour to finish with Mrs. Stevens and I'm all yours," Charlie replied, feeling a rush of relief. They'd both looked rather serious when they'd stepped in.

It took nearly fifty minutes to satisfy Mrs. Stevens, but once the woman left Charlie closed up her station, waved goodbye to Edwin and linked arms with both Martin and Douglas.

And it felt right, it truly did. Charlie gave a happy sigh and allowed herself to be escorted to the Lexus, feeling a bit like a princess. "Where are we going?"

"There's a little hole in the wall I know of that does good crêpes," Douglas replied.

"Crêpes?" Martin questioned, looking a little wary.

"Crêpes. It's on me," Douglas told him. "You need the carbohydrates, Sir."

That settled, they arrived at Josette's, a charming little French café, and found a little booth near the back. Charlie waited, butterflies in her stomach as she settled between both men, glad of their proximity but nervous all the same. They both looked apprehensive as well; Martin was downright twitchy.

A bored teenager ambled over and handed out laminated menus. "Special-al-ee-tay today is the ham 'n cheese. I'll be back."

"We'll try to contain our trembling anticipation," Douglas replied dryly. Both Martin and Charlie snickered at that, and the atmosphere lightened considerably.

Charlie pretended to look at the menu. "So, do we take the suggestion offered by our hipster garçon there, or go for something a little more français?"

"French sounds good to me," Martin offered and promptly went bright red. On the other side of Charlie, Douglas looked like the Cheshire cat.

"Naughty Captain Crieff," he murmured, making Charlie giggle once more.

"Douglas, behave," she ordered. "I won't let you give Martin crêpe about his choices."

"Mademoiselle wounds me to the quick," he murmured without malice. Charlie arched an eyebrow at him, her expression fond.

"Mademoiselle?"

"Certainly. If Sir is Sir, then it stands to reason that Mademoiselle is Mademoiselle, n'est-ce pas?"

"Douglas," Martin sighed. "You're being deliberately . . . Gallic."

"Well Sir did mention liking French-"

Charlie rolled her eyes and at the same time slipped her hands under the table, resting one on each man's thigh. Both Douglas and Martin shut up immediately, and she made a mental note to use the move again at some point.

"Shhhhhh," she told them. "Lunch. I'd like the crêpe du fromage and maybe some sparkling water while you both tell me what it is you want to tell me."

She didn't miss how the two of them looked at each other, and it confirmed her guess that they'd reached some sort of agreement. Given that neither man looked particularly grim, Charlie let herself hope.

Once the waiter had returned and taken their orders—crepes for Douglas and Charlie, croque-monsieur for Martin—Charlie waited.

"It's a go," Martin finally murmured, a familiar red flush brightening his face. "Douglas and I discussed it, and we've agreed that given the way we both feel about you that . . . well . . . yes."

She beamed, looking upward at the ceiling, feeling a glorious burst of joy within her, along with a quick and honest pang of fear. Quelling it, Charlie turned to give Martin a warm peck on the cheek, then shifted her gaze to Douglas.

He gave a deep and dramatic sigh. "How I get talked into these things I'll never know. It must be my hopelessly romantic nature."

Charlie kissed him as well, rubbing her nose against his slightly bristly cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.

He said nothing, but his gaze was sweet and Charlie wriggled a little in her seat.

"So . . ." Martin muttered after a moment. "How . . . does this work?"

"Work?" Charlie echoed.

"I think Martin is interested in the schedule," Douglas drawled in an undertone. "Not that he's alone in that."

"Ohh," Charlie sighed. "Well, I thought after lunch we'd all go back to your place, Douglas, and have a bit of a lie-down. Nothing kinky mind; just a bit of sleep before I head off to Fitton for my shift."

"A nap?" Martin sounded vaguely miffed. "That's a bit . . . underwhelming."

"Douglas needs the rest, and you do too," Charlie pointed out wryly. "I dunno about the pair of you but I didn't very much last night worrying about your answers so I could use a bit of a snooze."

"Fair enough," Douglas agreed. He looked as if he would say more, but Charlie saw him stiffen for a second and followed his gaze where she noticed Carolyn Knapp-Shappey step into the restaurant followed by a dapper older man.

"Hey chief," Douglas murmured.

"Got it," Martin replied, sounding tense. Charlie wasn't sure what that was all about, but she felt herself trying very hard not to be noticed. For a moment it seemed to work, and the couple was escorted to a table just cater-corner from the three of them.

"Oh God," Martin moaned. "Absolutely the last person I want to see right now!"

"Well we can't go; our food's about to arrive," Charlie pointed out in a whisper. "There's no reason to think she'll even talk to us, is there?."

"Mademoiselle clearly doesn't know the president of MJN Air nearly as well as we do," Douglas sighed.

Douglas—

It only took a few minutes to realize though, that Carolyn was studiously avoiding them. It dawned on Douglas that this turn of events had to be directly related to the presence of Herc Shipwright, who seemed vastly amused by the clear lines being drawn in the restaurant. He beamed over Carolyn's shoulder and Douglas gave him a nod, then looked to Martin, who was torn between looking up and studying the food now sitting in front of him.

"Carolyn is on a date," he announced with an air of satisfaction.

Martin looked skeptical. "Really? I didn't think that was possible."

"Nor did I, but apparently miracles do occur. Eat up, me hearties; this lunch comes with a floor show."

"What, you're planning on watching them?" Charlie sounded both amused and slightly scandalized.

"Indeed I do; any chance to turn the tables is a good day in my book. How about you, Martin?"

"It IS rather like a wreck," he agreed. "There's something wrong about watching, but looking away is nearly impossible. Is he . . . holding Carolyn's hand?"

"Normally that move would get it bitten off," Douglas nodded. "The poor brave fool."

"Stop it you two!" Charlie spluttered, trying not to laugh. "You're terrible!"

"Yes but it's so . . . so . . . against the natural order," Martin pointed out. "Carolyn and romance just don't go together. It's like sardines and chocolate!"

"Another Arthur recipe. Oh look, I think an attempt at footsie just came into play . . ."

"That had to hurt," Charlie winced. "Enough—eat up, gentlemen and let's leave them to the same, all right?"

They followed her direction, but Douglas kept an eye on the courtship happening at the table diagonal from them, and was pleased to see that Carolyn wasn't having much success at ignoring them, not by the set of her shoulders. He felt vaguely sorry for her in an abstract way; ever since the Limerick trip Douglas found that he had a bit more sympathy for Carolyn.

Not that he'd ever tell her of course, but having met her ex as well put together a picture of a life with some very bleak spots to it. If Herc Shipwright could add some color to the canvas of Carolyn Knapp-Shappey's existence, then who was he, Douglas Richardson, do deny her that?

It was only after lunch and the drive home that he found himself slightly nervous. The distraction of Carolyn's appearance had kept Douglas from considering that he was about to sleep with two people in a purely platonic way; something he'd never done before and didn't expect would actually happen now. But after making sure he'd had his pain meds, Charlie gave a cheerful yawn and led the way into the bedroom, leaving Douglas to shoot Martin a wry look before following her in.

Thank God the bed was going to be big enough at least. He and Helena had gotten a king-sized one only a few years ago and it was one of the things she'd left with him after the divorce. Douglas knew he was a big man, and having the freedom to stretch out was a blessing. But now . . .

"Come on; I'm taking the middle," Charlie called, and dear God she was sliding out of her jeans and shoes. Douglas took in a breath as he watched her crawl over the duvet and slip under it, a warm body in shirt and panties.

"Oh God," Martin sighed, and the sound of it was enough to galvanize him. Douglas moved to his side of the bed—the right side—and sat, slipping off his loafers.

"If you steal the covers, I'm never inviting you back," he called over his shoulder to Charlie. "Snoring I can take; blanket theft is unacceptable."

"Understood. Martin, hurry up," Charlie called. Douglas concentrated on slipping his watch off before flipping up the duvet and stretching himself out under it, brace and all. The comfort of the mattress and the warmth of the body next to his felt welcoming and good. He closed his eyes, taking all the sensations in.

Douglas heard Martin fumbling a bit, and then felt the mattress joggle as the third body tumbled in. For the next few moments everyone squirmed to get comfortable in the awkwardness of proximity. Charlie was smothering a giggle, and Douglas gave a sigh.

"This isn't a teenage girl's sleepover," he reminded the other two in his most put-upon voice. "Settle down, please. Some of us don't appreciate having our ankle jostled."

"I can't help it," Martin squeaked. "I'm a bit . . . ticklish. And I'm not used to having er, company."

"Just think of me as a pillow," Charlie murmured. "With strategic lumps."

Douglas laughed, and after a moment both Martin and Charlie joined in, helplessly. Any time one of them began to settle down all it took was a single look across the bed to have the laughter erupt anew.

"M-M-My ribs hurt," Martin chuffed, his voice much looser now. "God. Pillow!"

"Shhhh," Charlie murmured, and Douglas felt her spoon up against his side. "Go to sleep."

They quieted, and Douglas realized that he actually was a bit sleepy, and wonderfully relaxed as well. Charlie felt good pressed up against his side, a comforting presence that soothed in ways that went beyond the physical. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, savoring the warmth of her skin, and turned his head to whisper to her. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Charlie whispered back, smiling. "Sleeeeep."

Douglas wasn't sure exactly when he drifted off, aided by the pain meds and the warmth of the bedroom, but he did, dimly aware of Martin's soft little kitten snores starting up on the other side of the mattress.