Charlie sipped his lukewarm coffee, leaned back in his Mercedes, and let the silence settle in.
The car was parked beneath a tree on the side of the university. It was a small parking lot. Today was a little hot, so the AC was on at full blast. He took a sip of coffee while tapping his finger on the steering wheel.
'Humm...' A sudden thought struck his mind. Why not write something while waiting for Lisa?
He opened the glove compartment and took out a battered notepad and a pen. It had coffee stains, torn corners, and one page covered in ketchup from a burger mishap. Classic Charlie.
He clicked his pen and tapped it against his knee.
"Alright," he muttered, "time to write something... not terrible."
Charlie had been living off jingles and one-off theme tunes for far too long. Commercial gigs paid the bills, sure. But it wasn't music. Not real music. Not the kind that made your chest tighten and your skin tingle. He tried to write some real songs, but well... Things didn't go as planned, and he always ended up with little jingles.
He wanted more than 15 seconds of catchy nonsense.
He wanted to feel again.
Song 1.
He started writing.
"Toothpaste Time"
Brush in the morning
Brush at night
Keep those teeth
Shining bright
Charlie groaned and drew a big X over it.
"That's a jingle, not a song. Unless I'm planning to perform for dentists," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
He took another sip of coffee and stared out the windshield. A group of students walked by, laughing loudly. One of them was wearing headphones and bobbing his head to music that Charlie couldn't hear.
Charlie squinted at the kid like he was mocking him.
"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your auto-tuned heartbreak tracks."
He flipped to a new page.
Song 2.
"Burger in My Heart"
Fries on the side
Love in a bun
You left, but this combo
Still gets me undone
He paused. Tapped his pen.
"...That's literally just about food."
Another X. Another sigh.
"Come on, Charlie. Try a little harder. Think..."
His pen tapped faster.
He remembered something Lisa said last night. About how his new music felt like it had purpose. Like it was his. She believed in him.
Maybe that was the problem. It scared him.
Song 3.
"Crunch Commander Returns"
Snap, crackle, boom
My cereal's got soul
You wake up to me
And lose control
Charlie gagged halfway through the verse and scribbled over it.
"I'm losing control, alright. Over my brain cells."
He looked down at the paper. Three failed songs. Three reminders that maybe he was just a jingle guy now. That the good stuff was behind him.
He leaned back in the seat and stared at the roof of the car.
"Maybe I'm done."
The thought sat with him for a few seconds.
Then something happened.
He looked at the passenger side, imagining Lisa sitting there. Hair in a bun, blazer crisp, giving him that "don't screw this up" look she always wore when she was pretending not to care.
Lisa.
He pictured her standing under the morning light, wearing that suit and smiling even though she was nervous. Or laughing at one of his dumb jokes when she really should've rolled her eyes.
He thought about the way she looked at him when he played music. Like she actually saw something in him that wasn't broken.
Charlie blinked. Then slowly, without thinking too hard, he flipped to a clean page.
He didn't try to be clever. Didn't think about markets or jingles or commercials.
He thought about Lisa.
And he wrote.
"Her Hair Was a Mess"
She walked in with coffee
And fire in her eyes
Wearing last night's dreams
Like a bold disguise
She smiled like a secret
She never would tell
But the way that she kissed me
Felt holy as hell
She's louder than reason
She's softer than rain
She's wild when she dances
She's calm when in pain
Her hair was a mess
But she lit up the room
She sings off-key
And still finds the tune
And I don't know why
She picked me to stay
But I breathe a little better
When she's not far away
Charlie stopped writing. His hand was trembling slightly.
He read it back once. Twice.
It wasn't perfect. Hell, it barely rhymed in spots. But it was real. No metaphors. No sugarcoating. Just Lisa.
He stared at the page, suddenly quiet inside his own mind. For once, the noise had faded.
And something else had taken its place.
Hope.
He leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and pictured her again. Not in lingerie. Not in yoga pants. But the real her. Standing strong. Standing scared. Standing anyway.
That was what he loved most about her.
Charlie smirked, tapping his pen against the page.
"Well, dang! I can't get her out of my head. So, this is what love is, huh? Weird..."
Charlie's pen had slowed to a gentle tap against the notepad, the ink smudging where his hand had rested too long over the last line. He stared at the page, not really seeing the words anymore. They'd settled somewhere deeper, beneath the coffee and sarcasm, below the bruised ego and deflection. They'd sunk into the part of him he didn't often admit existed.
The part that still believed in things like redemption.
He scribbled a few more lines on the next page. More about Lisa. About how she laughs with her whole body. About how she gets quiet when she's scared, but keeps moving forward anyway. About how, when he's around her, he doesn't feel like a punchline.
Then he just sat there.
Pen in one hand. Coffee cup in the other. Well, it was cold as hell.
Thinking.
Three hours passed without him noticing.
The AC was still humming gently. A kid on a skateboard rolled past the parking lot. A squirrel climbed a trash can, trying to commit some petty theft involving a leftover sandwich.
Charlie didn't see any of it.
Not until a knock came at the window beside him.
He blinked, startled, jerking slightly as the pen slipped from his hand and fell between the seats.
He looked over.
...
Lisa stood outside the car, framed by sunlight, holding a brown folder and a nervous smile. Her blazer was a little wrinkled now, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her hair, so meticulously styled earlier, had started to slip free from its bun.
She looked tired.
But satisfied.
Charlie quickly rolled down the window.
"You survived," he said, eyes scanning her face.
"Yup. Got the job, all thanks to you," Lisa replied as he unlocked the door.
Charlie gave her a genuine smile. "Congrats."
"Thanks, Charlie..."
She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat with a sigh, tossing the folder onto the dashboard.
"Three hours?" she asked.
Charlie glanced at the clock. "Oh. Damn."
"I figured you either fell asleep or ran off to join a mariachi band," she said, leaning her head back against the seat.
Charlie picked up the notepad from his lap, hesitated, then handed it to her.
Lisa raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Something weird happened while you were in there," he said. "I wrote something that wasn't crap."
She flipped open the pad, reading silently.
Her eyes stayed on the page for a long time. Her heart was beating faster and she felt a warm feeling in her heart and a smile appeared on her lips.
Charlie watched her nervously, suddenly regretting every word.
Then she looked at him.
Soft. Honest.
"You wrote this about me?" she asked.
"Unless you think I've got some secret muse named Debbie who also drinks black coffee and sings off-key," he said.
She smiled. Not the smirky one. The real one.
"You're a sap, Charlie Harper."
"I think I'm broken," he said quietly.
Lisa leaned over and kissed him, slow and certain. When she pulled back, she kept her forehead pressed to his.
"You're not broken," she said. "You're just finally letting yourself feel something real."
They sat there in silence for a minute. No jokes. No running. Just stillness.
Then Lisa picked up the notepad again.
"You know," she said, "if this principal thing doesn't work out, I could be your manager. You've clearly got a hit here."
Charlie chuckled. "I'd pay you in tacos."
"Perfect," she said. "I accept bribes in cheese and kisses."
He looked at her again, then reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"So," he said, "how'd it go?"
Lisa leaned back, folded her arms, and smirked.
"I think I'm about to be someone's boss."
Charlie grinned. "Damn right you are."
He turned the key in the ignition and glanced at Lisa, her feet propped up on the dash like she'd just won a championship and was waiting for her medal.
"So," he said, "fancy steakhouse to celebrate?"
Lisa smirked. "Tempting. But I'm in the mood for something less... waiter-y."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Less waiter-y?"
"Yeah," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "Something chill. Something beachy. I say we grill. At your place. Sunset. Barbecue. Flip steaks like we're on Food Network but with less judgment."
Charlie grinned. "Now that's a vibe."
"I'll handle the seasoning," Lisa added. "You just handle the fire and try not to burn off your eyebrows."
"No promises," Charlie said as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Lisa leaned her head against the window, watching the palm trees blur past. "Beach view. Home-cooked steaks. No pants required."
Charlie tapped the wheel. "Sold. Let's hit the market before you tempt me into skipping straight to the 'no pants' part."
They swung into the nearest grocery store parking lot.
[Inside the store]
Lisa inspected every cut like a judge on a cooking show. Ribeyes. Sirloins. A big pack of short ribs. She even made Charlie hold up two different steaks side by side so she could compare marbling.
"Lisa," he said, balancing steaks like he was weighing gold. "They're both cows. Just pick one."
Lisa gave him a glare that could have tenderized the meat.
"They are not the same," she said. "This one's got better fat distribution. This one's too lean. You want flavor, you want fat."
Charlie looked at the meat, then at her. "You are terrifying and strangely hot when you talk about steak like that."
"Grab some corn," she said, walking off. "And beer. Non-alcoholic obviously. And garlic. And that fancy mustard you pretend you don't like but always steal off my plate."
By the time they got to the checkout, the cart was full of steaks, sausages, beer, salad ingredients, and enough seasoning to supply a small restaurant.
At the register, Charlie tried to look at the cashier's low-cut t-shirt, making her boobs pop. Lisa swatted him with a baguette.
[Cut the scene to Charlie's house]
They went to the kitchen, arms full of bags, and dropped everything onto the dining table.
"Alright, let's get cleaned up, and then we can start," Charlie said as he took Lisa up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He began to climb the stairs to his room.
"No sex. I'm sweaty and hungry," She said with a sly smile.
"Boobs?" He looked at her face, raising an eyebrow.
Lisa chuckled, shaking her head.
"Fine. One boobjob, that's it."
"Blowjob?"
"Ummm... Only if you survive 5 minutes," She winked.
"God, help me," Charlie mumbled.
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