She wore a red, fuzzy beret like a frame around her face. Stray curls peeked out there at her forehead, her left cheek. For all her wildness, Johanna Coco could have been an angel looking up at him through those heavy lashes, for the wide innocence of her eyes, the porcelain of her skin. Charlie tried to find words, any words to fill the prolonged silence.
“Who’s the Brit?” he asked.
“Efan, Julietta’s…friend. He’s Welsh actually, but had to tone down the accent to teach here in the States.”
“He teaches where?”
“The boarding school up in Great Barrington.”
The familiar mischief in Johanna’s smile, in her eyes, flipped Charlie’s gut. He never had been able to guess what she was thinking, even when they knew one another so well they could sit for hours without saying a word. Johanna would grin that grin and anything could happen, and usually did.
“I’ll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents on the tree…”
Johanna turned to the voices singing. Charlie heard them only as sound somewhere far, far away, in a place that might be Bitterly on a December night.
“I love this one.” And she sang along, loudly. Sweetly. Swaying as if she waltzed. For a split moment, it was summer, and he was in the woods, his head on her tanned, flat belly, listening to her sing through the thrumming of her body.
“I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.” Johanna clapped with everyone else.
Charlie did not.
“Aren’t you going to sing?” she asked.
“I’d rather listen to you,” came his automatic response, and Charlie blushed like the boy he had been. “I forgot what a beautiful voice you have.”
“Ha! Never got me a part in the school play, though.”
“Because you didn’t play by the rules,” he said. “The good parts always went to the kids in chorus.”
“Chorus was boring.”
“And Stacy Kinnigan didn’t have anywhere near the voice you have.”
“Stacy Kinnigan. Oh, wow. I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“She was here for the reunion,” he told her. “She lives in Ohio now.”
“Of course she does. Ohio has to be the most boring state in America.”
“You’ve been there?”
“No.” She smiled up at him. “The name is boring. Only four letters.”
“What about Utah?”
“Fine. I see your point. So you’re saying I should visit Ohio?”
“No. It’s the most boring state in America.”
“Charlie.” Johanna shoved him playfully. Voices lifted in a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells.” She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “This is fun.”
“It is.” He covered her hand with his. Their joking, these gestures—it felt right. All around them, snow and song, sleigh bells and string-lights. All around them, Bitterly. Charlie saw only Johanna. “You want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked, and again the blush too many times creeping up on him this evening burned. He held her gaze and his breath. Johanna looked up at him. Her angelic face changed from girl to woman but otherwise, exactly the same. “I’d love to, Charlie. It’s about time we caught up.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“What time?”
“How’s seven? Too early? Too late?”
“Seven is perfect.”
“Jingle Bells” had degenerated into “Batman Smells.” The band switched songs. “Silent Night.” Voices hushed and rose into the clear night. Johanna sang, softly this time, her head coming to rest against the arm she held.
Charlie fixed it all in his head, the perfection of this evening, like a snapshot lodged inside. If she vanished again for another eight years, he’d have it to pull out, to remember, to cherish. And if she didn’t vanish—Charlie’s throat constricted. His skin prickled and his body warmed—if she didn’t, he would be able to look back on this moment as the beginning of the best part of his life.
Chapter 4
Nine Ladies Dancing
Does she know her fingers travel? That they brush unconsciously? Against that thing she hides? The thing that belonged to Florentina—new-wife, on her way to America? To Fiorenza—maiden aunt, teaching rich young women in New York City? To Fia—dancer, dead before her time? And to Fabrizzia—inventor, brought to America to work with a famous man, his love for her a secret he took to his grave? She doesn’t, of course. Always a creature of impulse, of emotion first and thought when convenient. My wild girl. My Johanna. The story changes, but the wish remains constant. A secret kept. Unclaimed. And waiting.
* * * *
Johanna rearranged all the ingredients on the counter. Again. She had enough sugar, flour, chocolate chips, butter and brown sugar to fuel CC’s for a month. But did she have enough eggs? Reaching for her phone, the locket still hidden under her shirt tickled against her skin. She pressed a hand to it, to the fluttering there.
“Relax,” she told herself. “It’s just baking with your sister’s kids.”
And Charlie’s.
She feared saying his name aloud, as if to do so would curse whatever was happening between them. Their date—not dinner with a friend—had been the kind of magical Johanna thought existed only in schmaltzy movies. They were easy together. Natural. As if they’d been together all those years yet still barely knew one another and had all the time in the world to learn.
She dialed Emma’s number, hung up again and hurried through the big house, to the front porch where her nephews were already stomping snow from their shoes. The six dozen eggs in a bowl on the counter would have to be enough.
“It smells like Christmas in here.” Emma kissed both Johanna’s cheeks. “Did you start already?”
“Just a cinnamon bundt to nibble on while we wait for cookies. It’s still warm.”
“The same one you sent up last Easter?”
Johanna nodded.
“Move aside, boys. Mama wants some cake.”
Johanna helped the boys off with their coats and hung them on the hooks behind the door. “Leave your shoes outside,” she said. “Then the snow won’t melt and make them all soggy.”
“Can I have some cake, too, Aunt Jo?” Ian asked.
Johanna ruffled his dark hair. “As long as your mom says okay.”
“Thanks.”
And off he ran through the house he obviously felt at home in. Henry was right behind him, already calling for his mother’s permission. Little Gio, only five and often left behind, was still trying to pull off his snow boots.
“Want some help?” she asked. He looked up and nodded, his lip trembling. Johanna consoled him. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of cake. Your brothers won’t eat it all.”
Gio dissolved into tears. Johanna gathered him in and he buried his little face in her shoulder.
“Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?”
“I miss Gram.”
Johanna felt her own tears build. Since her dinner with Charlie, she’d barely thought about her grandmother, and the real reason she was in Bitterly. Gram had raised her, but the eight years being away took her out of Johanna’s everyday. For Gio, his brothers, Emma and Julietta, her death was not just sorrowful, it was earth-shattering.
“I miss her too, buddy. We all do. But it’s going to be okay. You have your mom and dad, your brothers, and your aunties who love you so much. And don’t forget your dad’s parents, and your Uncle Scott. Lots of little boys don’t have so much family nearby.”
Gio sniffed. He raised his head. “Mommy told me Gram was her gramma, too.”
“That’s right.”
“Yours too?”
“Yep. Mine too. And Aunt Nina’s and Aunt Julietta’s. She was your great-grandmother.”
He smiled then. “She was great.”
“Yes, she was.” Johanna hugged him closer. Gio, still young enough to enjoy shows of
affection, snuggled into her.
“Aunt Jo?”
“Hmm?”
“If Gram was your gramma, who was your mommy?”
She tried not to stiffen, but failed for a split moment she could not take back. Her nephew didn’t seem to notice. Johanna told him, “My mommy died a long time ago, buddy.” I think. “But I have a picture of her. Would you like to see?”
He nodded. Johanna looked over her shoulder. She could hear Emma and Nina in the kitchen with the boys. Julietta was still in her office, working. Pulling the locket out of her shirt, Johanna clicked it open.
“See? That’s her. Carolina. She’s your mommy’s mommy.”
Gio picked up his head, looked closely. “She looks like you.”
Johanna laughed. “I look like her,” she said. “Your mom does too, a little. Don’t you think?”
“My mom?” Gio scrunched up his face. “My mom looks like my mom.”
“You’re right. She does. You feeling better now?”
“A little.”
“You want some cake?”
He smiled.
“Go on.” She nudged him and he took off down the hallway to the kitchen. Johanna groaned to her feet. All these days keeping the locket to herself was about to be revealed, and she still wasn’t ready to share it with them. Soon. Not yet. But when she reached the kitchen, Gio was face-deep in a piece of cake and her sisters barely acknowledged her arrival. More stomping on the porch sent Johanna back down the hall. Charlie’s kids came barreling in, Charlotte bringing up the rear.
“Hey, Johanna.” She slid her scarf from her neck. “Remember me?”
“Of course I do, Charlotte. You’ve grown a bit.”
“Just a bit.” She laughed. “You look exactly the same way I remember you.”
“Do I?”
Charlotte nodded. “Dad’s right. You’re as pretty as a pixie.”
“That’s enough out of you, young lady.” Charlie gently shoved Millie and Tony into Charlotte, who winked at Johanna and took them to the kitchen. Johanna pressed hands to her face. Pretty? Her eyes were too big and her chin, too small. At least her nose was properly proportioned even if it was perpetually freckled. She took Charlie’s coat from him and hung it on a hook.
“Did you really say that to her or is she teasing me?”
“She’s teasing me. But what if I did?”
“I’d say thank you.”
“Then you’re welcome,” he said. “Will’s still at work, but he’s going to come by around four, if it’s okay.”
“Of course. If anyone can manage to eat later, we’ll order from D’Angelo’s. Cookies and pizza, Julietta will be in heaven.”
She gestured him ahead of her, admiring the sway of his shoulders the way a man might a woman’s hips, and those she admired as well. Johanna let the chills shiver along her skin instead of rubbing them away.
“The skinny kid sure did fill out nicely, didn’t he?”
Johanna spun, hand to her chest. “Emma, I thought you were in the kitchen.”
“Look at you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“He does have a nice butt. Not as nice as Mike’s though.”
“Mike’s ass is mighty fine.” Johanna tweaked her sister’s side. “I always thought so.”
“Johanna!”
“Oh, now who’s blushing?”
Emma poked her back, and then they were laughing instead of squealing, heading down the hallway to the warm and bright kitchen where all the children stood at the counter, just as Johanna imagined.
She stopped short. Her vision blurred. She blinked. A sensation like joy, like fear, wriggled through her. Already, Charlotte was inspecting little hands to make sure they were clean. Johanna remembered Charlie telling her his eldest was studying for a degree in early child development. She was tall and thin, just as her father had been at her age, but elfin in a way fair, redheaded girls made beautiful. Charlie had not been elfin. Even skinny, his features were bold. He’d grown into those features to make the handsome man standing in her kitchen, surrounded by children that were his and not hers, but for whom she already felt affection.
“Everyone ready to bake?”
“Yeah!” A chorus of small voices, and a few older ones. Caleb stood closer to his father, trying not to seem too eager.
“Charlotte, if you wouldn’t mind starting the little ones measuring out the flour and sugar, I have a special task for Caleb.”
“Sure, Johanna.”
Johanna took Caleb’s hand and led him to the oven. Already gathered on the counter were milk, butter, cocoa and sugar.
“What do you want me to do?” Caleb asked. Johanna put a big stockpot on the burner.
“Learn how to make real hot chocolate,” Johanna answered, “so you never have to drink that crap out of an envelope again.”
* * * *
By the time the second batch of chocolate chip cookies came out of the oven, Gunner had arrived, and Johanna had lost most of her help. Full bellies made for sleepy children. Emma took them into the family room to watch Christmas specials. Julietta came down, rolled a few cookies, ladled herself a mug of hot chocolate and went back up to her office to work. She had a deadline she was going to miss if she didn’t get the research in to the agency by five o’clock. Julietta had never missed a deadline.
Nina and Gunner sat with Emma and Charlie at the dining room table, nibbling cookies and chatting. Soon, Mike would arrive just long enough to say hello and whisk his family to his parents’ house for the traditional English Christmas dinner, complete with roast goose and a viewing of whatever incarnation of A Christmas Carol Emma deemed appropriate for the children.
Only Charlotte remained in the kitchen with her, which suited Johanna just fine. The dreamy-vision of baking with children hadn’t quite lived up to expectations. Working with Charlotte was more like working with a colleague.
How young Charlie and Gina had been when their first child was born. How frightening it must have been.
The cookies were all done and waiting to be decorated. They had moved on to the pies for Christmas Day. Two apple already cooled on the counter. Two cherry baked in the oven. Two pecan awaited their turn.
“Did I see you put honey into the crust?” Johanna stood at Charlotte’s elbow, watching her press the graham-cracker crust into another pie tin for the pumpkin that would come next.
“I did. It gives the crust a nice chew. Is that okay?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done it before, myself.”
“It’s how my mom taught me.” Charlotte averted her eyes. “Whatever her faults, she is a really good cook.”
“Must run in the family,” Johanna said. “Even Gram had to admit your grandmother’s meatballs were better than hers. I was sorry to hear your grandparents sold the pizzeria.”
Charlotte shrugged. “They got old, and Mom had no interest. Neither did my uncles.”
“Frankie and Aldo.”
“You know them?”
“You forget I grew up in this town. You know how it is. Everyone knows everyone.”
“True.” Charlotte shrugged again. “They’re all in Florida now. My uncles. My grandparents. My mom and her boyfriend. I fucking hate Florida.”
Johanna’s heart stitched. The need to hide the hurt behind anger was a familiar one. “Florida has some pretty places left.”
“Not where they live. I wish they lived in Key West, or someplace actually cool. Then maybe I’d visit. It’s not like my grandmother ever liked me much.”
“Why would you say that?”
Yet another shrug. “I’m the thing that ruined her daughter’s life,” she said. “The child conceived out of wedlock. As if it matters anymore.”
“It did back then, to some. But she’s your grandmother. I remember how she showed you off to everyone when you were a baby.”
“I stopped being a cute little baby and grew a mout
h.” Charlotte snickered. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
Of course, it matters, Johanna wanted to say, but she handed Charlotte the measuring cup she was reaching for and told her, “You have a real flair for this.”
“I love to bake,” Charlotte said. “It’s funny, I never did before, and I worked in the coffeehouse all through high school. Then I went away to college and suddenly, I’m constantly baking cookies and cupcakes. My dorm is the most popular on campus, mostly because it is now known as a free bakery.”
“I bought CC’s on a whim.” Johanna’s hesitation gave way to Charlotte’s honesty. “It was the name, really, that sold me.”
Charlotte looked up from pressing graham cracker crumbs. “Cape Confectionery?”
“CC’s,” Johanna said. “Carolina Coco. My mother’s initials.”
“Oh, I get it. How cool is that?”
Johanna’s hammering heart eased. Perhaps it was obvious, and maybe her sisters had guessed long ago, but Charlotte was the first person she’d ever told her secret to, and she felt better for it. “I don’t know how or why but as it turned out, I’m actually good at baking. Better than good, like you are.”
“We make a good team.”
Johanna gave her a quick squeeze. “We do. You know, if you’re looking for a summer job, I can always use—”
“Yes!” Charlotte laughed when Johanna did. “Sorry. I got a little enthusiastic there. Do you mean it? Can I come work for you?”
A passing thought for Gina and the custody agreement Charlie told her about flitted in and back out of Johanna’s mind. Charlotte was twenty, and no longer required to visit the mother she was obviously still angry with. “Consider yourself hired.”
Charlotte hugged Johanna tight and quickly. “I can’t believe it. I have to text Katie. Johanna, you’re the best. I love you Coco women. You’re all so cool.” Charlotte blew past her father just coming through the doorway.
Charlie leapt out of the way, shaking his head. “What’s got my daughter squealing like a teenager?”
“I just hired her for the summer.”
Seeking Carolina (Bitterly Suite Book 1) Page 6
