Charlie adjusted his wireless headphones and hit the key on his computer that connected the next caller to his show. “Two-Buck Chuck, at your service. Wife or girlfriend?” “Wife,” the male voice said. “But yours, not mine. You haven’t given us an update.” Charlie laughed easily. “You guys are relentless.” “You can’t remarry your ex-wife, promise that you’ll share juicy details, and then leave us hanging, man.” Since this was the fourth caller in a row who had brought up the subject, it was time to address the wager. Or at least as much as he was willing to spill on air. The kiss Carolina had goaded him into did not make the list. Mostly because he hadn’t fully recovered from it. And that had been yesterday. But he was still in the trenches. The outcome of the battle was still undecided. “This is my first broadcast since the wedding. I figured the lovelorn needed their shot at advice first, since my relationship is moving along great.” Charlie held up his left hand to the camera so his viewers could see the chunky silver band that Carolina had shoved on his finger at the appointed time. “Marital bliss is in the house. So. How about you? Everything okay in your world, chief?” The caller hesitated long enough that Charlie heard the answer in the silence. So it wasn’t a shock when the male voice sighed. “She’s been a little distant lately.” “Did we get the famous, if you don’t know what’s wrong, I’m not going to tell you speech?” Charlie asked with a tsk of compassion. “Or was it more along the lines of nothing’s wrong, stop asking me?” “Both,” the caller said and poured out the details in a long, miserable litany of grief over how hard it was to live in the same house with a woman who froze him out, especially when he didn’t know how to fix it. Charlie heard variations of this theme over and over from these poor bewildered guys who just wanted harmony back in their homes. And if they were lucky, their wives and girlfriends did not worship at the altar of Carolina, or they’d be single before they ever figured out what had sunk their relationship. Once the caller lost some steam, Charlie asked, “When was the last time you bought your wife flowers?” “Uh...” Yeah, that was usually the case. They couldn’t remember. “If you don’t know, then it was too long ago. Run, do not walk, to the nearest florist. I want you to look at price tags until you see the one that makes you wince when you think about taking out your credit card. That’s the one you need to buy.” “Really?” “Really. Bonus if it makes your stomach hurt.” It wasn’t about the money. Most men didn’t buy their significant other much of anything, and they got sticker shock when they shopped for flowers and jewelry. Their usual tendency was to cheap out because flowers were flowers, right? The thought counted way more than the execution.
Wrong. Not to the lady who clearly had grievances. If her husband waltzed into the next round of negotiations with a paltry ten-dollar bouquet, she’d see it as one more piece of evidence that he didn’t care enough to put forth the effort. Men, pay attention to your ladies. Full stop. Just pay attention to them. Once Charlie finished explaining all of this, the caller seemed to be on board, but then he pivoted at the last minute. “I was expecting one of your famous two-dollar sayings.” Which was usually what Charlie gave them. He’d built his career on the slogan—Two-Buck Chuck: everyone else’s advice is only worth a dollar. But he wasn’t feeling that with this caller. A lot of men had no intention of doing as advised. They called in to hear themselves on the show, get a clip to play back for their buddies, and have fodder for watercooler talk at the office the next day. Charlie had no problem tossing them a bone, and he had a whole cadre of trite sound bites for just such an occasion. This was not one. “Listen, man,” Charlie said earnestly. “There’s a time to toss around pithy catch phrases and a time to get serious about what matters to us. You need actionable advice if you want to hang on to your relationship.” “I do,” the caller agreed readily. “I love my wife. I guess I just don’t show her often enough.” “That’s the secret, dude. You can never, and I r epeat, never show her enough. Or tell her. Do both. That’s one of the most important tools in a man’s relationship box. Make sure she knows what she means to you. Every day.” The caller finally seemed satisfied with Charlie’s advice and let him move on to the next one. “Wife or girlfriend trouble today, my friend?” Charlie asked jovially as he connected the call. “Come on, man, you have to tell us what happened after the wedding,” the new caller insisted. “Telling us that everything is moving along is super vague.” On purpose. What was he supposed to say? My wife drenched herself in freesia-scented bodywash—from the bottle I k ept on my bedside table for months—and then taunted me into kissing her at our wedding ceremony, punctuating the whole occasion with a layer of reality that I wasn’t expecting. That would go over well. Besides, odds were good Carolina was listening to his show. He had a suspicion that she had been listening for a while, even before he’d sprung the bet on her. “It’s early, guys,” Charlie said with a laugh. Ke ep it light, ke ep it ambiguous, nothing to see here. “She hasn’t moved out yet. Trust me. I have this in the bag. More details as they develop.” “But what are you doing to ke ep her from moving out?” the caller asked point-blank. Charlie felt it in his gut as keenly as if the phrase had been delivered with an accompanying bullet fired at close range. “I’m being my usual charming self, of course.” Lies. All lies. There hadn’t been much opportunity to charm Carolina since she’d shut herself up in her room from the moment they’d walked back through the door of her condo as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wilson.
Or whatever she preferred to call herself. Ms. Kline, likely, who in her mind had done absolutely nothing of note yesterday other than a quick trip to the courthouse where she’d signed some papers. It had been a wedding to him. He’d married Carolina again, but this time, they were under the same roof, per the agreement. For all the good it had done him. This was not the honeymoon phase he’d imagined. Not that he’d expected they’d be sharing a bedroom or anything. But still. He had hoped to at least speak to his wife on occasion. Joke was on him for not specifying in the rules of this wager that she couldn’t stay behind closed doors for the entire two weeks. If buying her flowers would work, he’d do that in a heartbeat. And therein lay the rub. He couldn’t give his viewers details about how the wager was going because he was losing. Soundly. “Okay.” The caller sounded disappointed, which did not bode well for the next two weeks. He had to give them something. They were loyal viewers who’d catapulted him into a dream career where he got to be his own boss, make lots of money, and enjoy great tables at hard-to-get-into restaurants. “Hey, listen guys.” He stared straight into the camera wearing as much honesty as he could paint onto his face. “I married Ask Carolina not once, but twice. That alone earns me points, right? She’s not an easy woman to get close to. But we have history. Spark. It’s still there in the small, quiet moments, and I remind her often that love isn’t just something that happens to other people. It’s happening to us. Which is not a bad thing. It’s beautiful. Spiritual. All she has to do is let go, lay down her armor and let me love her.” The back of his neck prickled as the very molecules of the atmosphere shifted. He didn’t have to glance over at the door of his bedroom to know that it was not only open, but Carolina was standing in the gap. Watching him. Listening to him spill his heart all over the internet. “That’s all we have time for today, guys,” he said jovially, careful to ke ep his expression from shifting even an iota so the viewers didn’t guess that he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. “Remember, everyone else’s advice isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. You want the best? Two-Buck Chuck has your back.” Carefully, he disconnected his audio/visual equipment, dragging out the process as long as possible because he had a feeling Carolina wasn’t breaking her self-imposed bedroom sabbatical to give him a weather update. She didn’t disappoint him. “What was all that sappy malarkey about?” “Which sappy malarkey are you referring to?” he asked with feigned innocence. “You mean when I told the guy to buy his wife flowers? Some females actually appreciate gifts.” “I appreciate gifts. I said thank you for the bodywash.” “That wasn’t a veiled reference, but you’re welcome.” “You are so full of it,” she said with a scowl. “Everything is a veiled reference with you.” He shrugged in exactly the right way to irritate her, mostly because that had the best shot at getting her derailed onto another subject—any subject, as long as it wasn’t the one about sappy sentiments he shouldn’t have said out loud at all, let alone in public to his audience.
“Would you like a refund?” he asked as he wound up the power cord to his laptop without looking at her. “You know what I’m talking about,” she insisted without missing a beat. “What, precisely, about our relationship is spiritual? Besides the part where I pray for patience so I don’t whack you upside the head with a frying pan, I mean.” “Oh, that.” She was literally the only woman on the planet who came out swinging after a man said flowery things about her. What did it say about him that he k ept coming back for more? “You, of all people, should know that sometimes you have to say things to your viewers to ke ep the show lively. They wanted sound bites. I gave them some.” She didn’t look convinced. “But that’s the kind of hooey you spew to your viewers all the time. You can’t tell me you don’t believe any of it. That means you have to believe some of it. And there is nothing in the entire breadth of psychological study that lends a drop of credence to your theory that love is as easy as going, ‘Oh, hey. Here I am. Commence with the loving.’” A smile cracked open his face before he could catch it. “I’m relatively certain that nothing about our relationship has ever been explainable by any branch of psychological research.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” She jammed her hands down on her hips, so intent on her argument that she probably didn’t even realize that she’d ventured over the threshold of his bedroom and even taken a few st eps toward the desk he’d set up near the window. “It means you forgot the part where I said you’re a difficult woman to get close to,” he said mildly. “Maybe that’s the part I actually believe.” All of what he’d said was true. But she didn’t need to know that. “I’m trying to be serious here, Charlie.” “Why?” He sprang to his feet and faced her, crossing his arms well before fully acknowledging that he needed the barrier against all her bristle. “What’s so great about being serious? I’m a fun guy, or at least most people think so.” The scowl on her face de epened as she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her lime-green jeans, a fashion constant that he’d always liked about her. She was bold and in your face, even in her color palette, no apologies about who she was or how much she didn’t need you. And that was the essence of his unnatural attraction to her—the challenge. If he could slide right past all that bristle and finally get her into his arms permanently... man, that would be something, wouldn’t it? It would mean he’d accomplished something no other man on the face of this earth had. He would be the one who’d earned the love of a woman this strong, this impossible. He’d had that nirvana in his sights once. And lost it. This was his chance to get it back. “That’s our problem in a nutshell,” she told him curtly. “You don’t even get why being serious is a desirable quality. One that I need.” He lifted his chin in her direction. “Okay. I’ll play. What would be the criteria for you to decide I’m being serious about you?”
“You can’t turn this back on me. That’s like asking how you know the sky is blue. It just is.” “Not all of the time. Sometimes it’s gray. Black at night. White with stars. Stained pink, orange and yellow at sunset. Green when a wall cloud rolls in and the tornado sirens—” “It’s relative.” Toe to toe with him now, she stared him down, a phenomenal feat in and of itself since she was almost a head shorter. “I get it. I’m projecting my own internal stuff on you and not giving you a fair chance.” Well, that wasn’t the confession he’d been angling for, but by golly, he’d take it. This was the first time he’d heard her breathe a word about something internal that was coming between them, and he couldn’t figure out if she’d slipped on accident or on purpose. But his money was on deliberate. Carolina didn’t do accidents. Now she’d wait to see what he did with it. She’d use whatever he gave her as ammunition, which was why he had to haul out tool number three: do not let her know the truth about his feelings. Under any circumstances. Easy, since he wasn’t in the mood to admit how he felt about her to himself either. “That’s all I’m looking for, sweetheart,” he said. “A fair chance. And oh, by the way, love is the very definition of serious.” “So that’s how I’m going to gauge the level of your seriousness? When you clutch your heart and declare that you love me?” “One day you’re going to choke on all that cynicism. Fortunately for you, I know mouth to mouth resuscitation.” “That kiss yesterday was nothing more than a wedding convention.” But her gaze had dropped to his lips, a bonus tell that gave him a good clue that she’d spent at least some of this morning ruminating on their very-much- intact chemistry as well. “I wouldn’t expect another one.” “I’m not expecting anything. But that won’t stop me from setting up the dominoes. I do have a bet to win, after all.” She smirked. “Reminding me that this is all for show isn’t a good way to get me to kiss you.” “What would be?” The moment stretched as she let the question blaze between them. Let the possibilities run wild through his mind. His lips stung under the power of suggestion. Then something altogether crafty stole into her gaze, snapping the awareness between them irrevocably. “Next time I’m choking on my hard- earned philosophies, I’ll let you know.” That’s when she’d decided she’d had enough and waltzed from the room. But he’d gotten her attention. A victory he’d take all day long.