I'm SO sorry it's been so long! And I'm sorry for the mistakes that are inevitable -- I'm in a rush, but wanted to go ahead with the update :)

Love to hear your thoughts. x

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I wait for a while, looking over Charlie's sketches again, until my phone rings in the bedroom. I pace quickly down the hallway and only glance at the screen before answering, with enough time to see Dylan's name. Since Dr. Keller allowed me to take Friday off in order to give me more time to study, I haven't spoken to Dylan since Thursday, when she'd texted to let me know that her day was going fine at school.

"Hello," I greet her cheerfully.

"Stella? Hi, it's Dylan. Dr. Keller said that you were already on vacation from the office until next semester, and I know that you will probably be leaving Clemson soon. I was wondering, do you think I could still hang out with you and Charlie? Even if he can't come, maybe we could get together once before you leave?" Dylan speaks with a mixture of nerves and ease, like she is sure of her question, but not sure that she should be asking.

"Of course," I respond, "I think Charlie will want to come, too. What plans did you want to make?"

"We could just meet for dinner, or even coffee. Wherever and whenever you both want is fine with me."

I listen for Charlie as she speaks, wondering if his phone call has ended so I might ask if he would mind going tonight. The house is quiet, so I assume that he's still outside.

"Tonight works for me. I think Charlie will be able to come, but if not, we can still go. We can just pick you up around six and decide what sounds good. Does that work for you?"

Dylan agrees on our plans, thanking me for the offer to drive, and to make time for her at all, on such short notice.

At the same moment that I end our call, I hear the back door open, and Charlie reenters the house.

I exit the bedroom and start towards the living room, meeting him as he rounds the corner into the hallway.

"Sorry about the interruption," he smiles.

"No need to apologize," I state, as I cross in front of him and sit down on the couch.

"Dylan called, the girl whose house we went to the other night, remember? She wants to get together before I go home for Christmas."

"Charlie nods understandingly, leaning against the frame of the hallway entry and crossing his arms.

"She wants to meet you, too. She asked me if she could that night. I think -" I stop and look away, towards one of the windows that look out onto Charlie's front yard. I feel as if revealing why I think Dylan wants to meet Charlie would be some sort of betrayal, even if I know I can tell him anything about myself.

He leaves an empty moment, allowing me to consider my own actions before he speaks, "I'd like to meet her. When are we going?"

I look to him again while I repeat the plans from my phone call with Dylan. Then, I add my own gratitude.

"Thank you for being so agreeable."

"I'm always agreeable, aren't I?" he grins.

"I guess that's true," I consider with a smile, "Most people would probably overthink the situation though, and think it was weird."

"Meeting someone for dinner? It's a small thing."

"True, but remember the small things is a big thing."

"I agree," he smiles, "I was thinking about going to visit my neighbor, since you said that she's home. You want to come?"

Charlie and I decide to bake cookies for Gloria. Charlie is better at baking too, honestly. And I'm not even the slightest upset about it, because watching him is more fulfilling than any baker's pride that I may have gained, had my skills been any more than sub-par in comparison.

He focuses so carefully on simple things. The way that he frowns down as his hands roll and place the cookie dough in an even spread across the cookie sheet. I wonder often if his size and strength make him doubt his own grace, and handle every small detail as if he will shatter the outcome if he doesn't use dual consideration.

"You're laughing at me," he says without looking up, but I can tell that he smiles as he says it.

"I'm not," but I giggle as I speak.

"You are. You bite your lip when you're trying not to laugh at me."

"I'm with you for the entertainment," I smirk.

"That's troublesome. I'm not very entertaining."

We both watch his hands now, as he shapes the last bit of dough and adds it to the pan.

"You just don't see yourself very clearly. I'm never bored by you. You're funny without even trying. Most people try very hard, and they still fall short."

He grabs a damp hand towel and wipes his hands of the sticky dough before wrapping his arms low on my hips.

"I think you've just politely admitted that you like making fun of me."

"Only lovingly," I admit, as he pulls me closer.

"I'll take what I can get."

Charlie kisses my forehead and turns away, picking up the tray of unbaked cookies and moving towards the oven.

"I'm excited to take you to New York," he says, as he maneuvers the appliance.

"Me too. Do you have friends in New York, like you do in Charleston?"

He turns away from the oven and comes closer, stopping feet from me to lean on the kitchen island.

"I know a lot of people who live there or will be there for the fights. But if you're wondering if anyone will be making sly comments and talking about tattooing your back, then no," he smirks, referring to Brock.

"He wasn't that bad. I think between you and I, we could find worse company," I say dryly.

He huffs a laugh, "I think you're right. Maybe going out in the city isn't a good idea for us. We can find other things to do."

I take a dishrag and begin to wipe off the counter where I mixed the dough rather messily.

"I'm excited to actually see you box,"

"Really?" he asks, looking genuinely stunned.

"Really," I say decidedly, "It makes me nervous still, watching someone try to hurt you. It doesn't help that now you -" I gesture towards Charlie's side, but I can't say it. The words still feel odd. Saying "I'm worried because you were stabbed just the other night" isn't for casual conversation, in my opinion.

"Because you think it's hot, right? Wasn't that the choice word of your roommate?"

"Yes, that's the word. An accurate, vibrant description. You are very, very hot."

He grins in response in a way that is more sweet than hot, and more him, quite frankly.

I fold the towel and lay it on the edge of the sink once the counter is clean. Then, I open my mouth to tell Charlie that I'm going to change before we visit his neighbor, but he speaks first.

"It makes me nervous, too. Being hurt... injured," he corrects himself.

"You don't have to do it. Are you sure you even should, or can?"

He shakes his head, "My stitches will be gone, I shouldn't even feel any pain in a few days. I've just never entered a fight with any sort of injury, that's all."

Charlie pulls his phone from his pocket, appearing to check for calls or messages. He never really checks his phone casually with me, so I know that he is using the action to end the conversation.

"I'm going to change before Gloria's," I say, trying not to sound disappointed as I exit the room. A part of me really is excited to finally see Charlie box. At the same time, I worry about how his injury could affect him, and I know that my own nerves will only get worse when we're finally in the city.

Before we go to Gloria's, we taste-check the cookies that we've made. They're some of the best that I've ever had, and Charlie credits the recipe to his aunt. He hold my hand while we walk across Gloria's garden to her front porch, and I wonder quietly when and if I'll ever meet them - Charlie's aunt and uncle.

Gloria is elated to see Charlie. Before we make it inside, she stands on her toes so that she can wrap her arms around his neck, and then she squeezes his cheeks. For anyone who didn't know Charlie, the situation would seem bizarre. I'm sure Andy, or even Bridget and Charlie's other "friends," would not believe that he bakes cookies for old ladies and grins genuinely when they squeeze his cheeks and utter terms of childish endearment. I'm lucky to know him this way.

Both Charlie and I have another cookie while we sit at Gloria's kitchen table and listen to stories from her trip. After, she tells us that her granddaughter whom she traveled with, and she, herself, learned that her daughter and son-in-law have decided to divorce.

"I felt guilty, at first, for keeping my granddaughter away while her parents were making the decision. But she thanked me. She said that she's known it was a possibility for a while, but always believed that her parents were staying together for their sake. Her travelling, she believed, put things into perspective. Once she's gone, they'll have nothing together. Of course, my daughter has decided to take it upon herself to take care of me now."

Gloria shakes her head and sighs before continuing, "She insists that we should live closer to one another. She doesn't like that I live alone. I hate to think about selling this house, though."

"Can't she move close to you now? There are always people moving around here, right?"

"Not lately," Gloria counters, "Seems everyone is here to stay. I don't blame them, of course, it's a great area. Friendly neighbors," she smiles warmly at me as she gets up from the table with her now empty coffee cup, offering Charlie and I another.

When it's time to meet Dylan, I can tell that Charlie is drowsy again from his medicine. I offer that we can reschedule, but he insists that he's fine. When I follow him into the garage, he turns to me.

"Do you think you should drive? The medicine that they gave me isn't too strong, but I want to be cautious."

He holds out his keys for me.

"I can't drive your car," I put my palms up in defense, "Let's just take mine."

"Come on," he laughs, tossing me the keys, "You'll love driving it. It'll be fine, baby."

He opens the passenger side door and climbs in, leaving me no option but to drive.

I really do love it. The interior of the car was completely refurbished, but Charlie made certain that all of the vintage charm was kept.

"This steering wheel is huge. I like it," I say simply.

Charlie doesn't respond, but I hear him laugh under his breath.

He turns up the stereo and "Unchained Melody" begins to play.

"This is one of my dad's favorite songs," I tell him.

"It's a good one," Charlie says in a soft, raspy whisper. I glance over at him. His head is leaned back, and his eyes are closed, relaxed. His lips are pulled into the faintest smile.

He looks so peaceful that I almost want to leave him be, but driving his car without his watchful eye makes me nervous for some reason.

"Charlie," I say quietly, looking between him and the road.

He turns his head slightly and barely opens his eyes, "You're fine, baby. Just relax."

I feel his hand begin to play softly with my long waves that hang down my back, reminding me how far up in the seat I'm leaning.

His hands do calm me, so much that I, myself, want to lean back and close my eyes, but I don't. Within minutes, we are in front of Dylan's house.

She must have been watching for us, because before I can call, she is already emerging from the front door. As she nears the car, Charlie gets out and pushes up the passenger seat, before standing straight and holding out his hand for Dylan, who now stands before him.

"Hi, Dylan. I'm Charlie. It's nice to meet you," his formality is well-balanced with his friendly tone.

"Hi, Charlie," she says, shaking his hand. She leans down then and waves at me, still at the wheel, "Hi, Stella!"

"Are you alright to sit in the back? You can have the front, if you prefer."

"I'm good with the back," Dylan smiles, climbing in, "I think you need the leg room more than I do. How tall are you anyway?" Dylan asks boldly.

I admire her confidence. I became so shy and timid after Jason.

"I'm 6'4," Charlie says proudly.

"Wow. Is this your car, Stella? I've never been in an old car before."

"It's Charlie's, actually. You got it in New York, didn't you?" I ask him, letting him take over the conversation so that I can focus on the road. Dylan is talkative as ever, and Charlie carries on perfectly with her. He asks her about high school, directing his questions more towards her academic interests rather than her social life, probably very consciously.

"I like science," Dylan says decidedly, "I like to read, but I read mostly nonfiction. I like reading books about scientists or mathematicians. It sounds weird, but I have a lot of time on my hands."

"Your time is probably well spent reading about that," Charlie says, and then he asks her if she's read something specific on Einstein, nothing that I recognize. He glances at her in the rearview and occasionally turns in his seat to look at her.

"Are you majoring in something to do with science then?" I hear Dylan ask, finally, "Something with physics?"

"No," Charlie looks forward and shakes his head, "I'm not in school."

"You aren't? You seem so smart though. You should meet my parents and talk to them about the unimportance of higher education. Sorry, Stella," she adds, and I giggle.

"I wouldn't do that," Charlie smiles, "College is very important. You have to go, if you have the chance."

"Why didn't you then?"

"I just didn't think I would do well. I should have tried, though."

"You would've done fine. My brothers are in college now, and one of them recently told me that Einstein discovered electricity with 'that kite string and metal thing,' so you're way ahead of them. I like asking questions that I already know the answer to."

Charlie and I take Dylan to the restaurant by the stream. The conversation continues to flow normally and comfortably, and by the end of dinner, Dylan has brought up our plans for break.

"My parents are making me go to Florida. So predictable and touristy. Are you all going anywhere?"

"We'll be in New York in two weeks," Charlie answers for us.

"New York?" Dylan asks, surprised, "Where in New York? The city? Will you be in Manhattan?"

Charlie nods.

"I've been there once. That's way cooler than Florida. What are you going to do there?"

Charlie doesn't respond, but instead, reaches for his water glass.

"Charlie's a boxer. Have I told you? He's going there for that," I say nonchalantly, and look down as I reach for my cherry coke, not thinking to gage Dylan's reaction.

"You're a boxer?" she asks blankly.

Charlie swallows his drink and sets his glass down on the table slowly, "I am."

"Oh," Dylan nods. I collect in an instant that she is having the same initial reaction that I had. Of course, she is much bolder.

"Have you ever, like, really hurt someone?" Dylan questions Charlie with an expression that is deadpan, turning her head slightly, as if to avoid evidence of her internal wince.

I look immediately at Charlie, wanting to defend him, but also curious. I never thought to ask...

Charlie could never look cowardly, even if he tried. His size, physique, and unquestionable attractiveness wouldn't allow it, but I know when he feels so. His voice softens, and his hands wander through his hair and to the back of his neck, and sometimes clasp together in his lap so that no one will notice their slight shaking.

I hope that Dylan sees it though, and realizes that, no matter his answer, he doesn't hurt people in the way that we've been hurt.

"I have caused injuries, yes. It isn't -" Charlie's shoulders slump and he leans forward, wrapping his fingers around his cold glass and turning it between them on the table, staring down at his action to avoid eye contact until he continues, "It hasn't happened many times at all, and it was never too serious. It still feels wrong, though. The sport isn't supposed to be about really hurting someone, not to me."

The waitress interrupts as Charlie finishes, bringing us our bill. Charlie asked for the whole bill together, of course, ignoring Dylan when she insisted that she brought her own money.

Charlie signs the bill while I take one last drink from my cherry coke.

"Do you think you'll always fight? Is there anything else that you want to do when you're older?" Dylan asks.

"I won't always. There are lots of things that I want to do," Charlie smiles, "Are we ready?" He asks, looking towards me.

The conversation moves away from boxing during our ride back to Dylan's, and shifts back and forth between plans for Florida, and what we might do in the city. As we pull up in front of her house though, Dylan makes a sharp change of subject.

"Do you know what?" she asks, biting down on her thumbnail while I respond with question words. "I think that you being a fighter is a good thing, ironic really. After what happened to me, I'm scared shitless of letting anyone have power over me. I do well at hiding it, but I can't even be told what to do by my family without clamming up. It's strange, but Dr. Keller says it's normal, to be afraid of how people will use their power over you. Even for people who aren't abused. You're a juxtaposition though, Charlie - a fighter who couldn't be less aggressive or abrupt to others. I think you could help resolve a lot of fears about being hurt by anyone whom you see as being stronger than you. And he can protect you too, right Stella?"

"Right," I smile, parking in front of Dylan's and turning towards her in my seat.

"I'm glad that you called and came to dinner with us. I hope you have a great time in Florida, and tell your parents that I say hello."

"Thanks for letting me tag along," she grins, "And same to you. Enjoy New York for me."

Charlie has already stepped out of the car and pushed up his seat so that Dylan can climb out. He helpfully takes her hand as she steps out of the mustang, and when she's standing in front of him, she stands on her tiptoes and hugs him tightly.

"Nice to meet you, Charlie."

On the ride home, Charlie and I are quiet. He keeps his hand on my leg, and after a few minutes of silence, I assume that he's fallen asleep. His phone begins to vibrate in his lap. I reach for it, not wanting his short nap to be disturbed, but he feels my hand brush against his leg and opens his eyes immediately, looking down at his phone.

"What are you doing, baby?" he reaches for the device, pulling it away from me and looking down at the lit screen.

"I just didn't want it to wake you."

"Oh," he says, ignoring the call and shoving the phone into his pocket.

"Aren't you going to take that?" I ask, thinking to his earlier, lengthy phone call on the porch.

"Not now," Charlie says, moving his shoulders and leaning back, closing his eyes again, "It'll have to wait."