“Oh, there’s a surprise,” Charlie said. “Of course he’s up to something. He wants you back.”

Allie blinked. “I don’t think so. But I do think he’s trying to ruin your show. I think he’s the one-”

“Our show,” Charlie corrected her. “It’s our show. I know he’s trying to ruin it. I found our missing promo tapes in his office. But he’s also trying to get you back. I may have to hit him, after all.”

“Why?” Allie looked at him in exasperation. “You’re leaving next week. Why should you care?”

“Because I’d hate to think any woman could go from me to Mark,” he said.

“Well, since you won’t be here to watch, I don’t see what difference it makes.” Allie turned away from him in disgust. “You think I’m going to give up men just because you’re leaving?”

Charlie watched through the booth windows as she stomped away. Yeah, he thought. That’s exactly what I want. Then he picked up the headset and waited for the news to end while he mentally kicked himself for ever coming to Tuttle in the first place.

Saturday night, Charlie brought her American Dreamer because she’d said that was her favorite movie, and sat with her on the couch and laughed and felt better than he had since he’d moved out.

“I miss this,” Charlie took her hand when the movie was over. “I miss watching videos and arguing with you over the Chinese food and waking up with you. I miss the physical stuff, too, but I miss this the most.”

“I know.” Allie tightened her hand on his, and he paid attention to the warmth of her grip and the softness of her skin pressed against his. “I want you here so I can tell you things, and so you can listen to Joe’s jokes.”

“Joe’s jokes are the worst.” Charlie grinned at her and watched her smile in response, watched the light in her eyes, and the way her cheeks bloomed with the smile, and the way her head tilted, just a little, toward him. “I miss Joe’s jokes a lot.”

“Mostly, I just miss having you here.” She brushed her cheek against his shoulder, and he closed his eyes with pleasure. “You don’t even have to watch the movie or listen to Joe’s jokes. Just be here.”

He opened his eyes then, and she was so right, so everything he wanted forever, and he wanted to say, “I love you, Allie,” but it wasn’t fair. He was leaving in a week. It wasn’t fair.

It was true, but it wasn’t fair.

Maybe Allie would like traveling. Maybe Allie would love him enough to leave with him in November.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly and he bent to hear her, and that brought him to her mouth and he kissed her, moving his lips gently against hers, feeling the surge in his throat and chest and groin, but feeling the swell in his heart more. Her hand came up to his cheek, and when the kiss was done she let her lips travel there and then kissed his eyelids and then his lips again, and he ached with love for her. “Why is it,” he whispered against her cheek, “that we didn’t start making love until we stopped sleeping together?”

She shook her head wordlessly and settled into his arms, and he held her and memorized the weight and the feel of her, and the scent of her hair, and soft rhythm of her heart against his, and he felt something break away inside him, the tension and the guardedness and everything that had kept him away from her.

A few minutes later, for the first time in almost three weeks, he fell dreamlessly asleep.


* * *

On Monday, the Tuttle Tribune began a series on the history of the city building, killing forever any hopes the mayor might have had of building a new one, and making Charlie a household word once again.

“That’s our boy,” Joe said when he saw the first article, and Allie, remembering a warm, if platonic, weekend, said, “We can only hope.”

Later that afternoon, Lisa came to see her. “It’s awful, Allie,” Lisa moaned to her in her office. “I can’t do anything right. I hate it. No matter what I do, Mark thinks it isn’t enough or it isn’t done right or something.”

“So quit.” Allie stacked the notes she’d gathered for the drug legalization show and put them in a folder for Charlie, who would actually read them on his own instead of insisting she explain them to him the way Mark had. Thank God, she wasn’t stuck with Mark anymore. She felt positively sympathetic toward Lisa. “Leave him. You don’t have to take that.”

“But it’s the prime-time show,” Lisa wailed, and Allie was about to say, “So what?” when she remembered why that was important. At least, it had been important to her a month before. And if Lisa quit, Mark would offer her the producing spot again. He’d made that very clear. In fact, knowing Mark as she did, Allie had a sneaking suspicion he might be forcing Lisa to quit. Then Bill would ask her to step in to save the prime-time show.

She shook her head at the thought. Not in a million years. The hell with prime time. She was doing better in the middle of the night with the weirdos and Charlie, a redundant thought if there ever was one.

“The prime-time show isn’t everything,” she said to Lisa. “If you’re this unhappy, leave. Ask Marcia to take you. She’s not happy with her producer.”

“And lose the prime-time show?” Lisa stood up. “Oh, no. I’m sticking it out.” Lisa stomped out of the office, and Allie let her go. She had enough problems without counseling career-obsessed radio producers.

She had Charlie.


* * *

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Harry said Tuesday afternoon in front of the TV. “You’re still leaving in November, right?”

“Right,” Charlie said with a lot more conviction than he felt.

“Well, then, I’m gonna make my move on Allie.”

Charlie spilled his beer. “What?”

Harry held up his hand. “Not until you’re gone, of course. Wouldn’t dream of it. But once you’re out of the picture… well, wouldn’t you rather she was with me than with Mark?”

Charlie scowled at him. “That’s Allie’s business.”

Harry nodded. “Exactly. So I thought I’d ask her to produce my show and then just see what developed. It’s time I started thinking about getting married again. I’ve been thinking about it and you’re right. I don’t think Sheila’s coming back.

Charlie took a deep breath. “Well, you never know-”

“Nope.” Harry shook his head. “You were right. It’s time I moved on with my life, got a contingency plan. I’d have never thought of it if it wasn’t for you.” He gave Charlie a serious nod. “Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem,” Charlie snarled and got up to get another beer, wondering why the hell he hadn’t kept his mouth shut.

Back in the living room, Harry grinned and finished his beer.


* * *

Wednesday morning, Allie met Joe in the kitchen for breakfast, stopping in her tracks when she saw the look on his face.

“This is bad,” he said, and handed her the paper.

“Local DJ Former Drug Dealer,” the headline flared ather. “Charlie ‘Ten’ Tenniel arrested for drug trafficking in Lawrenceville, disappears for months before arriving in Tuttle as the WBBB wonder boy. Do we want this element in our town?”

Allie looked up at Joe and shook her head. “No. Charlie did not deal drugs. He lived with us. He doesn’t even smoke. His limit is two beers. He’s not a druggie.”

Joe sat down. “Look, they’ve screwed up before, but this time they have what looks like evidence. It was in the Lawrenceville paper. They have quotes from Lawrenceville reporters. There’s some truth somewhere.”

“Charlie doesn’t do drugs,” Allie said firmly. “I don’t care what the paper says.”

“All right.” Joe sat back. “I’ve got to admit, that’s my gut reaction, too. But…”

Allie met his eyes. “But nothing. He’s innocent.”

“But I wish you weren’t so involved with him,” Joe finished. “I don’t want you hurt. You’re unhappy enough because he’s leaving. I don’t want you to feel cheated, too.”

“He’s innocent.” Allie frowned. “I know he’s innocent.”


* * *

Charlie met her in her office that afternoon. “I suppose you’ve seen the paper,” he said, and she knew he was watching for her reaction.

“It’s not you.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not you.”

He leaned in the doorway. “There’s a lot of evidence in that article, Allie. How can you be sure?”

“I know you.” She snapped it out with more force than she’d meant to. “You’re not that way. You wouldn’t do that.”

Charlie closed his eyes. “I do not deserve you, but I’m damn grateful just the same.”

“Sure you deserve me,” Allie said. “Anything you want to tell me before I start calling everybody I know in journalism to track this down?”

“No,” Charlie said. “Don’t call anyone. Just let this be.”

Allie gawked at him. “Are you nuts? We have to stop this. We have to-”

“No,” Charlie said. “I don’t want it stopped.”

Allie swallowed and tried again. “Charlie, this will be murder on the show. Drugs are not classy in Tuttle. This will kill us.”

He winced. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry, Al, I really am, but don’t stop the story. Don’t track it down. Let it play. It’s important to me.”

“Why?” The flatness of the question broke the mood they’d shared.

“You’ll have to trust me on this,” he told her, and her temper broke.

“I have to trust you that you’re not a dealer, and I do,” she said to him. “But you can’t trust me with the truth.”

“It’s not my secret,” Charlie said, and the only thing that kept her from screaming at him was how miserable he looked. “I’ll tell you as soon as it’s over, but it’s not my secret.”