by Jenny Hale
“Morning, Gran,” Scarlett said, as she opened the fridge to see if there was any pancake mix left. When Gran still didn’t say anything, she turned around to find an indecipherable look on her face. “What?”
Gran got up and washed her hands silently at the sink. Stitches wound around her leg and then stretched upward and pawed at her knee. Scarlett scooped the cat up into her arms and stroked her head, the cat purring loudly as she pressed herself against Scarlett’s hand. After a few more strokes, she set the cat on the deep windowsill where the light was coming in at a slant.
“Your dad cleaned my new coffeepot for me this morning before he headed across town to dig the truck out of the snow,” Gran said, wiping her hands on a towel.
“I could’ve gone to help,” Scarlett said, locating the bowl of pancake mix in the fridge and setting it onto the counter. She knew how difficult it was to move the tires in all that snow, and she wondered how her dad was going to get them free alone.
Gran didn’t answer her. Instead, she suggested, “Let me heat us each a piece of the coffee cake I made for breakfast.” She took a cake server from the drawer and began slicing two large wedges from a cake in the glass-domed stand on the counter.
Scarlett turned the knob on one of the old gas burners to heat the pan for her pancakes, the blue flame clicking in protest before it caught. The two of them worked side by side without another word.
When Scarlett had a pile of mini pancakes in the shape of hearts, the way her dad had taught her, they finished making up their plates and went over to the table. Gran set hers down in front of where she’d been sitting. Scarlett pulled out a chair so she could sit across from her. It was clear that Gran had something on her mind and they needed to be calmly settled before she went into it. That was how she worked. Whenever anything bothered her, she made a point to have everything else around her still, her focus entirely on the topic at hand.
“What is it?” Scarlett asked again.
Gran gave her an affectionate but worried look. In nearly a whisper, she said, “You are certainly getting cozy with Mr. Resort-and-Suites.” She peered over Scarlett’s head toward the doorway to ensure that they were alone for this conversation.
“Gran—” Scarlett started but Gran cut her off.
“I don’t like him,” she snapped quietly.
When something worried her, Gran got irritable, as if her body went into fight or flight to protect her loved ones. Like the time that Gran found out Heidi was dating a boy from her high school who was three years older than her. He was a rodeo star, hotheaded, and full of testosterone. Gran’s lips were pursed so tightly they turned white. But this time, there was no need to feel that way.
“You don’t know Charlie,” she said, keeping her tone polite. Gran was only being protective of her wellbeing.
Gran didn’t touch her plate as it sat next to the sliced oranges that she’d been cutting. “Neither do you.”
“He’s good, Gran,” she challenged, but it was clear that Gran had already made up her mind about him.
“If he’s hanging around because he wants this property, then he can go back to where he came from.”
A stab of panic pinged through Scarlett. “What do you mean?” Had Gran heard something?
“Loretta mentioned that he was looking around for a place to build in the area,” she said, her voice so low that Scarlett had to come closer to hear. “She heard him talking to Cappy one day. Make sure your head is in reality and not the stars, my dear. He may have ulterior motives.”
Gran’s comment stung. It made Scarlett’s plan for the inn feel like the wrong one. But she reminded herself that Gran didn’t have the whole picture. Scarlett needed Gran to get to know Charlie, to understand his damaged heart, and to see that Charlie wasn’t pursuing the inn at all. It had been Scarlett who had shown up at his house with a plan for the inn in mind.
“Gran, I’m wondering if he’s back in town to be closer to his dad,” she said seriously, eyeing the doorway as Gran had done to make sure no one was able to overhear them. “He told me how he and Amos drifted apart, and it’s eating him up inside.” Scarlett picked at her pancakes, stabbing a bite with her fork, but she didn’t eat it. “He’s been helping people. He donated large sums to charities in town…” she explained, but Gran’s expression didn’t soften, so she kept going. “He wasn’t bothering anyone. His presence at White Oaks is my doing. I was the one who approached him. He didn’t want to see anyone, but I talked him into staying at White Oaks and then going to Cappy’s with us.”
Gran eyed her thoughtfully, but her distrust was strong. “I think there’s more to it than what he’s told you,” Gran said, still clearly very skeptical. “I can feel it.”
“I’m sure there is, Gran. I’ve only known him for two days.” Scarlett relaxed, finally taking a bite of her breakfast and letting the sweet, buttery taste of it settle on her tongue. “But I think if I give him time, he’ll let me in.”
“Loretta did an online search. There isn’t much, but she found an article that mentioned something interesting about him,” Gran said, getting up and going to the drawer in the kitchen where she kept an old phone book and a basket of pens and pencils. She retrieved a piece of paper and brought it back over, handing it to Scarlett. “I asked her to print it out for me and bring it last night, but it wasn’t the place to share this sort of news.”
The piece of paper was blank with the exception of a few cut-and-paste sentences on Charlie: Charles Bryant’s tactics have been criticized by many for the fact that the company’s success is reliant on claiming land at any cost. The upscale expansions Crestwood Development brings to the area communities are causing concerns among residents in many of his locations.
“I just don’t trust him. I have to be honest,” Gran said.
“Do you trust me?” Scarlett asked, trying not to let what she’d just read taint her view of him. Something wasn’t adding up with what he’d told Cappy and the tiny snippet of information Loretta had found online, compared to the person he was last night.
“Of course I trust you,” Gran laughed. “But I don’t always trust your judgment.” She gave her a knowing smile. Scarlett had confided in Gran on the phone when she’d broken off her relationship with Daniel. Gran assured her that wanting to help people wasn’t always a bad thing, but being with someone she didn’t love wholeheartedly just out of courtesy to keep from hurting them was a bad thing. Gran was obviously worrying that this might be a similar situation.
“It’s not like that, Gran,” she said, not wanting to state the obvious. Scarlett grinned at her. “And if you trust me, then believe me when I say that Charlie is clearly dealing with something, but I have a good feeling about him.”
Gran cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair, unable to be swayed. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold, dear. And then leave the truck business to your dad today.” She took another orange from the bowl in the center of the table and placed it on the cutting board where she’d been slicing. “We’ve a lot of preparations to get done before the party tonight, and I’m shorthanded. I’m going to need your help.”
After Scarlett had helped Gran clean up the kitchen, she entered the living area and found Charlie behind his laptop, in one of the side chairs by the fireplace. “Good morning,” he said as she crossed the room.
“Morning.” She sat down on the hearth beside him, the article Gran mentioned still on her mind. “Are you working?”
“No. But I was searching my old work database for the contact of a contractor I know in the area, so I can get my roof fixed. I’d hoped to get through the winter and then do a few renovations on the old place, but it looks like I’ll have to get started sooner rather than later.”
“It’ll probably be tough to get someone out there until after Christmas, right?”
“Usually, but I have some connections—a group of guys that work off hours doing extra jobs. They charge a little more, but a team will be there today to patc
h the roof. I’ll tell them where the spare key is so they can let themselves in and out of the cottage as needed. I’ll work on aesthetics later.” His smile was laced with something else, but she couldn’t read it. Disappointment? Frustration? He finished whatever it was he was typing and closed his laptop, setting it on the side table to give Scarlett his full attention.
“White Oaks is having its annual Christmas party tonight, if you’d like to join us. It’s usually a great time,” she said, hoping he’d say yes. When he seemed to deliberate, she decided not to push him.
His candor at the bar had been such a pleasant surprise, and Scarlett would have loved to learn more about him. She wouldn’t let his vulnerability last night become anything more for her than what it was, however. It was simply an answer to her question about why he hadn’t seen Amos. She ignored the fact that just being beside him gave her a rush of happiness, and that his smile sent her stomach into somersaults. She refocused. It would be important to have him around Gran so that she could get to know him. “I’ve got a list from Gran of some odds and ends to get done before tonight. Wanna help me?”
“Of course.”
“Great. Grab your coat. We have to go into town.”
They bundled up and drove to Constantine’s Bakery first to pick up the pumpkin pies Gran had ordered. Gran could never keep up with all the baking so Constantine filled in the gaps every year, and no one was upset about that. While Gran was as skilled as any baker, Constantine’s pies were to die for. Gran had ordered six of them, along with an assortment of Christmas cookies for a couple of the party games. Scarlett parked Gran’s car and shut off the engine.
The bakery had a bright white storefront with Christmas trees on either side of the double glass-paned doors. The bay window at the front was lined with greenery and holiday lights, boasting an array of yuletide treats: cakes decorated with coconut to look like snowballs, cookies with holly so perfectly shaded that the foliage looked real, cupcakes with red ribbons iced on and powdered in confectioner’s sugar, and chocolates in the shape of little gifts tied with real ribbon.
“I want to show you something before we go inside,” she said, excited to share one of her favorite spots with him. As a girl, she’d spent many summer days here, reading books or having one of the bakery’s famous lemon ice cream cones—vanilla ice cream infused with freshly made lemonade and topped with lemon zest and dark chocolate—the whooshing of the falls and the heat of summer lulling her into a kind of peace that was unparalleled by anything else in her life.
They got out of the car, and Scarlett led Charlie to the iron fence that lined the bakery. It overlooked the falls and the sweeping valley below. Cascading water was frozen in place, sparkling even in the dim light allowed by the cloud cover. The mountains were covered in snow; the only color was the deep shade of the evergreens that peeked out from under their blanket of white. The view resembled a real-life snow globe.
“That’s incredible,” Charlie said, as he peered over the railing to the valley below.
Scarlett pointed to the snow-covered bench beside them. “I like to sit there and read when the weather’s good. The sound of the falls calms me, and I can read for hours.”
“I’ll bet. I’d like to read here sometime.”
Scarlett wished they could someday.
“So are you planning on staying in Silver Falls?” she asked, walking with him toward the bakery.
“For now. I don’t really know what’s next for me, but I think I’ll stay a while. It’s nice here. And it’s far away from the kind of life I’ve been living.” He tugged the bakery door open and allowed her to enter.
“Would it be difficult to work in such a rural area?” she ventured, trying to coax out of him something about his job.
“I’d be fine,” he said.
Scarlett couldn’t help but notice Charlie’s obvious avoidance of the topic of work again. He dismissed it any time she brought it up. She wanted to ask about his business card, if he realized he was handing out a number that was out of service, but she wasn’t quite sure how to weave it into conversation. He’d wonder why she had the card in the first place, and then why she’d tried to call, and she didn’t feel comfortable yet telling him about the situation at the inn.
“Mornin’!” Constantine, the bakery’s owner, said as they approached the long glass counter stocked with every confection imaginable. She was a stout woman, short, with a smile that could melt butter. Ever since Scarlett could remember, she’d worn that burlap apron with the little embroidered strawberries on it. “You here to pick up your gran’s pies?”
“Yes ma’am!”
“They came out of the oven about an hour ago and they’re cooling in the back. Let me pack ’em up for you. I’ve put the assortment of cookies in a bag for her, too. She was very specific about which kinds she wanted and how many—you know how she is, bless her heart.” Constantine winked at Scarlett. “From the looks of this order, I’m guessing she’s got a few games up her sleeve.”
“I think so,” Scarlett said, fondly remembering all the Christmas games they’d played over the years. Gran had held sack races around Christmas trees, pie-labeling contests, and charity stocking-filling competitions to name a few. Every year, Gran added to her games, keeping some old favorites but mixing them up with twists or new games that were enjoyed in the central parlor of the main house.
“Are there any special cookies you want me to throw in for you?” Constantine asked.
“Oh, may we have a few of the caramel chocolate wonders? Those are my favorites.”
“Absolutely! I’ll get two out for you right now. Who’s our handsome sidekick?” Constantine turned her attention toward Charlie.
“Charlie Bryant,” he said, introducing himself. “Amos’s son.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Constantine said, slipping her readers onto her nose from their perch on top of her head where they were nested in her thick crop of gray hair. “I had no idea…”
Charlie studied her face as if he were searching it for her opinion of him, but Constantine was all smiles, her eyes doting, and he visibly relaxed. She grabbed a square of waxy tissue and pinched one of the caramel cookies from the glass case, handing it to him.
“Thank you,” Charlie said, holding the cookie.
“You’re more than welcome! I hope you’ll be coming to the Christmas party tonight.” She handed Scarlett a cookie and then dropped a handful of them into a bag. “We’d love to have you.”
“You might see me there,” he said. Then he glanced over at Scarlett, a half-smile forming at his lips. He seemed to like being welcomed here. After his story about his father and the guilt he’d carried over it, Scarlett felt protective of him, hoping Gran wouldn’t show her true thoughts about him when he walked into the party. He needed reassurance that this town would support him.
“You’ll never believe what I did,” Aunt Beth said, dropping into the last empty chair around the kitchen table. Archie, who’d strolled in when Beth had entered, set his head in Beth’s lap. She stroked his ears as her face filled with excitement.
The whole family had assembled in the kitchen that evening for a quick bite to eat and a bottle of wine to share before they got ready for the party. It was something they did every year, the moment of calm before the storm of people dancing, champagne, laughter, and talking into the night.
Aunt Beth reached across the table and snatched a candy cane-shaped Christmas cookie from the array that Gran had set out for them. She broke off the end of it and popped it into her mouth, everyone waiting for her to finish chewing so she could explain. She swallowed. “Stress eating. Sorry.” Beth let out a nervous laugh. “I allowed Loretta to set me up with someone. His name is Sean, and he lives in Chattanooga. She’s bringing him to the party tonight.”
They all burst into a flurry of questions. Scarlett’s won out. “Is he driving from Chattanooga now, or is he already here?”
“Apparently, he’s on his way,” Beth said, her fa
ce showing a manic uncertainty about the situation. She ate the rest of her cookie in quick, successive bites. “Loretta’s got him in room 3C here at the inn and we haven’t had a check-in yet…” She grabbed another cookie, fiddling with it. “Which means that if it doesn’t go well, I’m probably stuck with him for twenty-four hours minimum.”
“What does he do for a living?” Blue asked.
“Loretta tells me he’s an accountant.” Beth grabbed the bottle of wine from the center of the table and poured herself a glass. “Given the way I like to shop, we’re already on rocky ground if we ever hit it off. He’ll cringe when he sees the state of my finances.” Beth laughed and tipped her glass up, taking a drink.
“That might be good for you,” Gran said with a grin. “Give you some accountability.”
“It’ll be fun, right?” Beth asked.
“Absolutely,” Blue said. “It’s great to have someone new coming to share our wonderful tradition. I think it’s a good thing.”
“You think dating a random person at Christmas is a good thing?” Beth asked. “Not a sad-I’m-alone-on-another-holiday-loser kind of thing?”
“Not at all,” Blue said with a laugh. “Dating can happen at any time. Christmas just gives you a festive atmosphere for it.”
“Says my brother who hasn’t dated in his adult life,” she teased him lightheartedly. Then something occurred to her. “Why haven’t you dated anyone, Blue?”
He offered a tentative smile. “I’m married,” he said, twisting the band on his left ring finger.
Beth frowned sympathetically. “Evelyn would’ve wanted you to have someone wonderful in your life, I’m sure of it. She was hopelessly in love with you. I’ll bet she’s sitting in heaven thinking what a waste it is that some lucky woman doesn’t have you as a husband.”
Blue stared down at the cookie he’d put on a napkin a few minutes prior, but he said nothing. In his silence, it was clear that Beth’s idea about Evelyn’s point of view hadn’t occurred to him before. Beth was absolutely right. Blue’s happiness had always been Scarlett’s mother’s number one concern.
