The Christmas House

by Victoria James

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. He appreciated that Charlotte had reached out to Sam. “Well, maybe we can set something up. But you know, I’m here, and I happen to be cool.” He knew that remark wouldn’t go over well.

  She gave him a wobbly smile, and that was ten thousand times better than an eye roll, so he’d take that as a win. “I think Charlotte just made that up about you being cool.”

  He let out a laugh. “Maybe. So, what made school crappy?” he asked, walking over to the fridge and looking for the ingredients to re-create the salad Charlotte had made. He stopped to roll his shoulders, trying to shake the tension from them instead of reaching for a beer.

  “It’s just stupid school crap. I hate this school.”

  He piled the ingredients in his arms and fought the urge to tell her to stop complaining, that he’d had it much worse, but he didn’t. She needed someone to talk to, and he wasn’t going to shut her down. “I know you don’t like it here, Sam. But you have a best friend, which is more than lots of people have,” he said, dumping the ingredients on the counter and searching for a bowl. He also contemplated a beer, again.

  “You’re missing the cranberries,” she said, joining him and opening the container of mixed greens.

  “Thanks. I thought there was something missing,” he said, and then stood in the middle of the kitchen. “Do you know where those would be?”

  She nodded, smiling and pointing to the pantry. “They’re on the shelf with the baking items. Beside the nuts you also forgot.”

  “Great,” he said, opening the pantry door, amazed again at how nice it was to have it so organized. It was weird because it was nothing he would have ever thought of. It was survival mode over here and he’d never been the best at getting things organized. But having things lined up in a row, neatly labeled, had a calming effect he hadn’t expected.

  He pulled out the cranberries and walnuts and added them to the salad bowl that Sam had already filled. “So, do you have a lot of homework?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Some stupid project for socials that I’m not going to do.”

  That was it. He was getting a beer. The doorbell rang, and he was so happy for the interruption because he was close to losing his temper. There were only so many lectures he could give on the importance of homework.

  “Maybe it’s Charlotte!” Sam called out from the kitchen.

  He couldn’t ignore that small ripple of hope he’d felt too. He couldn’t tell his daughter that he’d blown it with Charlotte. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s probably some kid selling chocolates.”

  He swung open the door and Charlotte was standing there with a red dish in her hands and a gorgeous smile on her face. If his daughter hadn’t been sitting in the kitchen, or maybe even standing in the doorway watching, he’d have pulled Charlotte into his arms and kissed her the way he had wanted to from the first day she’d walked back into his life again.

  From that very first time they’d stood on The Christmas House porch and she’d whispered, asking him where he’d gone. He’d tell her. He’d tell her everything if it meant a chance with her.

  He held the door open wider. She was here. Despite the way their last night had ended, she was here. He didn’t know what made him want her more—the fact that she might be here for him or for Sam. Or maybe, in his wildest dreams, for both of them.

  “Hi … this is the best surprise,” he said, smiling and shoving a hand in his front pocket.

  She held his gaze, surprising him. “I, um, I missed you guys,” she said softly, sending a crazy ripple of emotion through him. He hadn’t been wrong about his instincts.

  “The feeling is mutual,” he said, closing the door behind her.

  “I also have this casserole that needs a home. Apparently it’s your favorite, according to my grandmother,” she said, holding up the red dish.

  He grinned. “Your grandmother does spoil us. But I don’t think we can eat that unless you join us.”

  “Char?” Sam shrieked, appearing in the hallway.

  Charlotte’s eyes darted to Sam, and he knew they had her hooked. There was no way she was going to say no to that enthusiasm. The fact that his daughter responded like this to her … warmed his heart and made him hopeful that maybe she really could be happy again. Charlotte smiled at Sam. “You guys …”

  “You have to stay for dinner. Dad was trying to make that salad you made the other night and it was so sad. You got here just in time, because he was going to attempt the dressing next.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Sam.”

  Charlotte laughed and handed him the casserole dish while she took off her coat. He looked away quickly because he knew he had no business admiring those curves, and being around Charlotte was becoming an exercise in self-discipline and cruel torture.

  “I’m sure he would have done a fine job, Sam,” she said, walking past him with a twinkle in her eye and maybe a smug smile on her face.

  “No, he just pulled out maple syrup instead of honey and white vinegar instead of balsamic.”

  He wanted to defend himself, but the truth was, he didn’t even know they had more than one kind of vinegar. They seemed to be having fun laughing, though, and that was a sound he wanted more of in this house.

  “Should I put this in the oven?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the island, hanging on Charlotte’s every word.

  “Sure. Not for too long because it was already warm. It might have just cooled slightly while I walked over. Take off the aluminum foil,” she said, as she pulled out a jar of honey, looking as though she belonged here.

  “Sam, honey, you should take your homework and spread it out on the dining room table or in your room,” Charlotte said.

  Wyatt didn’t say anything and pretended he was taking a while to set the oven temperature, because he was curious how Sam was going to reply to that. She gave him grief with any minor instruction.

  “Sure, Charlotte. I’d put it in my room, but it’s such a disaster and so disorganized. I never even use my desk,” she said, gathering her things.

  Wyatt turned around and stared at her in disbelief. He didn’t even know who she was anymore. She quickly packed up her books and pens in her school bag and swung it over her shoulder. “Do you want help with your room?” Charlotte asked as she drizzled olive oil over the salad.

  “Really?” Sam asked, her face lighting up as though Charlotte had just told her she could use makeup and however much she wanted and could go out with whoever she chose.

  He cleared his throat, hating to be the bad guy again. “Sam, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Charlotte’s face turned red. “Omigosh, I’m sorry. Sam, I totally should have asked your dad. That was really overstepping.”

  He shook his head. “What? No, no. Not at all. That was really generous of you. I just mean that you’re here visiting family and you organize all the time. You’re on vacation.” He was shocked that Charlotte would want to do that for his daughter.

  Sam’s face fell. “Right. Dad’s right.”

  Charlotte gave Sam’s shoulder a squeeze. “If your dad doesn’t mind, then I’d love to help you organize your room,” she said, her eyes darting to his.

  “Maybe you should look at her room before you actually agree to do this,” he said with a wry smile.

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Dad!”

  He held up his hands. “It’s only fair. Last time I was in there, I almost fell on my face because of all the stuff you have on the floor.”

  His daughter’s face actually went red. “I’ll clean it up before you start, Charlotte. Then we just have to actually organize it.”

  Hell, he had no idea what was even happening anymore.

  “That’s perfect. While you’re doing that, why don’t you spend some time thinking about how you’d like your room to look? Maybe we can do some small stylizing too?”

  Sam beamed. “I’d love that! Okay, I’m going to bri
ng all this stuff to my room and start cleaning. Let me know when dinner’s ready!” she shouted as she bounded out of the room.

  Suddenly the room felt way too hot, too uncomfortable without Sam. “The only way I’m letting this happen is if you charge me for this.”

  “What? No way. I’m helping my friend. I love what I do, and I’m more than happy to help her out. Also, I’m kind of going crazy at my grandmother’s house. My mother just arrived, and suddenly six thousand square feet feels way too small,” she said, with a laugh that was slightly strained.

  “Ah, family and the holidays. It always seems like such a good idea until it actually happens,” he said, taking down three plates.

  She smiled, tossing the salad. “No, I already knew it was a bad idea, but unavoidable I guess. It does make you wish for those perfect Christmases that you see on TV, though, doesn’t it?”

  He joined her at the island, leaving the dishes next to the oven. “I guess.”

  “Do you have any family that visits for the holidays?”

  He gazed into her expressive blue eyes and wanted to tell her the whole thing. But he never talked about his childhood … she knew bits and pieces, but not everything. He would tell her, but not with Sam around. “Both my parents are gone.”

  Surprise flickered across her eyes. He supposed he was young to have both his parents gone. “It was a car accident,” he said, his voice sounding a little harsher than he intended.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “Thank you. We’re happy to have my Aunt Mary, though. She’s taken on the role of grandmother to Sam,” he said, relieved that he could at least say that truthfully. His Aunt Mary had been like a beacon in a storm. She’d always been tough as nails on the outside, rising to any occasion, but a soft place to fall. She was the only other person in the world who knew about his childhood, and she’d been to hell and back trying to save her sister. She had never given up on her, until it was time to focus her attention onto him. When there was nothing left to do except say goodbye.

  Maybe once a year or so, during the holidays, he and Aunt Mary would have a drink by the fire at her old house, and she’d bring up her childhood with his mother. How much fun they’d had together, how wonderful their parents had been. And inevitably she’d shed a tear or two, wondering how his mother could have fallen for someone like his father. Usually he’d down the rest of whatever it was he was drinking because he knew he didn’t have the heart to ask her to stop talking. She had suffered too, and he knew she didn’t talk about it to anyone. Abuse fanned out to everyone in the family until no one was unscathed. The survivors kept going, but always with a part of them missing.

  Aunt Mary had lost a sister to someone who didn’t deserve her. Someone he was ashamed to call a father. At the end of the conversation, she’d always look at him, with that rare show of vulnerability, and tell him she wished she’d known earlier, she wished that she could have raised him. He’d reach across and kiss her cheek and tell her that he knew that, but that everything had worked out in the end. Then he’d get up and leave, because his memory lane was paved with horrible memories and there was only so much he could take.

  “That’s nice. She’s sweet. A lot like my grandmother,” she said, finishing the salad and looking around.

  It was that tension again, the one that was easier to hide when Sam was in the room. “Should I get that casserole out?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m sure it’s ready.”

  He pulled it out of the oven and placed it on the trivets he kept on the table and then poked his head out into the hallway and called for Sam. She walked into the kitchen just as they were sitting down, looking winded. “Wow, who knew I could clean up a room so fast?”

  “When I ask you to clean up your room you take an entire day,” he said, taking the salad that Charlotte passed over to him.

  “Well, I’m motivated,” Sam said, helping herself to a giant piece of casserole.

  Charlotte let out a muffled laugh. “Did you give any thought to the decorating?”

  Sam nodded vigorously. “Yes. I think it can look so cool. And I have ideas for how to organize my closet and desk too. You’re the expert, though, so you tell me what you think is best.”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes because he really was happy she was so enthusiastic … and happy. “Sure. Maybe I’ll have a quick peek after dinner and take some measurements and notes so the next time I come over we can get started?”

  “That’d be great!”

  He quashed any hurt he felt that he hadn’t been able to reach his daughter in this way after everything they’d been through. But he’d heard it said many times that parenting was a thankless job. It wasn’t lost on him that Charlotte offered something he couldn’t. In some ways, Sam was like the Charlotte he remembered. Maybe they had a connection too. He wasn’t even going to start worrying about what would happen when the holidays were over and Charlotte went back to her regular life in the city. He was going to take this one day at a time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  OCTOBER 1988

  SILVER SPRINGS

  “Hi, Mrs. Harris.”

  Ruby held the door open for Mac. She knew that he was coming over. Wendy had talked nonstop about the young man for the entire summer. Ruby had to admit, he was very handsome; tall with dark hair and lean features. He was a summer student who’d been looking for work and Ruby had hired him to repaint all the shutters and the porch. He’d been a hard worker and had taken his job very seriously. But she’d have to be a fool not to have noticed the looks Mac and Wendy had exchanged. Wendy had chattered on about him every night at dinner and had brought him iced tea a few times as well. Then she had started pestering Ruby for details about the legend of the house helping people find love. Ruby had brushed her off, telling her that it was all old myths and none of it based on reality. She had even gone so far as to mention how she’d lived here for so long now and had not dated one man. Clearly, it was not a house where people found love.

  “Hello, Mac.”

  He gave her a nod, and Ruby caught the insecurity that flitted across his features as he smiled and extended his hand. She shook it, firmly, and gestured to the living room.

  “You have a beautiful home,” he said as he sat across from her.

  “Thank you,” she replied, keeping her eyes trained on him. She wanted to project the image of a tough mother, for a moment wishing there was a man here to intimidate him a little. But Ruby had it on good authority that she could be intimidating too, so she made sure not to look away.

  “I, um, I wanted to ask your permission to go out with Wendy on a date,” he said, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans.

  Ruby had been expecting this. She did think it was rather charming of him to formally come in and ask her. It was also a good sign that he was so nervous. She knew no one really did that these days, but she saw it as a sign of respect for both her and her daughter. “I like you, Mac, and I know that you’re a hard worker. You’ve managed to restore those shutters and the porch beautifully. What were your plans for your date?”

  “I was thinking of taking Wendy out for dinner and then a movie.”

  Ruby folded her hands. “That sounds fine. I don’t think I’ve met your parents at all, have I?”

  His cheeks flushed slightly and averted his gaze. “Uh, no, they don’t live in town.”

  She knew enough, through the gossip mill that was forever running in Silver Springs, that his family had come to town a few years ago and kept to themselves for the most part. “I see. Well, maybe one day we can meet.”

  He gave her a nod and then looked down quickly. “Ms. Harris, we aren’t like you and Wendy. This house you have and all its grandeur. My parents are pretty, um, well, not wealthy. My mom works in a coffee shop in the next town over, and my dad is a mechanic.”

  Ruby’s heart squeezed. “Oh, Mac. I don’t come from a long line of millionaires, and I’m the last person to judge someone els
e. All I care about is whether you’re a good man who will treat my daughter right.”

  He let out a deep breath and stood. “Thank you.”

  Ruby stood and held out her hand. “I like you, Mac. If you are the man I think you are, and you treat my daughter with kindness and respect, then I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  * * *

  “I’m so tired of having to live up to your impossible standards!” Wendy’s voice echoed from the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the family room where Charlotte and Olivia were enjoying a Hallmark movie bingefest the next night.

  Charlotte looked over at Olivia, who rolled her eyes and shook her head. She was holding the TV remote in her hand. The spread in front of them had been half eaten—a lavish display of holiday gluttony that neither of them felt guilty about, especially since they’d been putting in long brisk walks as planned. “Should I mute this?” Olivia whispered.

  “That depends on whether or not we’re prepared to break our two glass of wine limit,” Charlotte said, leaning over and picking up her wine glass with this new turn of events, instead of the peppermint and white-chocolate-drizzled popcorn.

  “Good point. Okay, so let’s just keep watching and living vicariously through the people on TV,” she said with a laugh, propping her feet, in their Rudolph slippers, on the coffee table.

  “I do not have impossible standards. If you grew up and got your act together, you would know that. Instead, you just want to blame everyone else for your problems. It’s never your fault, is it, Wendy?” their grandmother bellowed, with the strength of a much younger woman.

  “Point one to Grandma,” Olivia said, raising her glass.

  “Oh, that’s good. Maybe we should have a drink every time Grandma gets a point,” Charlotte said, desperately trying to make light of this situation. She had already known her mother coming would result in way too much drama and the reopening of very old wounds.