She offered him a secret smile, one that highlighted just how much she enjoyed their little back and forth, like they were the only two who understood the true meaning behind their words. A pleased flush was on her cheeks when his lips brushed against them, the blush something that was becoming a semi-permanent trait in his presence. “Oh, you can’t stop thinking about me?” Her hand came up to his chest, her fingers trailing along the frankly disrespectful display of bare skin before lifting her gaze to his. “For the record, I mildly enjoy your company the most when you’re making declarations like that.” With that stupid pretty mouth was the part she left unsaid. A beat passed and then she added, softer. “But you’re right. I like having you around… like who I am around you.” Her hand traced up his collarbone and then she brushed her thumb along the edge of his jaw. “I don’t care who you used to be, Charlie. I care about who you choose to be now. I know we pretty much just met, but this version of you? He’s a good man,” Signe leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth with quiet intention. “And from the little I know, even back then, you had this heart underneath it all. Even if you were to slip, you’d find your way back.” She looked into his eyes, making sure he saw how much she believed the words she was saying. She smiled and reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling out her phone. “Come on, let’s take a selfie. I want to remember our first date,” she said, whirling around and leaning back into him. She snapped a few photos quickly, trying to catch him off-guard in a few before he posed with her. Signe giggled, glancing at the photos on her phone. She looked over her shoulder and smirked, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Want to take a really unhinged one?”
Charlie arched a brow, the cocky edge to his grin settling in as he stepped closer, just enough for her to feel his presence. He raised his eyebrows, leveling his eyes to hers, "You only mildly enjoy my company under very specific circumstances… got it," he said, drawing the words out with playful mock offense. He tilted his head, eyes glittering with teasing challenge as he slowly licked his lips, then dipped his head. "I think," he murmured low near her ear, "you’re tryin’ to keep me around more than you’re lettin’ on." He didn’t move far after that, gaze softening slightly as he leaned back just enough to meet her eyes.
"I get what you mean. Maybe that’s what I am too.. I’ve always chased connection, maybe attention, if we’re bein’ honest. I just liked bein’ around people. Didn’t matter who, really." He paused. "I might feel a bit different now, though... Can’t stop thinkin’ about you." His lips brushed just barely against her cheek, gentle and intentional.
His voice dipped again, quieter this time, the smile faltering only slightly. "My mum never expected much from me.. she just wanted me happy. It was everyone else. Coaches, mates, teachers… my father.. they saw potential and pushed it hard. I was good, so it made sense." He shrugged, the motion small but rigid at the edges. "And then it was.. well I had to change plans. Just like that." His injury may have been nearly a decade prior, but it hadn't hurt him any less.
Charlie’s eyes dropped for a moment, thumb brushing lightly along her arm aimlessly, grounding himself as much as her. "I think what scares me most is slippin’ back into who I used to be.. The kid with a mile hight wall, always deflectin’ with a joke.. Or worse, turnin’ into the men I was raised around." He looked down at her, thoughtfully, "I don't wanna be the man I was.. I really like what I have now, and I don't intend on screwin' this up." He looked back up at her then, the smile returning, smaller but more real. "And I’m not gonna, Signe. Not with you. I'm not goin' anywhere and I mean that. You're not gonna scare me away."
The moment their lips met again, all of the doubt and hesitation seemed to disappear from Charlie as he pulled her close. The whole world floated away, and the only thing that was left was the dizzying sensation of his mouth on hers. He kissed her like she was something precious, like he’d been waiting to do it again from the second he stopped. When they finally broke away, Signe opened her eyes to see his still closed and the sight cleaved at something within her. He opened his eyes and laughed, low and quiet and the corners of her mouth tugged into a soft smile. God, he was going to be her undoing. And maybe it was too fast. Maybe it broke every unspoken rule she usually held herself to rigidly. But Charlie seemed to have a way of pulling all the caution out of her that bypassed logic and timelines and every hesitant script she usually followed. Signe should have been scared by how easily she could lose herself in this but all she felt was the quiet, heady thrill of wanting more. His whispers to her had her cheeks tinged pink, feeling the words settle in the part of her that still sometimes questioned if she was too much or not enough. He pulled back and with a crooked, playful grin asked for her favorite movie, casually, as if they’d been in the middle of a game of Twenty Questions or something. Her laugh came out a little breathless and she shook her head. “That’s what you’re going with after kissing me like that? My favorite movie?” Her eyes glittered with amusement as she just watched him for a moment. “You’re ridiculous,” she said softly, unable to stop smiling. “My favorite movie is called The Half of It. It’s about a queer Chinese-American girl and it’s a coming of age story and I saw so much of myself not just in the main character, but the supporting characters too.” It was a special story to her even if it was a more recent movie than some she’d watched and loved in her childhood. She glanced down at the hand still resting against her side and the soft drag of his thumb against her dress making goosebumps raise along her arms. Signe’s eyes lifted and watched as he took a drink from his water bottle, a wicked smile on his lips as he drank. Her eyes went a little unfocused as she zeroed in on his mouth, remembering the feel of it against her own and only snapped out of her thoughts when Charlie’s shoulder bumped against hers. She registered his words and his teasing smile and heat returned to her cheeks ( had it ever really left from the moment she entered his presence ? ). She fought a smile, knocking her shoulder against his. “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, a little embarrassed at being caught staring, but not at all remorseful.
Once Signe’s hand found the side of his neck, Charlie didn’t think, he simply pulled her closer. The last shred of doubt, the fear that she might pull away, evaporated the second her mouth met his again, firmer this time, answering him with a tenderness that made his chest ache. There was no hesitation in the way he kissed her now, no lingering shyness, only this, only them, and the dizzying certainty that whatever this thing was between them, it was real.
He breathed out through his nose as they finally, reluctantly, pulled apart, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. Charlie’s eyes stayed closed a moment longer, as if trying to trap the feeling, the way she tasted like hope and the semla he’d spent the night before working on; the way the world seemed to tilt and steady all at once when she was in his arms. He forced his eyes open, and god, she’s looking at him like that, bright and unguarded. Like he’s something good. Like maybe she’s just as wrecked as he is. A breathless laugh escaped his lips without permission, the sound low and completely sincere. And then Signe’s hand slid down to rest against his chest, right over the place where his heart was thundering like it might break free. Charlie drew a slow, deliberate breath, hoping to steady himself and he knows, he knows, she can feel what she’s doing to him.
After all the years spent wandering from place to place, nights spent with people he hadn’t seen long enough to even learn their names, let alone remember them, Charlie had never felt anything like this, the gut-punch pull to stay. The need to memorize the way she flushed at a compliment, the way her smile tugged shyly at the corners before it bloomed into something brilliant. The need to know her, really know her. Charlie stayed still, like he was afraid even breathing too hard might break the spell between them. He tucked his head beside hers, huffing a shaky little breath against her hair, smiling against it because it’s either that or say something too raw, too soon. His fingers brush along her waist, slow. “You’re somethin’ else, Signe,” he says quietly, the words barely a whisper between them. Another breath. Another half-second where he almost says more. Where he almost tells her he’s never felt like this on a first date, never wanted to stay so badly it physically aches. But he swallows it down for now.
Instead, he leans back just enough to catch her eyes properly again, his forehead brushing against hers one last time as he grins, breathless and boyish and undeniably him. “I’m definitely startin’ to like responsibility,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. His arm tightened around her for just a moment before he peppered smaller, feather-light kisses along the slope of her cheek, a low laugh rumbling from his chest, half disbelieving, half proud. “And now that we got that bit sorted…” Charlie pulls back, finally giving them a tiny sliver of space, though his hand stays curled around her side, thumb tracing absent little patterns against the fabric of her dress. His grin sharpens, playful again but his eyes stay soft, drinking her in like he can’t look away. He bumps his nose against hers, that boyish, cocky spark reigniting in his eyes, “What’s your favorite movie?”
The question was so normal he almost startled himself, like he’s inviting her into some private joke that only the two of them know now. Charlie leaned back properly for the first time all night, just enough to put an inch or two of space between them, though his hand never fully left her. He scanned her face again, greedy for it, for the look of her cheeks still tinged pink, the way her eyes softened even when she laughed. Grabbing his water bottle from the blanket, Charlie took a sip, glancing at her as he did, his grin lingering around the bottle. There was a steadiness under the teasing now, something unmistakable. Something that said he wasn’t going anywhere. That whatever this was between them, this quiet, slow-blooming fire, he wanted to stay and see exactly where it led. He lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then, without missing a beat, bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, the grin tugging at his mouth unmistakable. “Careful, love.” Charlie says, voice low and teasing, “Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gearin' to start askin’ a lot more questions.”
Signe grinned as she watched Bella work her magic on the bracelet, finally forcing the knot into submission and untangling it. She let out a soft, impressed laugh and shook her head. "I feel like that has to be a resume-worthy skill, right?" She offered the girl a playful, half-smile before reaching out to accept the bracelet. "Well, I am pretty well-known for my unwavering moral support," she teased, playing along. "It was obviously my standing here and doing absolutely nothing that got us through that whole ordeal." Signe turned the bracelet over in her hands, smoothing it out now that it was untangled. "There was a second there I thought we might have to sacrifice it to the jewelry gods," she glanced back at Bella, lifting an amused eyebrow. "But no, you pulled through. My hero!" Signe giggled and gently bumped her shoulder against Bella's. "No, but seriously. Thank you. I was going to toss it into the ocean and then I'd probably be fined for littering."
bella wasn't really one that liked to give up on anything so she was one that would continue with something until she ended up getting it. and that's exactly what she had been trying her best to do with this bracelet until the knot had finally began to be undone. " there we go! " she responded as if it was one of her greatest accomplishments that she could've ever made. wasn't sure how since it really was proving to be difficult. and quite stubborn and knotted up. " see it was your faith in me that let me do it. " she laughed jokingly before handing the bracelet back over to signe so that she could begin on what she was planning on doing. " maybe it was going to be but i am not one to give up easily. or that easily. maybe that was a slight lie since i almost did but we don't have to talk about that. " she'd respond playfully.
Signe observed the unfamiliar man curiously, his easy smile and warm energy holding the kind of casual charm that made friends out of strangers quickly. His accent caught her attention first, and then, finally, she registered the question. She laughed softly, shaking her head sending her wild curls flying. “No, no, this isn’t my medium,” she replied, a polite smile gracing her lips. Although he didn’t say she was in his way, Signe stepped aside anyway to give him a better view. “It’s gorgeous though. I was just thinking it reminds me of something my mom studied – she’s an art history professor. I can already hear her commentary in my head.” She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed that it took her all of two seconds to mention her mom while talking to a handsome stranger. Signe tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and refocused on the painting. “You’re right though, it’s brilliant. I’ve been trying to figure out how they got the colors to look like that,” she murmured the last part almost to herself, once again losing herself for a few too long moments before she resolved to experiment later. Signe glanced back at the man, curious now. “Are you into art, or just wandering by?”
There was little Charlie loved more than having a free day before his shift at the restaurant. He'd spent time in some of the most beautiful places in the world, but the charm of his new home called to him. On days when he didn't have to be in until dinner he'd sleep in, cook himself a ridiculous breakfast, and pick an area to roam. Today's pick was Mango Bay, considering it was the same neighborhood as his job.
He'd already gone to a few shops before walking towards the art district. While Charlie did have a few talents, art was not one of them. He hadn't grown up in an area where it was appreciated, or at least not in his house. His mother spent the majority of her time working to pay for his blossoming career and when his father was around, the last thing they'd speak about was art. But on days when he'd walk home from training, he'd always stare at the murals; the ones left by graffiti artists that would be painted over soon enough, and wonder who'd made them.
Now, living somewhere that art had been celebrated, he'd tried to immerse himself a bit more. He hadn't realized that his mind was wandering, his eyes stuck on a canvas, until he'd heard a voice speaking to him. "Wh- Oh! Oh, nah, sorry." Charlie's head shook quickly, lifting his hand to point at the painting she'd also been admiring, "It's brilliant, innit? Did you paint it?"
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t fight the affectionate smile. “That’s really not the most encouraging thought, Pappa. You gotta at least try and make it hard for the identity,” Signe scolded, a kernel of truth and concern in her teasing words. “I miss you guys too,” she said, slowing their steps just a little to give herself time to find the right words. “But, you’re not losing me, right? I’m just a few minutes and a phone call away.” Signe let out a soft laugh. She loved both her parents with equal fervor, but she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Seeing her dad all torn up about her moving out was harder than she thought it would be. She squeezed his side and nodded. “Of course you two can come for diner. Only fair, considering all the years you guys fed me.” Her nose wrinkled playfully. “But you’re not allowed to criticize my cooking, even if it’s awful. I’m still learning. Deal?”
søren laughed aloud. “anyone that knows me could guess my pin ! ”. and he was right — it was signe’s date of birth, and he hadn’t forgotten it once since he changed it. whether she was home or not, whether they were together or apart, signe was always at the forefront of his mind. she had been for the last twenty - five years, and he couldn’t see that changing any time soon. maybe he was living in the past. maybe he was stuck in a time where things were rose - tinted, where she tugged him by his pant leg and asked him to play. half of søren ached to have those moments back, but the other half adored what signe had become so ferociously that he wouldn’t trade it for the world. in a sense, him and sigrid had built their very own best friend from building blocks. every second spent together was precious. which was why being in separate homes stung quite so badly. “it is weird,” søren agreed as they walked, twisting his lips to one side as if his mouth had been strung up in ribbons. “and we miss you. but seeing you fly the nest and create your own life is all we ever wanted. just don’t forget about us oldies when you’re big and famous, okay ? ” he knew that signe saw what she wanted and reached out with both hands to grab it. she got that from her mother. “you know, if it’s not cramping your style too much, we’d love to come over for dinner.”
Even if she hadn’t confirmed Signe’s suspicions, she would have immediately been able to tell the girl was an artist from the way her eyes sparked with excitement as she spoke about her paintings. The way the words would come out in an enthusiastic rush was a dead giveaway. Signe laughed, glad that the girl related to the sudden itch of inspiration and the frustration at not planning ahead for the moment. “I like to think of the different ways people interpret art is pretty similar to the different ways people can style the same item of clothing,” Signe smiled, fiddling with the ends of her hair, agreeing that it was an interesting phenomenon. “Right? It’s happened to me enough times that you think I’d just learn to carry a sketchpad with me wherever I go.” “I love that you’re painting sunsets,” she said softly, her voice warm and thoughtful. “Most people might think there’s only one way to pain them but it’s just like you said – the time of year, the time of day, the colors can all be so vastly different. And no matter what the way the colors blend together, it’s always beautiful.” Signe tilted her head to the side as she considered the other girl’s question. “I haven’t worked on any sunsets myself lately – I did a few for assignments in high school, though. It kind of turned into this abstract piece–lots of messy layers. It turned into an emotional map of sorts…like this layer was when I was overwhelmed, this layer is where I felt okay again.” She giggled, shaking her head at the memory of the class assignment. “As a teenage girl who’d just moved across the ocean, I bet you can imagine what a mess it was.”
" i do paint, yeah. i have one that i finally got the chance to finish the other day. it's not entirely done yet or good enough to be shown, but it will be eventually. " bella loved to get the chance to talk about her art whenever she had gotten the chance. " it's always been interesting to me how everyone can interpret a certain painting, you know? " the brunette listened the other speak as her eyes had scanned around the other paintings that were on their displays. " i was just about to say the same. sometimes it makes me feel like i should've just brought it to sketch down a simple idea if the inspiration happened to strike me at a random moment. being in a place like this it's almost hard for it not to, you know? " a quick nod of her head soon followed at signe's next comment. " that's always how it ends up working out! you could've had an idea in your head and then the outcome isn't always entirely as you may have pictured for it to be. " there was so many different things that she genuinely loved to paint about. " lately, i've been painting sunsets. there's just something that seems so peaceful about it, some have more of a fall vibe. while others have more of a summer kind of vibe to it. kind of makes me wonder what my next one will possibly end up being. have you worked on any recently? "
She rolled her eyes when he bumped her shoulder and complimented her sous chef abilities. While she technically did help in preparing diner, she did not think that brushing a glaze onto the salmon really counted. Signe continued to enjoy her meal, and luckily, had already swallowed when Charlie made a quip about being good at a lot of things. Her eyes darted to his face, the heat in her cheeks rising immediately at that smile on his lips. God, didn’t she know it. She knew far too well how good at things he could be. She bumped her shoulder against his in return, the ghost of a smile on her face.
Finishing her plate, she set it down on the coffee table and curled back into the couch and into Charlie’s side, cradling her wine glass in her hand. No matter how many times she watched this movie, she couldn’t help the emotions that welled up in her chest. Charlie finished his own food and pulled the blanket from off the back of the sofa to lay it across their laps. Ellie’s voice whispers, "It’s not finding your other half. It’s the trying and reaching and failing.” Her fingers tightened around his hand beneath the blanket, as if anchoring herself. Signe glanced at him from the corner of her eye and while Charlie didn’t meet her gaze, his thumb stroked over her knuckles a silent, reaffirming gesture.
The painting scene was probably one of Signe’s favorites. Aster in her letters shared about something a painting teacher had once told her, “The difference between a good painting and a great painting is typically five strokes. The question is, of course, which five strokes?” The question always seemed so oddly personal to Signe – a girl who had spent her whole life trying to identify those strokes and get them just right. However, this was the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to take in the full message of the scene as Ellie and Aster take turns pondering, “Maybe that’s the thing. If you do ruin your painting, you gotta know you have everything in you to get to that pretty good painting again. But if you never do the bold stroke, you’ll never know if you could’ve had a great painting.” That felt so much like her, right in that moment, with Charlie.
For someone like her, who’d spent so much of her life being measured, composed and careful, Charlie felt like one of her bold strokes. He’s warm, and chaotic and unafraid to say what he feels. Letting herself fall into this thing between them was brave. The quote mirrored so many of the silent risks she’d already taken with him and Signe felt something catch in her chest. As the movie progressed, Charlie suddenly sat up, gaze focused intently on the screen. Signe merely watched him, and smiled gently when he glanced her way. For a moment, they just stared at one another. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth, resting her forehead against his temple briefly before leaning back just enough to settle against him again, hand returning to his. There was so many words the swarmed her head and it was too soon for so many of them to be uttered. So, Signe kept this moment and locked it away in her heart for the time being. Just for herself.
The rest of the movie played out, the dramatic climax at the church scene and everything that unraveled afterwards. Signe watched Charlie’s face for his reactions, curious and filled with all sorts of affection as he seemed to be truly invested in her favorite movie. She wasn’t sure if it was for sure, but something in his eyes told her it wasn’t. It only charmed her to him even more. “So, what did you think?” she asked, after Ellie made the decision to head off to college, and both Paul and Aster are set off on their own paths as well and the credits rolled.
Charlie gave a breathless chuckle, eyes still half-lidded from the kiss as he reached for his plate. "Technically, that was the appetizer," he said, voice low, still tinged with mischief as he handed her back her plate. "I’m just keepin’ you on your toes." He watched as she took her first bite, lips quirking into a grin when she groaned in satisfaction. There was a moment, brief but unmistakable, where pride settled warm in his chest, right alongside the part of him that couldn’t believe she was really here, cross-legged on his sofa, eating food he’d made for her. When she complimented the meal, her eyes wide and genuine, Charlie shook his head and smiled down at his plate, humbled in the way he always was when praise came without pretense. "Hey, you made it too," he said, bumping her shoulder gently. "You were brilliant back there. Proper sous chef material. Fast learner, good instincts. Might’ve even upstaged me if you weren’t so distracting." He snuck a bite of his salmon, chewed thoughtfully, then looked at her sideways, that slow-burning smile playing at his lips again. "I’m good at a lot of things, y’know."
The opening credits of The Half of It rolled, and conversation drifted into silence. Charlie leaned back, one arm slung across the back of the couch, the other holding his fork. He watched her in the glow of the screen, how she seemed to fold into the film slowly, her fingers curling around the stem of her wine glass, her mouth parted just slightly in quiet concentration. Every now and again, she’d glance at him and then look away quickly, like the story had pulled something out of her she wasn’t ready to name. Somewhere between Ellie’s first voiceover and Paul’s first awkward letter, Charlie had abandoned his nearly-finished plate. The blanket from the back of the couch now rested over both of their laps, his hand finding hers, and without thinking much of it, he let his head rest lightly against her shoulder. He didn’t say anything when the scene played where Ellie helps Paul learn how to talk about love, feeding him lines. But he felt something tighten in his chest when she whispered, "It’s not finding your other half. It’s the trying and reaching and failing." His thumb moved across the top of her hand beneath the blanket.
Charlie sat up slightly as Ellie and Paul’s conversation drifted into something quieter, more honest. Onscreen, Paul was fumbling through his feelings, and Ellie’s words pierced Charlie like they were his own. "What else could I like about her?" Paul began, Ellie replying, "I don’t know. How her eyes look right into yours. How she twirls her hair when she’s reading. How her laugh bursts out like she can’t help herself.. and she stops being so perfect. For just a few moments…” Charlie’s breath hitched. His eyes didn’t leave the screen, but his fingers curled more firmly around Signe’s hand beneath the blanket. "She has at least five different voices. How you can live in an ocean of her thoughts and feel like she knows… like really knows." He turned his head just enough to glance at her, eyes catching hers for a second. No words. Just that steady look and the faintest pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Because, yeah. That’s what it felt like. Like being known.
SIGNE: oh no!! SIGNE: i haven't seen anything out of the ordinary today... SIGNE: do you need help looking??
closed text starter for @ofresoluxe
priya: hi, sorry to bother ! priya: but have you seen a black cat around town today ? priya: i think the maintenance person let him slip out when they were at my place earlier 😓
Signe snorted as she watched Enzo wrestle with the tangled string. “Excuse you, I know exactly what a diamond looks like.” She leaned over, gently poking him in the arm. “It’s shiny, expensive, and usually worn by women named Margot who say things like ‘oh, this old thing?’ at charity galas.” She smirked at him, mischief and amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Wrist model, huh? That’s a big responsibility. What if I ruin her brand?” Signe stroked her chin, as if deep in thought before sighing. “But, if she’s offering ice cream. and sprinkles – I gotta risk it.” She glanced at Maisie with a secret grin, letting her know her color preferences. She glanced back at Enzo, her voice a touch quieter. “You’ve been watching her all day?”
"You sure you know what a diamond looks like?" he jests as he does his best to unravel the string to a recoverable state for Signe to make a better attempt. They always made him chuckle and never ceased to amaze him with their antics and quirks. Maisie could only gasp and promised to make Signe a bracelet, collecting information on the brunette's favorite colors. "Maisie said I had to be her wrist model. She's hoping to make a nice penny this week. If you volunteer, she does promise a mean ice cream cone with the option to get sprinkles!"
She clinked her glass against his, smiling as she took a sip. Signe allowed herself to be led to the living room and sat on the couch in front of the television. It warmed her heart that he was so excited, that he had actually put thought and effort into the silly little game she’d thought up. She felt his hand brush against her knee as they settled into their seats and simply scooted closer. Charlie gave her a sheepish look, begging her to be gentle and she couldn’t help but lean in to brush her lips against his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” she murmured, the words not light-hearted but not quite teasing. She was being honest with him, but she wanted some of the tension in his shoulders to ease.
Signe felt the shift the moment Nothing started to play – the way Charlie settled into the cushions like he was bracing for impact. She didn’t say anything, just let the song speak for itself. The first category was the song that made them think of each other. The way he picked this one first made her chest ache in a way that surprised her. She felt her eyes sting at the raw vulnerability the song displayed. She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. So, she just reached and brushed her fingers along the back of his hand. She didn’t press for a look or a smile, just letting him know that she was here.
The second song, Seventeen Going Under, came on and she nodded as he explained. Something boat it felt like something Charlie would have had in his headphones as a teenager. She could feel the old bruises tucked under every lyric. She cracked a smile the second Red Wine Supernova started, recognizing the song immediately. “I would never judge your hyperpop era,” she teased. “Honestly, it’s a little hot picturing this on your running music set.” She watched him sway along, foot tapping and warmth filled her. She playfully bumped his knee and gave her a cheeky little smile.
The opening to My Boo pulled a surprised laugh from her. She looked at him as he explained why it had made the list. “Of course you would start impromptu Usher dance breaks at work.” Signe giggled into her wine glass, but her smile was soft. She was definitely storing this little factoid to pull out randomly as some point in the future. The final song started playing – the one whose category she’d thrown in on a whim – and Signe just sat there, listening intently. This was a version of him that no one else got to see.
When his playlist finished, she set her glass down and reached for his hand again, this time holding it properly. “Charlie, that was –” she stopped herself before she got too earnest to fast, her eyes flicking to the TV. “Spectacular. I can’t believe you made that for me.” She squeezed his hand, and then the corners of her mouth quirked up into a grin. She reached for the remote and started queuing hers up. “Alright, Mr. Emotionally Rinsed… I don’t know if my playlist will hold a candle to yours, but the gentle rule applies to you as well!”
First up was Think I Wanna See You Again by Grace Enger. She offered up no explanation, but her cheeks heated immediately. The first time she’d heard the song, there was only one face and name that had come to mind. The same face that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since they’d crossed paths in the art district. It was almost as if she could have written the lyrics herself, and it left Signe feeling terribly exposed.
Up next was White Houses by Vanessa Carlton. She smiled softly, only braving to look at Charlie from the corner of her eye. “I’ve got a thing for singer/songwriter vibes, you’ll notice. Vanessa Carlton is queen.” She paused briefly. “This song also felt incredibly relevant to me when I first moved to the United States. Like you said for your song, I identified with the song so much, it’s just an all-time favorite of mine.”
Then, the familiar notes of Mamma Mia filled the room. Only it wasn’t ABBA’s original, but the cover by A*Teens. Signe laughed and buried her face in her hands. “Okay, this is more a guilty pleasure because of the group,” she said, glancing at him. “I’m a true Swede so, of course, my parents brought me up on ABBA, but A*Teens was this whole project to bring ABBA’s music to a younger generation and it was a whole moment in my life.”
The fourth song was Night Changes by One Direction, but the live acoustic version. Signe had grown up at the peak of 1D-mania, but she had always gravitated to the soft, more intimate cuts. She would never admit how often she still plays this song but she still smiled. “I was a total Directioner as a kid, and when I tell you I sobbed when Zayn left the group, it was world-shattering for me,” she admitted with a soft chuckle at her younger self.
Then finally came Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande. “You didn’t misinterpret at all” was all that she murmured, leaning back into the couch and into Charlie’s side, almost as if she could hide from the words that she was putting out there between them. One would think after Kissin’ On My Tattoos, she would no longer be embarrassed, but who said she was logical? As the song came to an end, Signe cleared her throat, pushing her hair back behind her ears. “So there you have it, I’m still not completely happy with it but that’s me in playlist format.”
Charlie laughed at her comment, cheeks flushing even as he tried to mask it with a sip of wine. Of course she could tell how eager he was, how much this playlist thing meant to him. She saw through him with terrifying ease. It was thrilling and slightly disarming. "Alright, fine," he muttered with mock defeat, tapping the rim of his glass against hers. "I am very excited. No one’s ever made me do a playlist like this before, alright? I’m emotionally compromised." He took the glass, tipping the rim against hers in a clink. "I have the order written down, so we can go through it." He took a sip, then gave her a crooked grin before tipping his head toward the couch. "Come on. We’ll set it up on the telly. Proper presentation and all that. Like a tasting menu, just… with musical emotional baggage." He grabbed the crostini on the way out, a proud smile resting on his lips.
Once they were settled, he scrolled through his Xbox to pull up the songs, his hand briefly brushing against her knee as he reached for the remote. It lingered a second longer than it needed to, nothing overly dramatic, just that electric, I know you’re here and I like that you are kind of touch. "Alright then," he exhaled, suddenly more serious, almost sheepish. "Signe Holmström. This is me barin’ my soul. If I start cryin’ halfway through, just pretend I’ve got allergies or somethin’, yeah? Be gentle with my heart."
The first notes of Nothing by Bruno Major filled the room, and his posture shifted, shoulders tucked in slightly, like he could make himself smaller while the words did the talking. His hands fiddled with the edge of his sleeve as the lyrics poured out everything he hadn’t had the nerve to say aloud. He didn’t dare look at her until the song ended, but when he did, it was with a quiet, searching softness.
Next was Seventeen Going Under by Sam Fender. That one, he could explain. "Grew up with this one in my bones," he murmured, voice low. "First time I heard it I kinda freaked at how me it felt.. It’s angry and sad and weirdly hopeful. Like.. I dunno, like ‘yeah, it’s all gone to shit, but I’m still runnin'.." He chuckled, but it didn’t quite hide the way his thumb kept rubbing his knuckles.
Then came Red Wine Supernova. Charlie shot her a look, cheeky again now. "Right. Don’t judge. This is my guilty pleasure. No idea what she’s even singin’ about half the time but, God, it gets in my blood." He tapped his foot along to the beat, shoulders swaying and grinning to himself before casting her a quick glance. "It’s good runnin’ music. Good tryin’ not to think music. The girl can sing."
The fourth song was My Boo. The instant the intro played, he let out a laugh, leaning his head back on the cushion. "This one’s just joy, innit? Played all the time in the kitchen at work when we’re preppin’. I started it back in France, had a mate there that also loved Usher and it became a tradition. Makes everyone start dancin’. And by everyone, I mean me." He turned to her with a flash of that grin that meant I’m letting you in on something no one else gets.
Then came the last one. The one that sat a little heavier in his chest. Kissin’ On My Tattoos. He didn’t give an explanation this time. Just stared ahead for a long moment, hands folded between his knees as the smooth, intimate melody filled the room. When it ended, he looked over at her. Not cocky. Not even teasing. Just honest. "I'm hopin' I didn't misinterpret what ya meant with that," he said quietly. "But it is what I think about at two in the mornin'.." He chuckled lightly now, a bit of tension leaving his chest.
Then, finally, he looked back at her, smile pulling gently at the corner of his mouth. "So… that’s me. Emotionally rinsed and dried. Winnin' the race." He bumped her knee gently with his. "Your turn, love. But fair warnin’.. you cry and I’m makin’ you a cuppa and wrappin’ you in a blanket whether you like it or not." There was a gleam in his eye, a flicker of nerves under the humor. But he wasn’t running from it. Not this time. Not with her.
“It’s such a comfort food for me,” Signe began, reaching for a cream filled bun. She lifted the bun’s lid and dipped it into the mountain of paste underneath and took a bite. She paused mid-bite as the flavors hit her tongue, her eyebrows raising. She hadn’t expected it to taste so spot-on. With a grin, Signe dipped her finger into the almond paste and gave it a quick taste. “Okay, this,” she pointed at the half-eaten bun. “This is dangerous.” He flushed at her compliment, and Signe smiled to herself. “Well, the effort is appreciated, trouble or no,” she countered. She shifted to sit sideways, her legs curled underneath her. “I also noticed time moved particularly slow this afternoon.” Signe met his gaze, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. Charlie leaned back, one arm propped under his head, and a self-assured glint in his eyes that screamed he just knew how it made him look. Her pulse skipped a beat as he turned his full attention on her. It was more than just the effortless flirtation that seemed to flow out of him, but the warmth behind his gaze – like he genuinely wanted to know more. Her gaze dropped, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as she tried to keep her expression from betraying how flustered she was. “You did kind of monologue last time,” she teased, glancing at Charlie from underneath her eyelashes. Her eyebrows rose, her eyes blinking rapidly at his words. “Date number three, huh?” Her tone was light, and full of teasing. “Bold of you to assume you’re making it past the first one.” Signe nudged him lightly with her knee, her expression a dead giveaway that she liked the confidence. Normally, she wasn’t the kind of girl who divulged much of anything beyond the curated image she wanted to put out, but the way Charlie looked at her made her want to open up. “I’m an only child,” she began. “My mom’s Chinese-Swedish, and my dad’s Danish-Swedish. They are sickeningly perfect together and so in love. They had me super young, but they’ve given me absolutely everything.” Signe paused as she thought about how much her parents had sacrificed for her, especially in those early years of their marriage. “They’re also both brilliant – Mamma is an art history professor, and Pappa is an orthopedic surgeon. I actually credit my mom for getting me into fashion, whether or not she realized what was happening in the moment. I used to go with her to museums all the time and there was this one exhibit on medieval fashion in Europe and–” She smiled, shaking her head as she refocused her attention on Charlie. “I was a goner from then. It was my dirty little secret for so long – until college applications were around the corner and I just blurted out that I wanted to do fashion design.” Signe chuckled at the memory, and shrugged her shoulders at him as if to say ‘the rest is history.’
The way Signe’s face lit up at the mention of semla had Charlie’s heart damn near stumbling over itself. All the time he’d spent stressing over the food and double-checking the setup felt instantly worth it. “I had no idea it was your favorite,” he admitted, eyes crinkling with his smile, “but I’m chuffed I landed on the right one.” Her laugh, the soft and delighted kind, made his pulse quicken, and his grin grew a little sheepish. “I know, I keep sayin’ it… but I mean it. Wouldn’t sit right with me to keep it to myself.”
When she complimented the setup, he waved his hand, bashful, his own cheeks flushing pink beneath the praise. “Oh, it weren’t any trouble, promise... Honestly, it helped. Gave me somethin’ to focus on while I was waitin’.” His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted back to hers, a hint of vulnerability tucked into his smile. “Felt like time weren't movin' fast enough.”
Charlie shifted, leaning back on his elbow, stretching out onto his side as he propped his head against his hand, more relaxed now that the ice was broken. He watched her with open admiration, the glow of the setting sun casting soft gold across her features. “You know,” he continued, voice dipping into something playful but sincere, “last time we were out, I did most of the talkin’.. Told you my story, spilled me guts…” His eyes softened as they held hers. “But I don’t really know much about you yet. Feels like I’m overdue.”
Charlie’s smile turned curious, a little more inviting. “So… tell me. Fashion, family, the whole beginner’s guide to Signe. I wanna know what makes you you. What lights you up the way cookin’ does for me.” His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the corner of the blanket, though his focus stayed locked on her. There was no rush behind the words, just an easy kind of patience, the look of someone who truly wanted to listen. “Unless…” He tilted his head slightly, teasing, “you’re secretly a woman of mystery and I’m not meant to know these things until date number three?” The smirk that tugged at his mouth was soft, good-natured, but the way his eyes stayed steady on her, the way he leaned in just a touch closer, was anything but casual.
resoluxe \ˈre-zə-ˌluks\ 1. the quality of resolving a challenge or decision with sophistication, elegance, and luxury.
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