“Do you like it?” I stepped into the small room and checked out her new tat: vivid fireworks exploding across the creamy skin of her shoulder blade. Blue, red, green, and golden yellow, artfully shaded and incredibly detailed. This time I was the one smiling. She’d marked herself permanently with a memory we’d made together. I leaned down, ignoring Con, and kissed her for all I was worth. I heard his stool roll away but wasn’t sure if he’d left the room. Regardless, I wasn’t stopping the kiss until I was damn well good and ready.

When I finally pulled away, I kissed the top of her other shoulder. “I love it.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to Charlie—I could never guess what was going on in her head—I was going to take it as a sign that she was committing to this. To us. “Can you get the night of the Fourth of July off? It’s a Saturday.”

She glanced toward Con where he stood leaning against the doorway. “You’ve had a lot of Saturday nights off lately,” he replied.

I was ready to argue, but he continued, “But I’m always telling you that you work too damn much anyway. So go for it.” Con turned to me with a mocking stare. “What’s the occasion? Or don’t I want to know?”

Hell, I’d hoped to warm Charlie up to the idea gradually, because I didn’t want her to say no. I needed her next to me. “Just some festivities.”

Charlie stiffened. “Public festivities?” she asked.

“Let’s talk about it later, yeah?” I said, hoping we could have this conversation without an audience. Thankfully, she nodded.

“You mind waiting a few more minutes while Con finishes up?”

I leaned down and kissed her shoulder again. “As long as it takes.” I shot her a pointed look. She bit her lip at my double meaning. I’d never claimed to be subtle.

I stepped aside for Con to come back in and get settled on his stool. He picked up where he left off, and Charlie slipped back into her relaxed state as soon as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room.

Her easy mood lasted about three steps outside Voodoo. “So tell me about Fourth of July.”

“It’s a holiday celebrating American independence.”

She shot me a sidelong look and waited for a serious answer as we walked in the direction of my car. Parking in New Orleans had never been irritating to me until I met Charlie. She lived and worked in some of the most unparkable places. I opened her door, and she climbed in. I rounded the hood and hopped in the driver’s seat.

The silence in the car forced me to explain. “It’s an event called Fighting for Freedom that’s being held on the Steamboat Orleans. It’s put on by two nonprofits focused on serving veterans that I’m partnering with to get my own off the ground. There’s a dinner and silent auction before the fireworks.” I pulled away from the curb.

“Your own?”

I looked over, realizing I hadn’t yet shared it with her. She was quickly becoming the most important person in my life, but every time I saw her, my thoughts were filled with nothing but Charlie. So it was little wonder we hadn’t discussed it.

I explained further as I drove. “I’m starting a nonprofit to offer PTSD counseling and alternative therapies to vets who’d prefer not to seek treatment at the VA for whatever reason. My lawyer has already formed the corporation, and we’re working on the application for tax-exempt status. There’s still a ton of work to be done, but it’s all starting to come together. That’s why this Fourth of July thing is so important, because there will be a lot of people there who support veteran’s causes who I’ll need on my side to make The Kingman Project a success.”

“Wow. That’s … amazing. If you need help with pro forma financial statements, I’m your girl.”

My gaze snapped to hers for a second before refocusing on the road. What the hell? Pro forma financial statements?

“Why—” I started to ask her to explain, but she interrupted my question.

“Wait, Kingman—was he the pilot who…?” Her change of subject derailed my thoughts as my stomach dropped, the same way it did every time I relived the explosion in my head. It should have been me.

“Yeah. He’s the one. The one … who saved me. His widow will be there too. She’s remarried now, to a friend of mine. I’d like you to meet her.”

I turned onto her street and snagged a spot not far from Harriet’s house. I put the SUV in park and turned to face Charlie. She was frowning and picking at the black nail polish on her thumb. Her body language was all wrong.

She didn’t look up when she said, “I’m not sure I can do that.”

A cold feeling crept into my chest. “What do you mean you’re not sure you can do that?”

“The event. Meet his widow. There’ll be press, right? Cameras?”

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. A few photo ops and it’s done. It’s for a good cause, and it’s pretty painless.”

“I’m not a photo op kind of girl, Simon. I told you before, and I wasn’t kidding.” She finally looked at me, and the stubborn set of her jaw pissed me off. I tried one more time to explain how much this event meant to me.

“I need you with me for this, Charlie. It’s important to me. I want you there, next to me.”

“I should go.” She reached for the door handle, and the grip I had on my temper snapped.

“You’re not getting out of this car until you tell me what the hell you’re hiding from that you can’t risk a goddamn picture in the fucking paper. And pro forma financial statements? What the fuck, Charlie? You’ve gotta give me something here.”

She stilled before slowly turning to face me. Her glare was ice, and her walls were up higher than I’d ever seen. “Don’t talk to me like that, and don’t tell me what to do. It’s not going to work out how you think.”

I slammed my palms against the steering wheel, helpless to stop this conversation from spiraling out of control. “Goddammit. I just want to understand. I could help you if you’d let me. But you won’t give me anything. It’s driving me crazy. I’ve made it pretty fucking clear that I’m in love with you, and I think you love me.” I gestured between us. “This isn’t going to work unless you let me in. If you can’t do that, what’s the point in even trying?”