All Charlie could do was watch as the man moved around the kitchen, the aromas of homemade cooking wafting towards her. She hadn’t turned on the oven in weeks, and was sure that most of the pots and pans had a small film of dust that she typically would have been embarrassed about. The shame of watching Luke, after his long journey from Europe with dark circles that rivaled her own, in her kitchen to make them something was far more severe than her lack of cleanliness since Sam had died. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as he turned and gave her a shadow of a smile.

Another hour or two… it hardly mattered. Charlie was past the point of hunger. She’d assumed they’d go out and get something; had she known he would have pulled out all the stops, she would have lied and said she’d just had something to eat earlier. The woman lifted onto a chair near the island, propping her head up with a hand as her eyes followed Luke’s movements. He had always seemed comfortable here, something that on occasion irked Sam. 

[I]He walks around here like he owns the damn place.[/I] Charlie’s shoulders dropped as she realized how difficult it had become to remember the way his voice sounded, the gruffness of his voice that became more prevalent the more he drank or the way his voice raised when his favorite football team ruined a play. She hadn’t realized how deep in thought she was until she heard Luke’s low voice break the silence that had grown between them. It was for that very reason it took her a few moments to grasp onto his words and what he was truly saying, the way she flinched when his voice raised. Charlie adjusted herself, again looking down at the hands that had travelled to her lap. 

How could she do [I]any[/I] of the things he suggested? Paint over the walls and forget how Sam had laughed when she’d turned to him, covered in splattered paint from the roller? Take the things in the house that reminded her of Sam and lock them away so that they couldn’t touch the light of day? Burn the chair that Sam had picked himself and swore religiously by after a long day of working on [I]their[/I] farm? 

Unadulterated rage quickly overtook Charlie, her eyes narrowing as she met Luke’s. “You want me to [I]erase[/I] him?” She asked, her voice quiet with seething. “You want me to act like [I]he[/I] wasn’t the one was here with me every single day?” [I]The way you weren’t[/I]. She fought tooth and nail to keep the unbated insult from reaching her lips. It wasn’t fair to say that, not when they were both hurting.

Because, despite everything, she had chosen Sam. Luke had never expressly discussed how he felt about her and vice versa. That was a conversation that would happen only over her dead body, and she’d be damned if she spoke it into existence when they were looking at another argument. 

“I [I]owe[/I] him that, Luke. I made a promise.” Charlie’s voice was raising now. “You act like it should be so easy to move on! Like you can just come here and take charge, like you don’t know what my life has been like over the past few weeks.” She felt the tell-tale signs of emotion welling up in her throat and fought the tears that would have readily dropped if she let them. ”’What’s the new guy supposed to do?’ What fucking new guy, huh? I’ll never —”

The woman took a deep breath, unable to ignore how shuddered it was. “Why would I do any of that?” Her voice was quiet now. “Why would I want to forget him?”