AN: Big chapter: 3k words and a dialogue driven chapter.
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[A few days later] [Mall] [7 PM]
Charlie decided to take a break. It had been a while since he bothered with this kind of thing, but even a man with three women, a kid, and a house full of chaos needed his lone time. Therapy for Charlie came in the form of wandering through aisles, the cart squeaking, and humming one of his songs under his breath like he was his own personal soundtrack.
He stopped at the chocolate section, zeroing in on the liquid bottles. Tonight was Laura's night, and Laura loved her chocolate. Charlie smirked, picking up three bottles. One for foreplay, one for backup, and one for whatever creative detours happened when things got slippery.
"Preparedness," Charlie muttered, dropping them in the cart. "That's what separates men from amateurs."
He moved on, sweeping up cereal packs, a couple gallons of milk, cookies, chips, and fruit juice. It was the kind of list that screamed fatherhood, even though he refused to call himself one out loud. He kept pushing, moving through the aisles, stopping at the noodle section.
That's when he heard it.
"Aren't you Charlie Harper?"
The voice was female, warm with a mix of curiosity and a pinch of awe. Charlie turned his head slowly, like a man accustomed to being recognized but still weighing whether he wanted to deal with it.
She stood behind him, holding a basket filled with a few essentials. Long brunette hair, brown irises, and a genuine smile. She looked mid-thirties, put together but casual, like she knew she didn't need to try too hard. She was wearing a casual go-out dress. Pink petal top and blue pants.
'Chelsea!' He instantly recognized her, thanks to his past life's memories. 'Ok. Don't stutter. God, she's gorgeous. Focus, Harper. Act normal.'
Charlie raised a brow. "Depends. If you hate my music, I'm Alan. If you like it, then yeah, you've got the right guy."
She laughed, tilting her head. "I like it. Actually, I love it. Everybody's favorite Stranger, City of Midnight, City of Shadows, then my personal favorite, Midnight Kind of Love… I bought every single album, single, and EPs. You're the reason my coworkers are sick of me singing."
Charlie grinned, leaning against his cart. "Well, then, I'll apologize on behalf of your coworkers. But I can't apologize for making you sing. That's kind of my job description."
Her smile widened as she stepped closer, studying him like she was still confirming it was really him. "I didn't think I'd run into you in a grocery store. Don't you have people for this kind of thing?"
Charlie gave her an easy shrug, lips curved in a smirk. "Sure, I could send someone, but then I'd miss out on the fine art of pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel through overpriced aisles. And more importantly, if I stayed home, I wouldn't have run into you. Kind of makes me glad I didn't outsource this errand."
Her laugh was soft, unforced, and Charlie caught himself appreciating it more than he expected. Chelsea pulled a strand of her hair behind her left ear.
"Fate, huh?" she teased.
"Exactly," Charlie said, leaning on the cart handle. "Grocery store fate. It's underrated. Some people meet in airports, some on subways. Me? I'm more of a chocolate-aisle destiny kind of guy."
Chelsea tilted her head, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the bottles in his cart. "And your destiny involves three bottles of chocolate syrup?"
He grinned. "What can I say? I plan ahead. There's an old saying about never showing up underprepared. I take that very seriously in all aspects of life."
Her eyebrows rose in playful suspicion. "All aspects?"
He lowered his voice slightly, leaning closer without invading her space. "All aspects." He let the moment hang before straightening again, tossing in a noodle pack for cover.
Chelsea chuckled and shifted her basket to her other arm. "I wasn't expecting to laugh in the middle of a shopping trip. You're full of surprises, Mr. Harper."
Charlie pretended to think it over. "I'll take that as a compliment. Most people expect musicians to be… I don't know, mysterious and brooding. Sunglasses indoors, answering every question with something cryptic."
"And you're not like that?" she asked.
"Nope. I'm more the 'pick out cookies and crack bad jokes' type. Brooding wastes too much energy."
Her smile lingered, softer now. "You know, that's refreshing. Most guys who get famous let it go straight to their heads."
Charlie shrugged again, though he made sure to hold her gaze. "I like walking around. Keeps me grounded. And like I said… it led me to you. Hard to call that a bad thing."
Chelsea's eyes narrowed slightly in mock challenge. "Smooth."
"Truthful," He countered without missing a beat. "But smooth is a nice bonus."
For a moment, neither said anything. The sounds of shopping carts squeaking past and distant intercom announcements filled the pause. Charlie could feel the hum of something different in the air, not forced or contrived. He knew moments like this didn't come around often, and when they did, you either grabbed them or let them pass.
He tapped the handle of his cart. "So… I know this might sound cliche, but how do you feel about grabbing a coffee? Nothing heavy, just two people who happened to collide in the middle of frozen foods testing if the universe knew what it was doing."
Chelsea raised a brow, considering him. "Coffee, huh? You sure that's not just another line?"
Charlie held a hand to his chest like he'd been accused of a felony. "Me? No. I save my lines for my songs. Out here, I stick to honesty. Besides, worst case, you get free caffeine and the satisfaction of proving I'm not as interesting off stage as I am on it."
She studied him for another beat, then laughed. "Alright. Coffee sounds good. But only because I want to see if you actually drink something other than soda and juice like the tabloids claim."
Charlie smirked. "Then this is already going to be worth it. You'll walk away knowing the truth, and I'll get to say I had coffee with the woman who finally called me out."
Chelsea shook her head with a grin. "You don't quit, do you?"
"Not when fate sets up the moment for me. I'm a firm believer in not wasting opportunities." He pushed his cart forward a few steps, motioning for her to walk alongside. "So, coffee. You got a favorite spot around here, or should I surprise you?"
"There's a little café across the street," she said. "Not the chain one, the smaller place with the brick walls and plants everywhere. You'd like it. Feels cozy."
Charlie nodded. "Perfect. Cozy's good. I hate shouting over espresso machines just to have a conversation."
She walked with him as he headed toward the checkout.
"By the way, I never got your name," He said.
Chelsea winced lightly, her cheeks coloring. "Sorry, I got carried away." She shifted her basket from one hand to the other, then straightened with a small, self-aware smile. "Chelsea. Chelsea Melini."
They talked a bit and paid for the groceries. Then went to that cafe Chelsea mentioned.
...
[Cafe]
The little café Chelsea suggested was exactly what Charlie had hoped for: warm, cozy, and just the right amount of eccentric. The brick walls, the mismatched furniture, and the soft hum of indie music in the background gave the place a quiet charm. The air smelled of fresh coffee beans and something sweet—probably pastries.
Chelsea led the way to a small corner table by the window, and Charlie followed her. They both sat down, the conversation feeling like a natural continuation of their banter in the store.
"So, now that we're not talking about chocolate syrup and cart squeaks," Chelsea began, smiling as she leaned back in her chair. "Tell me, how do you really deal with all the attention? I mean, you can't go anywhere without people recognizing you. Is it ever suffocating?"
Charlie sat back and ran a hand through his hair. He liked the question. It was honest, without the usual undertones of curiosity or judgment. She was actually interested in the reality of fame, not just the glamour of it.
"At first, it was overwhelming," he said, his tone a little more reflective. "I mean, it's not exactly something you can prep for. One day you're just a guy writing jingles, and the next thing you know, your face is on billboards and your voice is everywhere. The noise gets loud fast. You learn to filter it, though. You get used to the sound of people's expectations—both from you and for you."
He paused, watching her expression. She didn't look impressed, just curious, which made the whole conversation feel less like an interview and more like two people having a real exchange. He continued, leaning forward slightly.
"But honestly? I've always found a way to keep it from getting too suffocating. It helps when you don't let it define you. I mean, sure, it's part of who I am, but it's not all of who I am. The key is finding a balance. Like tonight… just me, you, a couple of cups of coffee, and no cameras or stage lights. That's the good stuff."
Chelsea smiled, nodding as she sipped her coffee. "I get that. You find little pockets of normalcy in a sea of noise."
Charlie chuckled, grateful that she understood. "Exactly. I used to think I'd lose myself in all the chaos, but you eventually realize that no one can take away the parts of you that really matter. So long as you're smart about it, you can create your own space."
Chelsea studied him for a moment, then set her cup down with a soft clink. "That's really refreshing to hear. I think a lot of people just assume you're constantly living under the microscope. But I guess the more real you stay, the more people respect that. It makes you… relatable."
"Yeah, well, relatability is a tricky thing," Charlie said, shaking his head slightly. "Some people think it means I'm just like everyone else. And trust me, I'm not. But it does mean I know what it's like to feel invisible too. Some days, being in the middle of a crowd feels lonelier than being alone."
Chelsea met his gaze, and for a brief second, there was a quiet understanding between them—something unspoken that felt easy and comfortable. Then she broke the silence.
"How do you manage it? The loneliness, I mean?"
Charlie took a slow breath, the question hitting a little closer to home than he expected. "I guess... I just keep moving. My family helps. That's the thing, isn't it? When you're in the spotlight, there's always someone or something pulling you in a million directions. But it's that stillness when it all stops for a second that gets you. And when you're in the thick of it, it feels like you're never really seen. Not the way you want to be."
Chelsea nodded. "I think I get that. It's not the same for me, but I know what it's like to get caught up in the noise, too. The pressure to be everything for everyone. It can be exhausting."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You? Exhausted? You seem like the type who can handle anything."
She laughed softly, a quiet self-deprecating sound. "Well, that's a skill you pick up when you're in charge of other people's homes. But yeah, the weight of responsibility can be a lot sometimes. It's easy to get lost in the logistics, you know? Managing tenants, dealing with renovations, navigating the market. Everyone expects you to have all the answers, but sometimes I just want to sit down and not make a decision for five minutes."
Charlie took a sip of his coffee, now really curious. "You're in property management?"
Chelsea smiled, her expression a little warmer now. "Yep. I own and manage high-end apartment complexes around LA. Mostly residential, but a few commercial spots too. It's... challenging, but I like it. I've been in the game for about five years now. Bought my first building when I was in my late twenties, and I've been expanding since."
Charlie whistled softly, impressed. "Damn. That's impressive. I can't even commit to a houseplant for longer than a week, and you're out here running a whole portfolio."
Chelsea laughed. "It's not all glamorous. Trust me, there are days when I'd rather trade it all for a simple nine-to-five. But the real appeal of it is the independence. I'm my own boss. I make the calls. I'm not answering to anyone."
"I respect that," Charlie said, leaning back in his chair. "Must be nice to have that kind of control."
"It is," she agreed. "But it's also a balancing act. I mean, you get clients who think you're their personal concierge, tenants who think you're their therapist, and contractors who seem to think deadlines are suggestions. It's a lot of juggling."
"Sounds like you need a whole different set of survival tactics," Charlie said, his voice light but genuine.
"Yeah, pretty much," Chelsea replied with a smile. "But I love the challenge. And there's something about being in control of something as tangible as property. When people move in, you see them take ownership of it in a way that's… satisfying. Like you've helped build something they can actually live in. It's not like the music business where you just hope people like what you put out."
Charlie nodded slowly, his thoughts shifting. "I get that. It's about creating something lasting. People have their homes. I... I just have songs."
"Exactly," she agreed. "And that's special in its own way. But even songs fade over time, right? They don't always stick."
"True," Charlie said, but a small, wry smile tugged at his lips. "Some stick better than others. And the ones that stick? Those are the ones that make the rest of it worthwhile."
Chelsea smiled, and Charlie couldn't help but feel like he was talking to someone who genuinely understood the ebb and flow of life. There was no pretense here, just two people figuring it out as they went along.
After a few moments, Charlie spoke up again. "So, if you're not running around being a landlord extraordinaire, what else do you do to unwind? What's your escape?"
Chelsea paused for a moment, her gaze softening. "I'm kind of a bookworm. Love getting lost in a good novel. And when I really need to check out, I go for a walk on the beach or something. No distractions. Just the sound of the ocean."
Charlie smiled, liking the idea of her having a quiet escape. "A bookworm, huh? What's your latest read?"
Chelsea chuckled, picking up her coffee. "A real page-turner—The Night Circus. I know, it's not exactly groundbreaking, but there's something magical about it."
"That's the one about the circus that only opens at night, right?" Charlie asked, impressed.
"Yeah," Chelsea said with a soft nod. "It's beautifully written. It's one of those books where you're so immersed, you forget where you are."
Charlie leaned back in his chair, taking it all in. The easy flow of conversation, the warmth of the café, the company of a woman who didn't seem to be swept up in the usual distractions. It was the kind of night that felt like it had been carefully orchestrated, and yet it still managed to surprise him in the best possible way.
Maybe he wasn't the only one who had learned to find something real in a world full of noise.
"So, Chelsea," he said, his voice a little softer now, "it's nice to know there are still people who can appreciate the quieter things in life."
She smiled back at him, her eyes thoughtful. "I think we all need those moments. Otherwise, we'd just burn out, don't you think?"
Charlie nodded slowly, a quiet understanding passing between them.
They talked for another fifteen minutes or so. Chelsea was really happy to know that some of their hobbies align with each other. They were so into each other that they forgot their coffee.
Charlie glanced at the clock on the wall and blinked. "Wow. Either that thing's broken, or we've been sitting here way longer than we thought."
Chelsea followed his eyes and gave a small laugh. "Two hours. No wonder the coffee's cold."
He smirked, swirling what was left in his cup. "Guess we were too busy solving the mysteries of life to notice."
"Or debating the merits of chocolate syrup," she added.
"That too," he said with a grin as they both stood up.
Charlie paid the bill. Then...
They walked together toward the door, neither in a rush to break the comfortable rhythm that had carried them through the night. Outside, the streetlamps cast soft pools of light on the sidewalk. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint smell of the ocean.
"Well," Chelsea said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "this wasn't how I expected my grocery run to end."
Charlie tilted his head. "Better or worse?"
"Better," she admitted without hesitation.
He smiled at that, then reached into his pocket for his phone. "So, how about we make it easier for fate next time? Save it the trouble of setting up another dramatic chocolate aisle meet-cute."
She raised an eyebrow, her smile playful. "You asking for my number?"
"Guilty," he said, offering his phone. "I promise not to text you at three in the morning with lyrics or grocery questions."
She took it, tapping quickly, then handed it back. "Alright. But if you start sending me random chocolate syrup reviews, I'm blocking you."
Charlie slid the phone back into his pocket. "Noted. Strictly respectable communication. Maybe the occasional weather update if it rains in Malibu."
Chelsea laughed softly. "We'll see."
They lingered a second longer before she gave him a warm look. "Goodnight, Charlie."
"Goodnight, Chelsea."
She turned and headed toward her car, and Charlie stood there for a moment, watching her go. There was a little spark buzzing in his chest, the kind that didn't come around often.
Then he chuckled to himself, grabbed his groceries, and walked toward his car. "Fate, huh? Guess it still knows what it's doing."
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Note: I'll be back with this one next month. Stocking again.
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