He'd turned immediately at the opening of the door, and could not hold back his surprise at who had interrupted his thoughts. Charlie couldn't hold back his smile, either, and he definitely owed Bonaccord a bouquet of flowers. She had not so subtly suggested to talk to Penelope now that things seemed to be settling down on both of their ends. Charlie couldn't figure out if owling her to meet up for lunch or sending her an invitation to the party was the best way to go, and after he'd sent the invite he felt like a bloody coward. It was the easiest way, definitely; he had hoped he'd be distracted enough to not notice if she had shown up, but what was the point in asking her to come? She knew some players, for sure, but...
She was beautiful. Charlie had always thought she was, and tonight she sparkled in her gown and under the moonlight and beneath the fireworks. It took him a moment to knock himself out of the stupor she always put him in to realize that she seemed stressed, and he started toward her to help, but then stopped. She'd looked up and now his face was as red as the quaffles he caught. He felt like he'd been caught, like she was here to demand why he'd sent her the invitation, but he had no answer, not one he could verbalize.
His hand went to his hair, hoping that she didn't bolt away and out of his life forever, again. Charlie wanted so bad to just smile and hug her and be happy that she'd come, but he knew that it couldn't be that easy. Not with her behavior and definitely not with how he had been conducting himself. She deserved better and so did he.
"Is this a habit of yours?" he asked softly, a slow grin forming, "Ducking out of parties through strange doors?"
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