by Olivia Miles
The path to the office was salted. Alec always made sure to clear it and salt it first thing after a snowfall. The driveway, too. Charlotte smiled wistfully. Even her old landlord hadn’t bothered with that much.
The next place she lived would be better. She’d tour the building on Monday, after the party. Once her check was in hand…
She was smiling by the time she reached the door, but it faded when she saw the note posted to the paned frame. She plucked the Post-it from the glass and read it with a racing heart. “I’m in the house. We need to talk.”
Well, this wasn’t good. In fact, it was probably downright bad. Nothing good came from a conversation that started with the words We need to talk. And since when did they have meetings in the house?
She glanced desperately at her car. She could get in, drive off, never come back.
She wanted to. She really, really wanted to. The old Charlotte would have done just that. Fled. But the new Charlotte…The new Charlotte had responsibilities. And even though she longed to get behind the wheel, peel off, maybe hide out at Paddy’s for a few hours and turn off her phone, she couldn’t.
Maybe Kate just wanted to talk about the status of the rapidly approaching Frost Greeting Cards party. Charlotte could handle the inquisition, especially now that she had finally ordered the flowers. There were workers at the house now, hanging wreaths and lights from every window and branch available. The menu—She had gone with option A. There. It was settled. If Kate asked, they were having fifteen different passed hors d’oeuvres and a dessert buffet that included a chocolate fountain. The decision was made. She’d send off the email the moment she got in front of her computer.
Slowly, she walked to the back door, where a light was on in the kitchen. She paused before reaching for the handle, and took a calming breath. This was her sister.
Besides, they’d been through much worse.
Kate was in the kitchen, baking cookies, when Charlotte pushed open the door. Odd, but definitely not unpleasant.
“Don’t we have work to do?” she joked as she unzipped her boots and set them on the mat.
“I needed a break, so I thought I would get a head start for the cookie swap this Friday.” Kate floured the surface of her counter and slapped a roll of dough onto it. Unnecessarily hard, Charlotte felt, but maybe she was reading into things.
“I forgot about that,” Charlotte said. Colleen’s mother hosted a cookie swap every year at the tea shop. She set everything out on the tiered trays, and everyone sipped tea. Seeing how she’d missed last year’s party, she wasn’t inclined to miss this year’s.
“What kind of cookies are you bringing?” she asked, sliding onto one of the counter stools.
Kate didn’t reply. Instead, she handed Charlotte a copy of the newspaper.
Great. So they were officially off the wonderfully safe subject of cookies.
Charlotte stared at the paper blankly. “I don’t understand.”
Kate set down her rolling pin and flipped the paper over. There, on the bottom right corner of the front page was a picture of Greg in front of the Christmas tree she remembered seeing in his office lobby.
“I can explain,” she blurted.
“Can you? Bree told me she saw you on a date last week. Then we run into you and Greg Frost at the parade. What is going on, Charlotte?”
“I’m not dating him,” Charlotte said. Well, not really. “We’re just…spending time together.” Yes, that’s exactly what they were doing. She felt relieved at once until she saw how round Kate’s eyes were.
“Charlotte, this is a client!”
“I know that,” Charlotte said defensively. And she did. Most of the time. “Is it forbidden to be friends with clients?”
“So now you’re friends.” Kate locked her eyes for an uncomfortably long time. “He’s an attractive man, Charlotte.”
As if she needed the reminder. “And?”
“And…I know how you are.”
Charlotte felt her jaw set. There it was. All that work. All these attempts to change her ways. None of it mattered. “I’m not that person anymore.”
Kate looked at her miserably. “You know how I feel about mixing business with pleasure.”
“That’s not what I’m doing, Kate. I’m just keeping the client happy. I promise.”
Kate looked uncertain. “You really promise that’s all it is?”
“The guy doesn’t know many people here. He wanted some company. Is that really so bad?”
Kate raised her eyebrows and picked up the rolling pin. “Just be careful, Charlotte. And…”
She knew what was coming. She couldn’t bear to hear it. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the success of this party, Kate. Trust me.”
Kate frowned. She didn’t look convinced. Charlotte noticed the worried line that tightened the center of her forehead and knew she had made the right decision. If she told Kate what was really going on, Kate would put a stop to it. She’d take over the party herself, and then everything would be lost. The money she so badly needed. The opportunity to prove herself to her sister. And, of course, Greg would be gone, too.
She had to remember to keep her eye on the prize. The party was only four days away, and once the night was over, she’d have a check in hand, a client for the firm, and finally, finally, finally, a fresh start at a relationship with Kate.
Yes, everything would be better after Saturday. She just had to get through the rest of the week first.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There were many ways Charlotte could spend the three hours between when Audrey drifted off to sleep after her last warm bottle of milk and when she would wake up again, hungry for more. She could read a book, but she had started one right before Audrey was born, and more than seven months later, was still inexplicably only on the fourth chapter. She could go over her plans for the party again—but she felt strangely on top of things there. The tight schedule had forced her into action nearly as much as her desire to make everything a success. She could take a hot bubble bath in that luxurious clawfoot tub in her en suite. But Greg could arrive home at any minute.
Instead, she decided to bake. Cookies were the one thing she was good at. Well, maybe not good, but she could roll out a tube of premade dough just as well as anyone else, and besides, the decorations were the fun part. If they came out especially bad, she wouldn’t admit who had brought them. Besides, Fiona packed that tea shop on cookie swap day. Dozens of women from town stopped by for the fun. Her contribution could fade into the crowd, and there were always a few tins that went untouched, like poor Caroline Owens’s rock-hard rugelach.
Marlene was out again, Christmas shopping, she’d said as she tucked her red-knitted hat over her ears not long after Charlotte had come home, still a little shaken up from her interaction with Kate. There was no sign of Greg, but Marlene had left a stew in the slow cooker, and so, after settling the baby, Charlotte had helped herself to a bowl, even though her appetite had dissipated considerably since yesterday. Was it her sister or was it the memory of that near kiss? Or was it expectation of what would happen when Greg came back tonight?
Right. The cookies. She rolled out the dough and cut the shapes with the cutters Kate had lent her. She watched them for the entire twelve minutes they were in the oven, lest she set off a fire alarm again. Once they were cooled, she set to work, decorating each as best she could with the icing and sanding sugar she had picked up at the grocery store in town.
She was just starting a second batch when she heard the back door open and Greg’s tread on the floorboards. She couldn’t help it. Her stomach began to flutter, and she had to set a hand to it to settle herself.
This was really not good at all. In fact, this was exactly what Kate had warned her about. And wasn’t Kate always right?
* * *
Greg had driven fast—faster than he should with the slick roads and the fresh dusting of snow that had accumulated since he’d left for Boston that morning—but he c
ouldn’t help it. Rebecca wanted to work through things, said she’d drop the baby conversation for now, that she’d been swept up in what her friends had, not what she really wanted.
But what did he want? Not Rebecca, not what they’d had. He realized that now. Their life was all about parties and boats and the newest restaurant opening. There were no quiet nights at home. His apartment in Boston was sleek and industrious.
And every second in it, every moment with Rebecca, every thought of going back to the way things were, made him that much more eager to get back to what he had now.
More Christmas lights had been added to the trees that lined the driveway since he’d left early this morning. Clearly, Charlotte had heeded his mother’s advice, and quickly. Garland was now draped over the front door, and a wreath hung from every window by a red ribbon. The kitchen light was on, and he took the back door, puzzled at the smell of sugar and vanilla.
Marlene didn’t bake, not often, and she knew how he felt about the holidays.
But it wasn’t Marlene at all, he realized, as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Charlotte was standing at the center island, a piping bag full of bright green frosting in her hand, a dusting of flour on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
He grinned. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”
She held up the packaging of premade cookie dough. “I can work an oven. Sometimes.” She motioned to the tray. “Care to join me, or does your dislike of the holiday extend to the treats?”
“I think I’ll just eat one instead,” he said, reaching over to help himself, but she gave him a light slap on his hand.
“You can eat what you decorate. Otherwise, these are for a cookie swap.”
“Cookie swap?” He vaguely remembered a Frost commercial about such a thing at one point in time. “Is that like a potluck with cookies?”
Charlotte grinned. “Exactly!”
Greg looked down at the cookies. They were messy and uneven and some were burnt around the edges. The different colors of icing were bleeding into each other. “You’re bringing these?”
“Yes.” Charlotte stopped icing a cookie and looked up at him. There was challenge in her eyes when she asked, “Why?”
He didn’t have the heart to comment on her efforts. He shrugged. “Just want to be sure I don’t mess any of them up for you.”
“Ah. So you’re helping!” She seemed so pleased by this that he didn’t quite know what to do. He’d almost kissed her last night. He’d almost thought she wanted him to.
He’d convinced himself otherwise the whole drive to Boston. But now…Now he had the urge to try again.
“Show me what to do,” he said, coming around the corner to stand next to her. He was so close, he could feel her hip brush against his, feel the heat of her body. He waited to see if she’d inch away, but she stayed put, happily walking him through the instructions and demonstrating how to use the piping bag.
“You’re quite an expert on this,” he remarked.
She blushed. “My sister and I always made Christmas cookies. We liked decorating them best.”
He tried to trace a white edge of icing along a cookie shaped like a star. Not great. But not terrible, either. “My grandmother used to have me make cookies with her. I was happy to help because then she let me eat them.”
Charlotte laughed. “I can just picture it. I’m sure Audrey will be the same way soon enough.”
Greg studied her smile, felt the pull he couldn’t resist any longer.
She reached across his arm, leaning toward the second tray, and his hand slipped around her waist as his mouth came down to hers. She stiffened in surprise, but he didn’t stop. And soon they were kissing. A long, slow, deep kiss, right against the counter.
Her eyes were bright when they broke apart, and her cheeks were pinker than usual.
He looked down at her hand, which was covered in red frosting and some sprinkles, and the cookies she’d managed to smash without probably realizing it. Maybe not even caring.
She licked the remains off her thumb before quickly grabbing a towel. “So much for that batch.”
“We’ll make another,” he said, eager for an excuse to drag out the evening. “Do you have anoth er tube of dough?”
She laughed. “I bought extra just in case. Clearly, you know me well.”
He was starting to, he realized. And it had been a long time since he’d really gotten to know anyone. And that was a scary thought.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was time to move on, put herself out there, get back in the saddle, as they say. Not to find a boyfriend per se, but just something to get her over this hump and the disappointment that Simon had once again let her down, stood her up, and that she’d let it happen.
She should just call it what it was: a rebound.
Bree poured herself a fresh mug of coffee and escaped to the back room of her shop. Caroline was covering the storefront for a few minutes while Bree was supposedly working on some orders. And she would. Once she’d created a dating profile.
She typed in the site name and all at once her screen lit up with pictures of happy couples and the promise that she, too, could find what they had! All she had to do was fill in her bio and upload the photo of herself taken at Victoria’s wedding. Colleen had been carefully cropped from the photo, and everything was ready to go.
So why was she sitting here, hands hovering over the keyboard, second-guessing herself?
Right. She’d just take a little look-see first. Remind herself why she was doing this. She wanted a boyfriend. Eventually. Wanted a family someday more than she wanted to even admit. And as Gran used to say, they didn’t just come to you when you were sitting home alone. You had to put yourself out there. And she was putting herself out there. Starting now.
She clicked on the Search tab and studied the fields. Age. Easy. She was now thirty-two (God help her), so she would be open-minded and say thirty to forty. Location? She wasn’t willing to move anytime soon, if ever, but she doubted very much that this site would uncover a trove of available men in Misty Point, so she generously included a twenty-mile radius. With the press of a button, her screen filled with pictures of smiling men.
God, this was almost too easy. She took a sip of her coffee, starting to enjoy herself.
The first guy was cute, but he lived twenty miles away and he was only looking for a casual relationship. Good to know from the get-go. My, how refreshing! She quickly clicked out of his profile and moved on to the next. This guy lived a bit closer, just two towns over, really, and he was a doctor. My! Wouldn’t Gran be proud.
And…he was separated. Not divorced. Separated. She flagged him for a later date.
She scrolled through a few more, then clicked to the next page. And the next. And then her body froze when she saw the image in the top left corner. A face she had come to memorize, one she saw every time she closed her eyes. It was Simon.
And worse was that it was a picture of Simon she knew all too well. A picture she still kept in her nightstand drawer for those especially lonely nights when she couldn’t sleep and was thinking about how old she was getting and fretting over her eggs drying out before she found everlasting happiness. When she was too tired to paint the cabinets or figure out how to install a medicine cabinet in the gaping hole where the old one had been. When even the worry over those loose wires in the powder room couldn’t stop her from thinking of how uncertain her future felt while everyone else seemed to have theirs locked in and figured out.
It was a picture not just of Simon, but of her and Simon, taken last June at the lighthouse. There was no denying, and as she leaned in to be sure, she could see a hint of her pink shirt where the image stopped.
The bastard had cropped her out of the photo!
Well. She was really shaking now. Trembling was more like it. She hesitated, afraid to open his profile, wondering if he would somehow find out. But then she thought of the drive-bys and the flowers and she thought, Why s
top now? Here it was. All the masochistic information she felt so compelled to have. Right at her fingertips.
She opened his profile. Read his bio with a curl of her lip. He really did think highly of himself. Expert skier? Please. She could beat him down the slopes any day. Loved to cook? Unless he counted frozen pizza, that was a stretch.
She moved down to the bottom, clicked through a few photos, tried to ignore the pang in her chest at how handsome he still looked. And then she saw it.
Right there, black and white, clear as crystal. Simon was looking for a committed relationship.
And Simon had created his profile five months ago. Nearly two months before they’d broken up!
And Simon had been active online in the past twelve hours.
She closed her laptop and sat back in her chair. Her hands were shaking and her mind was spinning with too many thoughts, each one worse than the last.
But one thing was all too clear. Simon had never loved her. And no matter how much she thought that might someday change, he never would.
She stood up and reached down to her wrist, but instead of giving the rubber band a good hard flick, this time she slid it off.
* * *
Charlotte looked around the front hall and living room, which were coming together very nicely, and tried to imagine how everything would look Saturday night. She eyed the bare spot above the mantel and decided a swag of garland and lights would be fine. She’d get a matching wreath to hang on the mirror above. With the Christmas tree towering in the corner, already the room felt cozier and so much more lived in than it had on her first visit.
She stopped herself there. Christmas decorations had a way of transforming a space. It was easy to see it as more than that. To get caught up in the fantasy—the beautiful house, the perfect family, the memory of Greg’s kiss long after his mouth had left hers.
But this wasn’t her home. This was a venue, essentially.
Marlene came into the hall with Audrey on her hip. The sitter was sick and Marlene had gladly offered to help with childcare for the day.
