"Ugh, Charlotte," Violet sighs, scowling as she pulls up in front of her house.
Charlotte's car is blocking the garage. Smack dab in the center of the driveway, so Violet can't get around her. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if the sky hadn't just opened up in a sudden downpour, and while Violet's car could probably use a wash, it's the principle of it all. Who center parks in a driveway when they have a roommate?
Violet parks next to the curb, and hugs her purse to her body as she darts inside (she'd hold it over her head, but it's her good purse, and she'd rather not ruin in with rain). It's only a few yards to the door, but she still ends up looking like a drowned rat. And on top of that, there's no sign of Charlotte once Violet gets inside, so she can't even yell at her properly.
She kicks off already-soggy shoes at the door and trudges up the stairs, heading for the bathroom and a towel to dry her hair. The door is shut, and as she gets closer she hears the sound of a running shower (the rain had drowned it out from downstairs), then the squeak as the knob turns and the shower cuts off. Modesty be damned, she's irritated.
Violet takes a deep breath, musters up her best I-can-handle-Charlotte-King determination, and pushes the door open. "Charlotte, do you think- You're not Charlotte."
She feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she fully registers the sight in front of her: about six feet of rugged good looks, one of her fluffy lavender bath towels slung low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin and curling the ends of his dark hair. Well... that's... mortifying and kind of pleasant all at the same time.
To his credit, Travis doesn't miss a beat, just steadies the towel tucked at his waist with one hand and reaches the other out toward her with a smile. "Hi there. You must be Violet."
Violet takes it, awkwardly, and shakes. She's gaping, she knows she is, and it's not that he's so good-looking (although he is – there's a nicely defined body to go with that handsome face), it's just that this is not at all what she was expecting and apparently it's taking her brain a minute to catch up.
And to make matters worse, that smile widens and he tells her, "You don't close that mouth, somethin's gonna come along and build a nest in it."
Violet snaps her mouth shut – and then snaps out of it, shaking her head and chuckling a little. "I'm sorry, I just – you startled me. Travis, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is Charlotte here? I need her to move her car."
"Ah, no. She ran out for groceries – which I'm sure she'll bitch about as soon as she gets back, now that it's rainin'." He adjusts the towel at his waist, and Violet dutifully keeps her eyes on his face. "Her car's been givin' her trouble; I was fixin' it, got all greasy. She took mine to the store."
"Oh. Well, do you have the keys? I can't get into the garage."
Travis winces, then looks all sorts of apologetic. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't think. Don't you worry about it – I'll go ahead and move it, just as soon as I get some pants on."
Violet lets out another nervous laugh and says, "Right. Sorry. I'm gonna... get out of your doorway now. If you could just hand me a towel...?"
"Sure thing," he says, turning to reach into the cabinet and pull one out (back view doesn't suck either). He hands it so her, gives her another of those charming smiles, and Violet shuts the door behind her.
She has the sudden urge to giggle at the ridiculousness of what just happened, and has to stifle it in her towel until she gets to her bedroom.
.:.
Ten minutes later, Violet's car is in the garage, Charlotte's is getting a carwash courtesy of Mother Nature, and Violet and Travis are sitting around the kitchen island sipping coffee.
"So you went to school with Charlotte?" Violet asks, trying to make polite small talk. Travis smiles a little and hesitates, before nodding slowly.
"She tell you all sorts of embarrassing stories about me or somethin'?"
If it's fishing, he's good at it, because Violet shakes her head and tells him, "No, she didn't tell me anything actually. Just 'that was Travis, he's a friend from college.'"
Travis' brows raise for a second, and he looks none too pleased, but he covers it a moment later. "That's mostly true, I guess."
"Mostly true?" Aha. She knew Charlotte was hiding something.
"Well, I spent a lot of time with her during college, but we didn't actually go to school together. Her best friend is a friend of mine, so we spent a lot of time together during the summer, breaks, things like that."
"Ah." Violet can't resist asking, "What was she like back then? Was she already tough-as-nails Charlotte King, or...?"
"Lola was born tough," he tells her, and it takes a split-second for Violet to realize he's still talking about Charlotte. "That woman can argue with a fence post, always been that way. Her Momma used to say she came into the world hollerin' and never let up."
"You call her Lola?" And you know her mother? she adds, to herself.
He falters for a second, glances to the side and hesitates. Oh, there's definitely more going on here than meets the eye, and Violet is nothing if not nosy enough to find out. "Uhhh, yes. I do. Only me, though, really. It's kind of an inside thing."
"Inside thing," Violet repeats with a smile and a nod. "So you two must've been close."
"Yeah, you could say that," he mutters into his coffee cup.
"Did you date?"
He chokes a little on the mouthful he'd been about to swallow, then clears his throat before answering, "For a little while, yeah. Didn't work out." Violet doesn't miss the way he glances toward the door. He's looking for Charlotte, she realizes, and from the way he's shifting and fiddling with the handle of his mug, she's pretty sure he's worried about getting himself in trouble.
"Rekindling the flame again after all these years?" she tries. Travis lips curve into something between a smile and a grimace, and he's not meeting her eyes. He shakes his head.
"No, just friends. That ship, uh... I guess it sailed a while ago."
"Got it." She doubts that. "Did you break her heart or did she break yours?"
"A little of both," he admits, "But mostly me. I was a jerk. Fully deserved the dumpin' I got. But I'd imagine she wouldn't be too fond of me airin' all our dirty laundry, so, uh, let's talk about you." There's something in the way he says it that makes her think she'll have trouble guiding him back into juicy storytelling mode. There might as well be an intercom announcement: Ladies and gentlemen, the gossip train is approaching its final stop, please take your belongings with you when you disembark. "Where did you spend this fine Saturday afternoon?"
"With Cooper," Violet answers, and she doesn't miss the way his lips press into a line for just a second at the name. Not a fan of Cooper, then, but definitely knows the name. Maybe she can do some subtle digging in that vein. "My best friend. He's actually how I met Charlotte – they used to date."
"Yeah, I've heard." He sips his coffee again, licks his lips, sets the mug down. "You were in Costa Rica, right?" Damnit. Deflected. "I went there back in college. A whole bunch of us went down one spring break, did a white water rafting tour."
"Oh man, I missed that. I saw the ads for it, and thought about doing this whole live-on-the-edge, take-risks thing right before I left, but then all the excursions for the next few weeks were booked up, and it was time for a change of scene... You know how that goes." It occurs to her that he might not, but all he does is smile and nod, and ask her where she stayed in Costa Rica.
They spend a few minutes comparing notes about Costa Rican resorts and excursions – and then Jamaica and the Keys – and then the front door slams and Charlotte's frustrated grunt echoes in from the living room. "Travis?"
"In the kitchen," he calls back.
"It is a goddamned frog strangler out there," she fumes, her voice getting closer by the second. "I am soaked clean through and these paper grocery bags are-hello, Violet, I didn't realize you were home."
She's stopped just inside the kitchen door, wet hair plastered to her cheek and soggy paper grocery bags in each arm. Travis moves immediately to take them from her.
"My car's in the garage," Violet explains, watching the way Charlotte watches the two of them. Suspicious. Uneasy.
"Right. Of course." She looks from one to the other, then back again. "You two makin' friends?"
"We are," Travis confirms, settling the bags on the countertop and pulling out greens and chicken and a few other things Violet can't see. "I was just tellin' her about that time you tumbled off the sailboat in Key West."
"Oh, that time I almost drowned on vacation? Yeah, that was real funny," she sneers, pushing wet hair back out of her face before unearthing a clean dish towel and using it to wring out the wetness and wipe off her face and collar.
"Well, that part of it wasn't so funny, but the look on your face as you fell overboard-"
"I'm sorry, 'fell'?" Charlotte brows are up at her hairline now, and Violet's just kicking back and watching the show. "I did not fall off that boat, Travis Evans, I was pushed off by your brother. On a dare from you."
Travis looks at Violet and gives her what she imagines is his best mischievous grin.
"And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't have good-ol'-days story time when I'm not around, thank you," Charlotte snips, and Travis nods contritely.
"Yes, ma'am. You ready to cook?"
Charlotte's still scowling at him, but she reaches for the knife block and nods.
"Can I help you guys with anything?" Violet ventures, but Travis waves her back into her seat.
"Absolutely not," he tells her. "Dinner's in forty-five minutes. You can just sit tight-"
"Actually," Charlotte interrupts. "I need to talk to Travis for a minute. Alone. So scoot."
"Lola," Travis scolds, and Violet's brows go up. This should be good. "Don't be rude."
Charlotte's jaw drops a little and she looks at him for a beat, two, then, "I will talk to my roommate however I damned well please, Travis Evans, don't you Lola me. I do not need the Southern Manners Police in my own damned home."
And that's the Charlotte King Violet knows and (kind of, sort of, though she'd never admit it) loves. Violet smirks and stands as Charlotte continues her tirade. "I'm just gonna... go," she mutters mostly to herself, before slipping out the door.
Well, these two should keep her entertained for the evening.
.:.
Whatever they're bickering over (Violet decided to actually give them their privacy and not listen in – that, and the whole spat happened in hushed voices she couldn't hear from the living room), they're over it by the time dinner is ready. The three of them eat together, and actually manage pleasant dinner conversation. Violet still gets the feeling there's something she's not being told, but she has to admit that when they're not snoozing on the couch or bickering, Charlotte and Travis seem just like old friends. When they've cleared their plates, Travis ushers her out of the dining room, assuring that they'll clean up, and she needn't worry herself over it.
Violet's not really used to being treated like a guest in her own home, but it certainly doesn't suck, so she takes the time to head upstairs and answer a few of the bazillion emails she has piled up from her time away.
When she comes back downstairs almost an hour later, the house is so silent that she thinks they've left. And then she hears the music: hesitant, stilted piano chords coming from the back room she affectionately calls her "crap collector." She has an old keyboard tucked away in there, from when she'd gotten it in her head that she was going to learn to play. She'd called it a self-improvement project, and then lost her motivation somewhere after "Chopsticks" and "Heart and Soul." The keyboard has been collecting dust ever since.
There's guitar now, too, and low voices, and Violet creeps her way down the hall and spies the light spilling into the hallway from where the door is cracked ajar. She peeks inside, and sees Charlotte at the piano, Travis next to her with a guitar.
"No, that was good, I liked that," he tells her. "Try it again."
They play again, and it's still a little tentative, their voices mixing just a little out of sync on the lyrics of a slow ballad: It's the same old words, the same old song. Maybe we're right... where we belong.
"Okay, good, and then-"
It can't get much better, and it sure can't get worse. Either way we try, it's gonna hurt.
"Can we hold it there for a second?" she asks, playing the last few lines through again quickly - "Can't get much better, sure can't get worse," He picks up the guitar part. "Either way we turn, it's gonna hurt- and wait, two, three, and then go."
"Yeah, I like that. We can do that. Play it over?"
They do, and Violet finds herself stuck there, rapt. It's like staring through the wardrobe into Narnia. She'd never in a million years imagined she'd ever see Charlotte King writing a song, but she's pretty sure that's what's happening in her spare room right now.
They're singing through another verse, or a chorus or something, all about heartbreak and going back for more even when you shouldn't, and she'd think it was a sign that the two of them are more than friends after all if the lyrics didn't sound like the theme song of the Charlotte and Cooper show.
"Repeat the last few lines of the chorus here at the end?" Travis suggests, and Charlotte nods, plays through it. "Okay, once all the way through?"
"Yeah," Charlotte murmurs, and then they start in at the beginning.
Our love story reads like a book of lies
Good intentions, better alibis
No happy endings, no straight lines
No moving on, but no goodbyes
This bittersweet revelry will be the death of me
We go round and round tryin' to work it out
And all I get's hell bent and bound
Never far from right where we are
You'd think that we'd get enough
And know we're gonna fuck it up
We're holdin' on, we're sinkin' down
Here we go round and round
Makin' circles, makin' circles
We both need to lead while we dance along
One more graceful spin on who's right or wrong
It's the same old words, it's the same old song
Maybe we're right where we belong
And it can't much better and it sure can't get worse
Well, either way you turn, it's gonna hurt
We go round and round tryin' to work it out
And all I get's hell bent and bound
Never far from right where we are
You'd think that we would get enough
And know we're gonna fuck it up
We're holdin' on, we're sinkin' down
Here we go round and round
Makin' circles, makin' circles
You'd think that we had had enough
Be sick and tired of fuckin' up
Holdin' on, sinkin' down
Here we go, round and round...
By the end, Charlotte's voice is wavering, and if Violet didn't know better, she'd think she was crying. She heaves a heavy sigh, and Travis sets his guitar aside, rubs his palm between her shoulder blades in a slow circle. Charlotte lifts a hand and wipes at her face – guess that was crying, after all.
Charlotte whispers something to Travis that Violet can't make out, and then drops her head onto his shoulder. Travis presses his nose against her hair, breathes in deep, and she can just make it out when he says, "It'll get better. You'll get over him. I promise."
It suddenly feels like Violet is intruding on something very, very personal, and she takes a few quiet steps back and heads upstairs again to give them some time. One thing is for sure: whatever Travis Evans might be to her, Charlotte is still far from over Cooper.
.
Author's Note: I take absolutely no credit for the song in this chapter. It is "Making Circles" by Christian Kane (check it out on YouTube or iTunes or Rhapsody). Up next: Cooper!