Play It Again, Charlie (15 page)

Charlie's throat closed before he could ask the obvious, embarrassing question. Will's eyes were on his face, and he gave a half smile before he moved closer to the desk and picked up the rental DVD Charlie had left out. He fiddled with it, looked at the back, before glancing over again.

“I was just wondering,” he went on in a sudden rush, and Charlie made a noise before he actually got his mouth to work again. He had lots to do today but nothing glamorous, nothing remotely resembling a date. Not even close.

“Flowers.”

Will's eyes went wide at the single word.

Charlie adjusted his position when he realized how still he was. “I have to plant some flowers.”

“Oh.” Will flipped over the movie again, then held it up. “Nice choice.
The Maltese Falcon
is the movie to watch if you want to learn how to hook a man.” He frowned and then shrugged before setting it back down with another fluttery motion. “She
almost
hooks him. But he was all secretly honorable and noble, so she didn't have a chance.” He leaned forward, his eyes shining, and lowered his voice. He made a helpless motion with that hand that looked familiar, like he'd done it before. “What else is there I can buy you with?” he asked, probably quoted, with a throb in his voice, and Charlie exhaled.

“And you picked hair over acting?”

Will wrinkled his nose, as if the idea of acting smelled funny, though he had done that very same helpless routine the last time he'd been in Charlie's apartment. Charlie focused enough to glare. “Why do you do that?”

Will blinked once or twice, his hand stopping its explorations for one moment.

“Habit.” Will ran his fingers along the clean edge of Charlie's desk. “My mother loves old movies, and we used to watch them together. I know the words to most of the major classics and a lot of the obscure ones.”

“Not anymore?” It felt intrusive, but Will was the one who had brought it all up by momentarily transforming himself into a femme fatale, by mentioning his mother at all. Will lifted a hand to scrub through his hair.

“No.” He didn't meet Charlie's stare, just pointed at the windows. Charlie twisted too, felt the sliver of warm air as Will passed by him to drape himself over one arm of the couch to peer outside at Charlie's view of nothing. Will stretched and put his fingers against the glass. “It's bright. You should get even more of a tan. Do you have that shirt with no sleeves handy?”

Charlie would have said the pose was too dramatic for Will not to be quoting a movie again, except that what was coming out of his mouth obviously wasn't scripted. Charlie looked at his hands for a moment and thought of his collection of white athletic tees that he wore under his dress shirts. “I have a few.”

Will nodded, turning to give him a flirty up and down over his shoulder. “You should wear one today. Even in the courtyard, it should help get rid of the farmer's tan you're working on. And those arms are nothing to be ashamed of, Charlie.”

Charlie barely kept himself from stuttering. Will turned back around, then made a startled noise.

“You're dressing me now?” Charlie started to ask, stepping toward him, but Will was pushing himself farther over the edge of the couch, like he was trying to reach something behind it. A moment later Sam came hopping out with a disgruntled look on his face and circled around the stuffed chair next to the couch.

“You
do
have a cat!” Will exclaimed softly as he twisted around and slid down into a sitting position. He bent over and crooked his finger at Sam, who hissed. Charlie frowned as he stepped over to him. He would have knelt down, but before he could try, Sam twisted behind and between his legs and sat down.

“Of course I have a cat.”

“He limps too.” Will's gaze flew up to Charlie's face and stayed there for a while. Charlie refused to be embarrassed.

“I know.” Charlie kept his voice flat. And it really wasn't that much of a limp anymore. It was hardly noticeable unless Sam was in a hurry. “Mrs. Johnson found him around the dumpsters. He had a broken leg, and she didn't know what to do with him.”

“And she gave him to you, because she knew you'd take him to the vet and take care of him,” Will filled in, his eyes shining so much they might have had stars in them.

“Only until he got better. Then I let him go,” Charlie insisted. Will stared at him, then made a show of looking at the cat who was obviously still there. “I
did
,” Charlie insisted. “I opened the door, and the cat wouldn't leave.” He tried to maintain his glare, though Sam was now purring on his foot for Will's benefit.

Will's eyes narrowed, then dropped.

“Cat knows a good thing when he sees it,” he declared, considering for a moment, then relaxing. “He's very fluffy. Does Sergeant Howard brush all that nice fur?” Will put out his hand again before Charlie could admit to brushing Sam, then quickly snatched it back. Charlie barely heard the hiss.

“What are you doing to him?” He started to bend down to look, but Sam had apparently recovered enough to sneeze at him and stalk a few feet away. He hobbled for the first step, and then his gait was smooth. “You can barely see where his leg was broken,” Charlie added, since they were both watching, and turned around. Will stood up but kept his eyes on the cat. His mouth was crooked, as though he could have laughed. “Not unless he's had a bad day.”

“He's all right.” Will was quiet. “Aren't you, Cat? Poor cat! Poor slob without a name.” He looked up, his eyes very green. “Hardly a wild thing, though. Do you think he likes me?”

“He hissed at you,” Charlie pointed out. Then Will's words clicked. “And his name isn't “Cat.” It's Sam. This isn't
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. I'm hardly going to toss Sam out and run off to another country.”

“You brought it up first,” Will shot back without pausing. “Maybe I could get him to like me.”

It was on the tip of Charlie's tongue to ask why Will would bother, but Will was still talking, quick but thoughtful.

“Wait, what are you talking about? She doesn't run off to another country. And I thought
I
was Holly Golightly in this scenario. That's what you said when you... the other night. This is what comes of too much banter. I get confused.” He scratched his chin, and Charlie decided there wasn't enough coffee in the world for anyone to keep up with Will.

“In the book, she runs away,” he explained around the smile fighting to slip out.

“In the book!” Will nodded wisely. “Ah. The
movie
, Charlie, I'm talking about the
movie
.” Will said the word “movie” with reverence. Charlie shut his mouth, and Will leaned his head to one side. “You
have
seen the movie, right?” he asked suspiciously and then put a hand to his heart. “Oh my God, you haven't!”

“Call the police,” Charlie offered, waving his hands in a vague impression of excitement, and Will's mouth fell open. Charlie cleared his throat and kept his expression even when Will slowly cracked a smile.

It was a warm smile, almost delighted, and Charlie ducked his head. It hadn't been that big of a joke, but he felt like his ears were stinging.

He coughed. “Anyway, I can't stand around discussing movies with you all day. I have to get started outside before it gets too hot.”

“Right.” Will took a deep breath without moving away. “Flowers.” He made a move to step away and then stopped. Charlie wasn't sure, but for a second it looked like Will was batting his eyelashes. “You can't get someone else to do that for you?”

“Maybe you come from money.” Charlie snorted after a pause, and Will heaved his shoulders in a loud sigh that Charlie didn't believe for a second. He softened his tone anyway. “There is a group of gardeners for all the greenery, but I promised my... .” Will inched closer, and Charlie amended what he'd been going to say. “According to the owner, I have to personally take care of the flowers.” His Nana had been very specific about that, reminding him that men worked with their hands, that the soil was good for him. It was all practice, she'd insisted, for his future.

“Oh.” Will seemed to like that word, or maybe just the way Charlie's eyes dropped to his mouth whenever he said it. Charlie looked up quickly, but Will only seemed curious. The head tilt was genuine. “So does that take all day?”

Charlie didn't need the reminder that he hadn't answered Will's earlier question. He swallowed to wet his mouth, licked his lips. This time, Will's gaze dropped.

“I... no.” His hands shook a little at how quickly Will perked up, so he clenched them at his sides. “I mean, yes.” His words streamed out in a clumsy loop that made him shut his eyes for a moment. “For anyone else it wouldn't take so long, but I can't... .” He steadied himself, opened his eyes, and stared at the wall. “It could be two days, since I take my time.”

“Of course!” He nearly jumped at the way Will bounced forward and raised his voice. In the next instant, Will lowered it and tossed out a smile. “Though I don't know anything about gardening. You'll have to instruct me.” His hands glanced across Charlie's chest. “You shouldn't hurt yourself, not for some flowers. And I
did
say I wanted to thank you.”

“What?” Charlie felt his forehead tighten, the same way he felt his tension increase when Will leaned closer.

“I guess I'm yours today.” His breath was coffee-scented. Charlie inhaled, held still, and then shook his head faintly. Those words were spinning through his brain, and Will knew it. Not that he could summon up any anger, not when Will dropped back onto his heels a moment later and wrinkled his nose. “But don't get too excited, I'll probably hate it.”

“You want to work with me?” Clarity would be helpful, but Charlie couldn't stop himself from looking down at Will's wrist cuff, his bright, clean jeans, his fingernails. That hair.

“If you're asking me.” Will didn't seem to notice the doubt. He was too busy staring up at Charlie again, all those sparkles by his eyes.

“You don't have anything you'd rather be doing?” He still had to ask. Will bit his lower lip and shook his head. There was a nervous thump in Charlie's ribcage, and a slight cold rush of adrenaline, or just caffeine, making him unsteady when he finally nodded.

“Okay,” he agreed, and he blinked as Will blinded him with a grin only to suddenly frown.

“Wait, I'm not going to get dirty, am I?” His question was too naive to be real. Charlie snorted his amusement anyway, to cover his lingering confusion.

“You mean, will working in the
dirt
get you
dirty
?” he managed and raised one eyebrow. Will, for all that he sneered at acting, kept a completely straight face. After a moment of staring, Charlie sighed and waved for Will to step back. “You wear gloves,” he explained, giving in, and he held still as Will swept closer, then turned and skipped to the door. He twisted back with one hand up, his fingers splayed.

“Just give me like five— no, ten— minutes to shower and change.” He paused to scratch at his jaw, then pass a hand over his head. “And shave and fix this disaster.”

“You really don't need to get cleaned up.” Charlie moved to follow him, stopping at the far edge of the counter. The hair was no crazier than usual, and gloves would keep his hands clean, though not much else. “It's just gardening.”

Will sucked in a deep breath.

“The tragedy here is that you really believe that, Charlie.” He shook his head, then continued as though Charlie wasn't going to think about that statement in detail the second he was gone. “Someday I am going to figure out what planet... . Never mind. Ten minutes.” He opened the door, slipped outside, then poked his head back in. “You won't start without me?”

“No, I still have to go to the nursery,” Charlie answered without thinking, and Will's eyes grew round again. “What?”

“Nothing, I... . Nothing. Ten minutes.” Will swallowed and then disappeared, closing the door with a bang. It was the only sound for at least a minute, then Charlie finally frowned.

“Planet?” he whispered, and Sam hopped onto the couch and bent over to clean his tail without looking at him.

“It should be this splash of color. I mean, it had color before, but this should lighten it.” Charlie watched Will describe his vision from the safety of the patch of roses in front of his apartment. Plain green gardening gloves didn't hamper his hand motions, didn't even slow them down.

Now that they were covered in rich brown and black soil, the gloves honestly didn't seem that dull, and he couldn't detect any signs of Will clenching his hands in pain from new blisters, though Charlie
had
done most of the heavy work with the shovel, digging up the dead, crushed flowers before he'd let Will start and trying not to blush each time Will had said something about watching Charlie get sweaty and filthy.

He'd given Will a small trowel for the actual planting and not commented about anything else. Despite all his flirting, Will had barely seemed to notice. He'd shoved Charlie aside to mess around with all the pinks and reds and yellows that had so captured his attention in the store.

“It does get dark in here,” Mrs. Brown agreed politely.

“I put the taller, bushier ones in the middle.” Will naturally had to stretch up to help everyone picture that, and Mrs. Brown had no choice but to nod along. Charlie rubbed at his mouth with his arm but said nothing to stop the show. “And then the smaller ones and the ones that need more shade around the edge, but I also scattered a few in the center to break up that mass of yellow. Maybe leave a surprise. It should look overgrown, natural.”

Charlie looked from Mrs. Brown's vaguely confused expression to Will's flushed and possibly sunburned face. They were sheltered from a lot of the sunlight, but Will had a sheen of sweat across his forehead and nose and at the back of his neck. Except for his gloves and the knees of his jeans, he had kept most of the dirt off him, but he had to be getting tired.

Charlie glanced at the few seedlings left and then over at what had been done, what were mostly bare areas where flowers would have room to grow, and white plastic spikes identifying each plant. Will had taken his time and done most of it himself.