The Christmas House

by Victoria James

  He winced, finishing the rest of his brandy and standing. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. It was inappropriate. I should get going and let you enjoy your Christmas,” he said.

  Panic jolted through her and, this time, she did reach for him. She reached for the only man’s hand she’d ever reached for since Richard. Surprise flickered across his eyes and, for one excruciating moment, she wondered if he’d pull away. But instead, he wrapped his larger, warmer hand around hers and sat back down. “It wasn’t out of line, Harry. I … this is the best Christmas surprise I’ve ever had.”

  * * *

  “She’s coming, right?”

  Wyatt forced his gaze up from the black coffee in his Christmas mug, to answer his daughter, who hadn’t moved from the window for the last half hour. Sam was wearing her reindeer flannel pajamas, and her eyes were wide and filled with a vulnerability he had a hard time looking at. He fought an internal battle to protect his daughter with a truth or a lie.

  No, he didn’t think Charlotte was coming. Their last words the night before, the shitstorm her father had caused by showing up, the pressure of that family, all of it, told him that no, there was no way in hell Charlotte was coming over here on Christmas Day. He couldn’t blame her—if it were just him sitting here. But Sam changed everything. The other part of him, the one that believed that, despite her own pain, Charlotte wouldn’t do that to Sam. She would know what that would do to Sam.

  “I’m sure she’s just running late,” he said, deciding he was going to believe in Charlotte for his daughter’s sake.

  “Is the coffee good? I still think she’d want coffee over hot chocolate, right? Like, Charlotte loves coffee,” she said, looking back and forth from him to the window. Her growing panic and nervousness were making it hard for him to remain calm himself. He didn’t know what he’d do if Charlotte didn’t show up.

  “Coffee is perfect,” he managed.

  “What about the cinnamon buns? Did you take them off the cooling rack? Are they on the Christmas plates? You didn’t eat all the icing, did you?”

  He clenched his teeth and forced a smile as he nodded, not even finding it the least bit funny that she was worried he’d eaten the icing. Sam had woken up early and had baked a batch of frozen cinnamon buns for Charlotte and set out all the Christmas plates and mugs. When he’d walked into the kitchen and seen it all out there, and the hope and joy on her face, he’d hated himself. He had allowed both of them to fall in love with Charlotte. It had taken him forever to almost forgive himself for choosing the wrong mother for Sam once. He would never forgive himself for Charlotte.

  Sam’s shoulders fell, and she continued to stare out the window. “Dad, what if she went back home? That was crazy last night. I felt so bad for her. Like …” She stopped speaking and turned to him, her eyes filled with tears, and his heart broke a little more. “If that were Mom, who just showed up when I was all grown up, I’d be so mad. Like Charlotte was. Sometimes I wonder what I’d do if Mom showed up here one day. A part of me would be really happy too. That’s messed up,” she said, tears falling from her eyes.

  He stood up and walked over to her, hoping that the hugs that had comforted her for the last eleven years could still bring her the security she needed. Just when he thought he couldn’t love his little girl any more, she wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her head on his chest.

  “It’s not messed up. It’s a normal reaction. We can’t control what the other people in our lives do, Sam. All we can control is how we react. We have to rise above it, even when we feel like we’re drowning, when we want to wallow in the injustice of it. Otherwise we only hurt ourselves. We have to live our lives and be happy and count our blessings,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He took this moment and held onto it, tucking it away in his memories, reminding him that even though Sam was growing up, she still needed him, he was still important to her.

  “I felt so bad for Charlotte and I wanted to tell her, but it was so awkward. But a part of me felt … safe or something. I know it doesn’t make sense. But I didn’t feel so sorry for myself.”

  He nodded. “Because you got a real-life glimpse into someone else’s pain. Some people get lucky the first time around and get the perfect family. And some of us don’t. But we don’t have to have a perfect family to have a great family. I wouldn’t trade my years with you for anything.”

  She looked away for a moment. “I know I’ve been driving you crazy since we moved to Silver Springs,” she said, looking up at him.

  He gave a small shrug and smiled. “That’s a teenager’s job.”

  She frowned. “I … sometimes I just feel like I don’t even know what’s happening with me. Sometimes I get angry or sad. Sometimes I feel like a kid and sometimes I feel like an adult. But so many days I just want to be a kid again, and I’m mad I can’t be,” she said, her voice cracking.

  He smoothed the hair from her face, treasuring her honesty and openness. “You know I’ll always be honest with you … everything you’re feeling is perfectly normal. It’s a rocky transition into teenage-hood, I remember it. It was kind of like hell on some days. But you’ll get through it. We all do. Remember, nothing in life stays the same, nothing is permanent. And you know, even as an adult, I wish I could go back to being a kid. There are so many days I don’t want to be an adult. That’s why it’s okay to have fun sometimes and not worry about what the rest of the world tells you. Just be you. I think you’re pretty great,” he said.

  She lifted her large eyes to him. “You’re the best dad, even when I act like you’re not. I always know you are.”

  Emotion clogged his throat. “You will always be my girl. I will always be here for you. No matter what,” he said, stopping before he actually cried like a baby.

  “I wouldn’t blame Charlotte if she left today,” she whispered.

  He tensed, ready to come up with something that would make her feel better, when he spotted Charlotte, her white pom-pom hat bopping with her march as she made her way up the driveway. “She’s here,” he said, forcing a tight smile. He knew just because Charlotte had come didn’t mean this was all going to turn out the way Sam wanted it to. The way he wanted it to.

  “She’s here!” Sam squealed, running to the door.

  Gratitude and love for Charlotte flowed through him as he stood and walked to the door. Sam had already opened it and Charlotte was walking up the path, snow gently swirling around her, landing on her dark hair.

  “Merry Christmas!” Sam yelled as Charlotte made her way onto the porch.

  The minute she raised her gorgeous face, he knew. He knew she’d done this for Sam but that she was falling apart inside. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her face was pale, and that gorgeous mouth that he couldn’t get enough of was strained. Hell. He knew what this meant.

  “Merry Christmas, sweetie,” she said, her voice raw as she hugged his daughter tightly, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Sam was oblivious to all of it as she chattered away and took the brightly wrapped packages from Charlotte. “I’ll put these under the tree! You can kiss my dad or whatever and just tell me when you’re done!”

  Normally they would have laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of laughter to be had. But he couldn’t shut her out, no matter what he was going to be facing. Instead, he walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, relieved when she clung to him, her hands digging into his back. “Merry Christmas,” she said, and it was almost laughable.

  “Thank you for coming,” he whispered in her ear before she pulled away from him.

  “We have presents for you too!” Sam said, pulling the presents they’d bought from under the tree. His throat hurt as he watched Charlotte sit beside Sam as his daughter piled the gifts they’d bought onto her lap.

  Sam had stayed up late, meticulously wrapping each gift, telling him his skills were lacking and he was only allowed to position the tape wherever she pointed. They’d bought three different gift wraps—each coordinatin
g and with matching ribbon—all picked by Sam.

  He stood on the sidelines, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, blinking furiously as Charlotte opened the first one, the new planner she and Sam had discussed, then the gift card Sam had insisted on buying for Greens on Main Street, followed by sets of markers and highlighters and stickers that Sam had picked out. He held his breath as Charlotte opened the last one and carefully pulled it out of the box. She didn’t move, and then lifted her tear-filled eyes up to his and he wanted to tell her that it was what he was offering. Not just the snow globe, but everything the snow globe represented. She was perfect. They could all be as perfect as the people in that globe standing outside the house as snow tumbled around them.

  “These are all so thoughtful,” Charlotte whispered, reaching over to give Sam a big hug, before looking up at him with eyes filled with so much regret that it was hard to maintain eye contact with her. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

  “Okay, you guys open yours!” Charlotte said in an overly chipper voice, as she shoved a gift wrapped with vintage Santas skiing down a hill at Sam.

  Sam ripped it open and squealed as she opened the exact same planner and a bunch of coordinating markers and pens and stickers. They both laughed. He really had no idea what was so fabulous about planners, but they were both obsessed with them, and that was all that mattered. His chest constricted as a gift card for Greens on Queen tumbled out of the planner and Sam laughed again, saying how alike they were. Charlotte reached over and gave her a hug again and it struck him—painfully—how much Charlotte and Sam had changed in the month that they’d known each other. In some ways Sam and Charlotte were similar in the way they had become almost hesitant to reach out to people. Charlotte had been almost resistant or awkward at first and now she was like … a mother figure to Sam. And it killed him because he knew she was going to break his daughter’s heart.

  “I’ve got to go text Cat anyway, so that’ll give you some time away from me,” Sam said, jumping up with an armload of gifts.

  “Oh, you girls are speaking again?” Charlotte asked with a smile.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It was a total misunderstanding,” she said, bouncing out of the room.

  He and Charlotte both gave what he thought was a pretty convincing smile and laugh. The minute Sam left the room, Charlotte exhaled and kept her head down.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he said gruffly.

  After a few tense moments she looked up at him, her chin wobbly, and nodded.

  He cursed under his breath and turned away from her.

  “Can we talk on the porch?” she asked, her voice thick with tears.

  He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to acknowledge that she was hurting. He just wanted to think about himself and the fact that he was in love with her. That Sam had trusted her and now Charlotte was going to break both their hearts.

  But he wasn’t going to let her go without a fight; without telling her everything, how much he loved her, his dreams for their future, everything.

  He gave a stiff nod and walked over to the door, not bothering with a coat. The cold air felt like a harsh slap on his overheated skin. Charlotte came out a moment later with her coat on.

  “I know you’re going to hate me, but I want you to know that I’m not just going to ditch Sam. I … I know we’ve become friends, and I’d never just walk out of her life like that. If she wants one, I will always have a relationship with her. I won’t leave town without telling her that and promising that I will always be there for her,” she said, hastily wiping the tears that fell from her eyes.

  He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I trusted you. I trusted you with my little girl. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never let either of us put our guards down. I’ve never invited a woman into our home, into our lives. I can’t let you ruin everything because of fear.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “It’s not you guys. Wyatt, you are my dream. My dream man that I was always too afraid to wish for, and Sam is like a daughter to me. But I don’t know how I can do this. I don’t know how I can live in this town with my parents here. The feelings they bring out … I’m not proud. When I don’t see them, I can handle life. I can be happy. But they … I’m so angry when I think of them. And my sister. And all of it. It’s all too much,” she choked.

  He reached out to grasp her hands. “I know. It sucks, and I guess I’m a selfish ass for asking you to stay in a place where they are. But I’ve come to learn that no one has the perfect life, Char. That perfect family doesn’t really exist—well, maybe for some lucky people, but for the rest of us? We make do. We focus on the good, and maybe because of that it makes the good even better. Maybe it makes people like us fight to get to great, fight for happiness, and maybe we’re the ones who know true happiness because we’ve had to fight for it. It wasn’t handed to us with that perfect childhood. I’m not going to beg you to stay, because I’ve done that once in my life and I know that if you don’t really want to be here, it won’t work. If you want me and Sam then you’ll fight for us. You’ll find your way back to us. But I can’t do it for you,” he said, taking a step back, that step feeling like a mile. But there was something else she was keeping from him and he could feel it, his instincts telling him he was right as he stared at her.

  “I know. And I want to believe everything you’re saying. More than anything, I want you to be right. But maybe I’m too damaged … to be what you need. What Sam needs. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to deal with my family. I don’t want drama. I hate drama. I grew up with drama. This Christmas … this is what I’ve been trying to avoid my entire life.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not perfect, Char. Far from it. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to be perfect for me or Sam. Just be honest.”

  She looked down. “I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  “If you want me enough, it’s possible.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are making this all sound so simple. Like I can just flick this switch and change. I have a life I was living before here. No one could hurt me. Then I met you and … Sam … and you both made me think that I was so wrong. You made me imagine a life that was snow globe perfect. I bought you the same snow globe,” she said with a sad laugh.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But you couldn’t give it to me because that’s not going to be us anymore, is it?”

  She bit her lower lip and shook her head.

  Damn her. Damn her for already addressing his worst fear. Damn her for genuinely caring about Samantha and confirming what he’d known all along about her—that she could be trusted. He was expendable. His feelings came after Sam’s.

  “So that’s it? Your dad comes back for a night and you don’t want anything to do with us?” He tried to keep the harshness out of his voice. He wanted to sit down on the porch step beside her, but he was too angry. At her. At her family. At life, for making it so damn hard for them.

  “Don’t make it sound so simple,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “I’m not your dad; I’m not a guy who falls apart and walks away from my family. I would never to do that to you. I think your family being here is an excuse. I mean, hell, it’ll be hard to deal with, but that’s not it. Your dad walking back in brought all that pain to the surface, and you’ve been living in self-preservation mode for years. And you think the pain isn’t worth it. The pain that comes from loving someone with everything you have. You loved him more than anything, and he walked out on you and destroyed your faith in people. But I’m not him, Charlotte. I don’t walk away from the people I love,” he said gruffly.

  She let out a ragged sigh and lifted her face to him, her eyes glittering with tears and pain, but he stood still.

  He ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry that this Christmas wasn’t what you wanted it to be, what you deserved. And I’m
sorry your dad is here. But it doesn’t mean we have to end. I’m not him. But I can’t convince you of that. If you don’t believe me, believe in me, trust me, then there’s nothing left for us.”

  She nodded slowly. “No, I’m sorry. I’m a coward. I’m the one with problems. I’m the one who’s built walls so high and thick that I don’t know how to live without them, how to let them crumble to let you in … I won’t say goodbye. I won’t say goodbye to Sam permanently. I, uh, I’ll just run in the house and let her know that I’m leaving for a few days,” she choked.

  “Don’t lie to her,” he said harshly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I won’t.”

  “Wait, Charlotte,” he said, his voice stopping her at the door.

  She paused and waited.

  He had to give it one last shot. Before she left for good. He had to put his hurt aside and make it clear how he felt. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ve never run from them. I built my life around Sam. I can build my life around you. We can build a life together. If I have the two of you, I know I have everything. You can stay and try. I’ll be here for all of it, for whatever you need. Or you can live in that pleasant color-coded world you’ve created and pretend that’s living. But, baby, that’s not living. You and me, when we’re together, that’s living. Think about that when you’re alone in the city. Think of me, of who you know I am. You know I would never walk away from you. I won’t give up on you, Char. I’ll still be waiting. New Year’s Eve. I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes for you to realize we were meant to be together.”

  He held his breath, wishing his words would be enough for her to turn to him and choose him and Sam. But she didn’t even face him. She fumbled with the doorknob. “I’m going to say goodbye to Sam. I’m sorry. Merry Christmas, Wyatt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On New Year’s Eve, Charlotte stared at the pile of empty coffee mugs and dirty dishes, and didn’t even move a muscle in the direction of the mess. Normally, that kind of disorder would have sent her into a slightly hyperactive mode until everything was neat and tidy again. Surveying the open-concept living space, she spotted several different areas of disarray. On any other day, she would have taken out a notepad and made a list of all the areas to tackle, and then would have proceeded to highlight them off in coordinating Christmas-colored highlighters. Now the idea of doing that wasn’t even remotely exciting. Who cared about markers or lists or color coordination at a time like this?