It was the first New Year’s Eve that Sam and Charlie had spent together in Nashville. They drank, socialized with her friends and family, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other; but as the clock’s hands finally passed 11:45, Sam became antsy, twisting the empty beer bottle in his hands as they had escaped to a quiet corner of the roof.

[i]What’s wrong?

Nothing.[/i]

Charlie had scoffed, shaking her head. Her dark hair was pulled into a chic, low ponytail, conflicting sharply with the bright red of her slinky cocktail dress that hugged every curve. [i]Something is clearly wrong, or you wouldn’t be acting like this.[/i]

[i]Like what?[/i] Sam had shot back, his dark eyes roaming over her quickly before returning to the empty drink in his hands. 

[i]Like you’re ten and you’re pouting. Can we just go ahead and skip to the raucous make-up sex?[/i] She’d attempted to lighten the mood, flashing a smile and letting her breasts rub against his arm as she turned to face him fully.

[i]Do you love him?

Who?

I’ve seen the way you look him, Charlie. Luke.[/I] Pain flashed across Sam's handsome face. [I]C’mon. Don’t do this.[/i]

[i]Your brother?[/i] She’d asked with evident confusion, her brows furrowing. Luke was attractive, sure, and it was fun to bicker with him, but she’d been with Sam for a year and a half. She’d barely figured out she loved him, much less been able to develop a crush on anyone else.

[i]Yes, my goddamn brother. Do you love him?

I barely know him, Sam! [/i]Charlie laughed, shaking her head. [i]Christ.[/i] It was true, though; yeah, she enjoyed the harmless banter she shared with Luke, but there was nothing past that except for a minimal amount of sexual tension. [i]So, no. I don’t love your brother.[/i] Her green eyes flashed to find his honeyed hues. [i]I love [b]you[/b], you idiot. So come here and let's ring in the new year[/i].

[hr]
It would absolutely, indubitably, unquestionably be easier for Charlotte McCormick if Luke wanted to stay at a motel.

But the last thing she wanted was to be in this goddamn house alone. It was huge, with four bedrooms and just as many bathrooms. Charlie hadn’t realized how suffocating so much empty space could be, or how cloying and smothering Luke’s presence would be without Sam’s to balance the scales.

Sam had been kind. Gentle. Loving. Patient.

Luke was none of those things.

It was amazing the contrasts she could draw now that one of them was gone. She’d cursed herself plenty of times for thinking that God had taken the wrong one but staring at Luke made her realize that it had been unfair for her to think that, too. That she didn’t really think that Luke would be the right one to have died, either, and that consumed the woman with guilt. He brought back a lot of damn memories, most of them shameful, especially as she leaned over the counter of the island they’d almost fucked on.

[i]It’s hard to stay, and it’s hard to go[/i].

That should have been his motto, and if Charlie had been more than a shadow of the woman who had fought over a damn goat, she would have told him that. 

The Ambroses and the Addisons were giving her time to grieve. The brunette was well aware that the town was observing a mourning time for her, but with Luke’s arrival her peace would likely soon end. She knew that as certainly as she did that it would be better to have him gone, especially as that smirk found his features. Charlie’s jaw set, taking another drink of coffee as she watched Sam’s brother lean down to fill a bowl that she’d been neglecting.

She let a hand drop, her fingers brushing over Jake’s silky ears. The poor creature looked up at her with happy, oblivious brown eyes that had been the color of Sam’s and –

“You think I should sell,” Charlie said flatly, her eyes flaring with indignation. She could feel heat travelling up her chest, overcoming her neck, and advancing into her cheeks. “Why the fuck would I sell it?” This had been their family home. They’d sunk a fortune into the farmhouse, getting it up to her standards; they were going to start a family soon. One of the rooms upstairs had been painted a pretty, gender-neutral gray for when she got pregnant, another a sweet, creamy yellow that would suit the next baby.

Charlie knew she couldn’t take care of anything on her own. She didn’t know the first things about when to bale hay, what to plant, when to kill animals (not that she would), or anything else that had to do with a farm. Hell, she wasn’t even a fan of collecting the eggs from the fucking chickens, but she’d be damned if she didn’t give it a try. Didn’t she owe that to Sam?

She’d always had a terrible mouth when it came to Luke. He’d never held back, and she’d taken it as an invitation to do the same. “Wait. You’re ‘mostly here’ to see how much I want to keep the land and the farm that [i]your brother[/i] restored? That [I]my husband[/I] died while working on it?” She let out a mirthless laugh and shook her head, finally able to look directly at Luke. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind.” 

The woman sat her coffee on the counter and stood, moving to lean on the refrigerator, before finally crossing her arms over her chest and deciding to play Devil’s advocate. “What exactly am I supposed to do if I sell it, Luke? Where the fuck am I supposed to go?” Charlie still had family in Nashville, but Hingham Valley had been her home for six years. She’d fought against her parents to come here, and they’d all but disowned her for throwing away the opportunities they’d lined up for her in the South. “I don’t have the luxury of running away when shit happens.”

The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them and, instantly, she regretted them.