Max carried Zuzu’s Big Wheel across the yard and set it on Charlotte’s porch right next to a tangled mass of Christmas lights. It would take time and patience to separate the strands. Maybe he’d take a shot at it after he had one of the cookies Zuzu had been begging for all day long.
He stretched his calves and shoulders and walked into the house. He’d needed a fast-paced run after his doctor visit with Zuzu. He’d thought it would chase away the sick cold feeling in his chest.
It hadn’t.
But then he’d had to keep pace with Zuzu. No running until his lungs heaved and sweat poured down his face, he’d maintained a slow steady pace that matched Zuzu’s excited pedaling. He hadn’t worked out any of his tension or worry, but he’d worn Zuzu out for sure. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d be going to bed early. He’d called in a favor a few days ago, and asked Emma to babysit while he was out with Charlotte.
She’d seemed happy enough to do him the favor. But then he’d sat with her scumbag of a father more than once in the past year.
The man was mean as a pit viper, and Emma hadn’t been able to keep caregivers for more than a few months at a time. She’d have probably had to give up her job if she hadn’t finally found a registered nurse who was willing to put up with the crap her dad dished out. The guy was former Navy. He knew how to deal with problems. When he took a day or two off, Emma hired someone else or asked a friend to fill in. Max had done it a time or two.
He didn’t know much about nursing, but he knew a lot more than most about dealing with scum. The old man must have sensed it. He’d taken a verbal swipe or two, but mostly he’d stayed quiet and compliant. Compared to Rick, taking care of Zuzu was a piece of cake.
The problem was, Emma had been looking more and more exhausted lately, the circles under her eyes getting darker, her cheeks hollowing out. She needed a few nights away from her father. What she didn’t need was to spend a long evening chasing a nearly four-year-old around. He hadn’t had it in him to ask Ida, though. Emma was all he’d had.
He followed the sound of voices into Charlotte’s kitchen. Several unfrosted cakes were cooling on the counter, and one of those fancy wedding toppers sat on the kitchen table.
“Getting ready for the Henderson wedding?” he asked, lifting the topper and studying it. Lynette Henderson came from money, and her father hadn’t spared any expense when it came to her wedding. At least that’s what the gossips were saying.
Max wouldn’t be attending the nuptials. He hadn’t been invited.
Not surprising as he and Lynette had dated a few times before she’d hooked up with Calloway Johnson.
“Yes. I already have all the sugar flowers made. I just have to buttercream the layers and lay the fondant.”
“The way I hear it, the wedding is going to be one for the records.”
“Lynette is trying to outdo Tessa and Cade.”
“Even if Lynette spends more money and has fancier things, she won’t be able to outdo what Cade and Tessa achieved,” he responded. He didn’t really care what Lynette did. The sooner she was married off and the gossips stopped talking about her shindig, the happier he’d be. He’d been hearing too much information from too many people who seemed overly concerned with things like dresses, silverware, and place settings.
“Lynette has to try, though. She insisted her cake have at least one layer more than Tessa’s and a dozen more flowers.”
She opened the pig-shaped cookie jar and took out a large cookie. “Here you are, Zuzu. Sit at the table, okay?”
“Cookies!” Zuzu scrambled up into a chair. Charlotte had already helped her out of her coat, and she looked cute as a button sitting there with her big blue eyes and pink overalls.
The cold hard knot in his chest grew about seven sizes.
Charlotte took another cookie from the jar and handed it to Max. “You look like you need some sugar.”
“What I need,” he said, taking the cookie and glancing at Zuzu. She’d shoved half the cookie in her mouth and had crumbs all over her face. “Is the truth.”
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” She took milk from the fridge and poured some for Zuzu. “Want some?”
“No. Thanks.” He bit into the cookie. Sugar and cinnamon, the outside crisp, the inside chewy, it was the best cookie he’d ever had. “But I’ll take another one of these.”
She handed him a second cookie, her eyes gentle as a summer rain. “You didn’t answer my other question.”
“About my being worried? I am.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He finished the second cookie.
Charlotte grabbed his hand and tugged him into the pantry. “You had the paternity test today, didn’t you?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then there’s nothing complicated about it. If she’s yours—”
“That’s what’s complicated, Charlotte.” He raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could have had the run he’d been craving, pounded out some of his tension on the pavement. “I don’t want kids. I’ve never wanted kids.”
“Funny,” she responded, glancing through the doorway. Zuzu was clearly visible, what was left of the cookie lying on the table, the cup of milk in her hands. “I would have given anything to be a mother.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I don’t mean to sound like an assho—”
“You don’t.” She smoothed her loose cotton sweats, brushed crumbs from her sweatshirt, shifting uncomfortably in the sudden silence. “I mean, there’s no crime in not wanting children.”
“There’s no crime in wanting a houseful of them, either.” He moved a step closer, inhaling vanilla and cinnamon and the sweet scent that always seemed to cling to Charlotte. “That’s what you’d like, right?”
“No,” she started to protest, and then laughed. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I always thought I’d have six or seven kids. I had this silly dream about living out in the country on a couple of acres. I thought Brett and I could have chickens, cows, horses, and a mess of children to love.”
“What happened?”
“Dreams die, Max. I’m sure you’ve lived long enough to know it.” She didn’t sound bitter or angry, just resigned.
“How long were you married?”
She stiffened, her soft lips pulling into a tight hard line. “Six years. He died just shy of our seventh anniversary.”
“That must have been tough.”
“He was diagnosed with cancer and died a month later. It was a lot quicker than we thought, and I guess if there is a blessing in any of it, that’s it.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, pulling it taut and then releasing it. It sprung free in a tight curl that he desperately wanted to touch.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
She shrugged, and he got the distinct impression that she wasn’t sorry. “I think it’s the way he would have wanted it.”
“So, you had nearly seven years together. That’s plenty of time to have a few kids. Why didn’t you?” He knew it was the wrong question to ask, but he asked it anyway. He wanted to know how Charlotte had ended up where she was, alone in a house that should have been filled with all the things she’d once dreamed of.
She swallowed hard, glancing out into the kitchen again.
He thought there might be tears in her eyes, and he touched her arm, felt the coiled muscles beneath the cotton fabric of her sweatshirt.
“That’s a really personal question, Max.”
“We’ve kind of been getting personal, if you haven’t noticed.” He let his hand drift down her arm, wove his fingers through hers and tugged her so close he could feel the heat of her body and the tension that radiated out from her. “The thing is, dreams die. It happens all the time, every day to all kinds of people. You’re just not the kind of person who lets them go easily. So what happened? Could you not have children? Did your husband not wa
nt them?”
“Brett had kids. Four of them. He neglected to tell me about that before we were married. He also neglected to tell me that he was still married to his first wife. When he went on his long trucking runs, he’d spend days and weeks with them while I waited at home praying for his safety.”
“When did you find out?”
“The twenty-seventh of November. Our seventh wedding anniversary. He’d been gone three days, and his lawyer stopped by to talk to me about a will that I didn’t even know existed. Brett left the house and everything in it to his other family. He left all his money to them. I had nothing but my clothes, my most recent paycheck, and a note from Brett that said he knew that I’d be fine.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but he knew it did. Just like he knew she still wanted the country house and the gaggle of kids.
“You didn’t contest the will?”
“What would be the point? He was right; I was going to be fine one way or another. Besides, I didn’t want to hurt his other family any more than they already had been hurt.”
“Your husband should have been the one who thought about that long before he married you,” Max growled. If the guy hadn’t been dead, he’d have tracked him down and taught him a thing or two about how to treat a lady.
She shrugged again, her gaze skittering away. “Looks like Zuzu wants another cookie. I’ll get her one, and then I have to get back to hanging Christmas lights.”
He followed her back into the kitchen, unconsciously watching the subtle sway of her hips.
“Zuzu, don’t climb on the chair,” she said gently.
He tore his gaze away from the soft swell of her hips, saw that Zuzu had dragged her chair to the counter and was trying to reach the cookie jar.
“Zuzu, you know better than that!” he said a little more harshly than he’d intended.
Zuzu took it the wrong way.
Her little face crumpled, and she started the god-awful wailing she’d demonstrated the first night she’d spent at his house.
He picked her up and awkwardly patted her back. He wasn’t hardwired to be a father, but he’d seen enough good dads to know that they did this sort of thing. Pat the back. Wipe the face with a paper towel. Tell the kid she could have another cookie.
The last worked.
Zuzu sniffed back more tears, pressed her hands to his cheeks, and looked deep into his eyes. “You’re a special boy, Maxi,” she said.
He chuckled and took the cookie Charlotte held out.
“I bet you say that to all the boys who give you cookies,” he responded, passing the cookie to Zuzu.
“Thank you!” She wiggled. “Put me down now.”
“Please is a nice word,” he said, echoing words his grandmother had said often in the first few months after he’d moved in with her. He’d forgotten that until just that moment.
“Please put me down,” Zuzu responded.
He set her down, and she hurried back into her chair.
She looked happy as a clam.
“You’re really good with her, Max,” Charlotte said quietly.
“She’s an easy kid to be good with.” That was the honest truth. Morgan must have done something right, because Zuzu was a wild child, but she was also sweet as pie.
Or sweet as one of Charlotte’s cinnamon sugar cookies.
He took one out of the cookie jar.
“Do you mind?” he asked. “We had to be at the doctor at nine. After I exploded the oatmeal I was cooking for Zu—”
“An oatmeal explosion?” Charlotte laughed.
“Yes, and don’t ask me to explain how it happened. I don’t think I can. The end result was a huge mess and me leaving the house without breakfast. I’m starving.”
“I can make you some lunch. Zuzu is probably hungry, too.”
“We’ll eat when we get home.” He grabbed her hand before she could open the refrigerator. “Besides, you’ve done enough for us, and I’m going to make it up to you.”
“If you’re talking about dinner tonight—”
“I’m talking about those Christmas lights. My grandmother loved Christmas. It was her favorite time of the year. I used to spend hours untangling Christmas lights for her.” He’d hated every minute of it for the first two years. After that, he’d begun to like the tradition.
“I always thought it would be fun to have family to visit during the holidays.”
“I wasn’t visiting. I lived with my grandparents through high school and most of college.”
“Were your parents—”
“An incarcerated drug trafficker and a self-centered user who spent more time trying to find someone to take care of her than she spent taking care of me.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm.
Heat shot through his blood, pounded hard in his chest.
He could have yanked her right into his arms, kissed her until they were both breathless, but Zuzu was munching her cookie, he was still holding his, and the moment wasn’t right.
Which was a crying shame, because Charlotte had very, very kissable lips, and he would have been more than happy to taste them again.
“Don’t be,” he said, his voice gruff and just a little hard. “My past brought me here, and I wouldn’t change it. Even if I could.”
She nodded solemnly. “I get that.”
“But you’d still like to change your past?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes maybe.”
“What would you change?”
“I’d be a little less trusting, I guess. A little less desperate.”
“I can’t imagine you desperate.”
“Then you don’t have a very good imagination.” She laughed, her eyes sparkling.
“You really are beautiful, Charlotte. You know that?” he said, the words just kind of slipping out, because she was and he thought she needed to know it.
She blushed, her cheeks going a deep shade of pink.
“Max—”
“Save it for later, okay? I’ve got to get those lights untangled for you. Otherwise you’ll be stuck with Zim’s help.”
“And have a yard covered with Christmas lights?”
“It might be an interesting look.”
“Yay!” Zuzu squealed. “I’s gonna help with Christmas lights!”
“Not until you finish your cookie, drink your milk, and wash your face,” Charlotte said, turning her attention to the little girl.
That was Max’s cue to leave.
He’d had an entire morning of little-girl antics. He should want the break, but he actually didn’t want to leave behind the warm kitchen, the sweet smell of baked goods, Zuzu, Charlotte. They all seemed wrapped up together, tied with a bow that he thought might just be called home.
Chapter Sixteen
Max walked out of the kitchen, and Charlotte could finally breathe again.
Thank goodness!
She needed to get oxygen to her brain and clear her thinking, because right at that moment, the only thought running through her head was that it would be really nice to kiss Max again.
“But that wouldn’t be good, Zuzu. Not at all,” she murmured as she wet a dishcloth with warm water and wiped the little girl’s face.
“Cookies are good,” Zuzu protested.
“You’re right. They are.”
“You have some.” She shoved what remained of her cookie at Charlotte, smashing it against her stomach.
“Careful, Zuzu.” She took the cookie and wiped off her sweatshirt. She’d once thought twins would be fun. A few minutes with Zuzu, and she thought maybe they would just be exhausting.
“Let’s go to make Christmas tree lights!” Zuzu hopped down and raced across the room, her overalls brushing the floor, her little legs churning and arms pumping.
“Slow down, Zuzu,” Charlotte called, but Zuzu was on a mission, and she didn’t seem eager to stop. Charlotte chased her into the living room, following her across the floor and scooping her up as she reached the door. “You don’t ev
en have a coat on, silly girl.”
“I’s not silly!” Zuzu scowled. Which only succeeded in making her look adorable.
No wonder the child had Max wrapped around her little finger. “Maybe not, but you’re going to be cold if you don’t put on your coat before you go outside. You don’t want to freeze, do you?”
“Yes.”
Charlotte laughed, and carried Zuzu back into the kitchen. “Well, I don’t want you to freeze. You can’t eat cookies if you turn into a snowman.”
“I can’t?” Zuzu shoved her arms into her coat and went to work trying to zip it, the tip of her tongue peeking out.
“Of course not. Snowmen don’t eat.”
“They don’t?”
“No. They just stand out in the cold all day long. They don’t even get to ride Big Wheels.” She brushed Zuzu’s hands away and helped her with the zipper. Zuzu took mittens out of her pockets and thrust her hands into them.
“I don’t want to be a snowman,” she said solemnly.
“Then it’s good that you’re all bundled up.” Charlotte held out her hand, and Zuzu took it.
“Where’s Momma?” Zuzu asked as they walked to the front door.
How should Charlotte answer that?
Obviously, Zuzu already knew the facts. Maybe she needed more. Maybe she needed some reassurance that Morgan was coming back, that she wasn’t going to be without her forever. “She’s in Las Vegas, Zuzu. Remember?”
“Is she a snowman? ’Cause I think she maybe is a snowman.”
The question startled a laugh out of Charlotte. “Why would you think that?”
“If she’s frozen, she can’t drives to me.”
“She’s not a snowman, Zuzu. She’s just busy finding a job. She’ll come for you as soon as she can.”
“You know what? She’s got to find a job cause of Papa Tom. He died.”
“That’s sad.”
Zuzu nodded. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“Papa Tom told me about a little girl who almost got eaten by a mean old wolf.”
“Red Riding Hood?”
“Pink Riding Hood. ’Cause I like pink.” Zuzu tried to open the front door with her gloved hands, but the metal knob kept slipping. “The mean old wolf tried to eat her, and she karate chopped him. Chop! Chop!”
The Cottage on the Corner Page 22
