Chapter Two
Charlotte
“This coffee is cold,” the snotty teenage girl was saying, holding out her cup. “Fix it.”
Charlotte Brown ground her teeth and took the cup, fighting the urge to explain that they were at a ski resort in the middle of freaking winter. Everything was cold. “I hate rich kids,” she muttered under her breath as she stomped back to the service station by the kitchen.
“What was that?” Evangeline asked, grinning.
Charlotte leaned against the wall and stretched. “Some seventeen-year-old doesn’t seem to understand that coffee gets cold if you nurse a single cup for an hour in a mountain resort café.”
“There are some frightfully silly kids up here this week. Winter break.” Evangeline rolled her eyes. “But they do tip. Most of the time.”
“This one better.” Charlotte refilled the coffee mug and placed it on a tray. “The things I do to pay for medical school.”
“Hey, you forget I watched you take twenty-one hours spring semester of our junior year. Anyone who can get a 4.0 with that course load can handle a couple of snow bunnies,” Evangeline said. She made a fist like Rosie the Riveter. “You can do it.”
You can do it. That was Charlotte’s mantra. When her mom had been diagnosed with MS six years ago, Charlotte had known then that she wanted to be a doctor. Some of Mom’s doctors were great, and some had the bedside manner of surly robots. Charlotte would be one of the good ones—she knew firsthand what a difference a kind face and gentle tone made when giving bad news.
She’d graduated in August, but failing to score high enough on the MCAT twice had put a stop to starting medical school. Now, she was studying to take it one last time, hoping to pass, then apply to schools. In a way, she was glad for the break, because she was broke, and drowning in student debt for twenty years sounded worse than serving snobbish skiers coffee for a few months. Evangeline had convinced her to move to Aspen with her to work at her parents’ new café. They let her live, rent-free, in the little apartment above the restaurant in exchange for opening up the kitchen at five in the morning to prep for the early rush. It wasn’t easy work, but she’d socked away a thousand bucks in her first month.
“Your coffee,” Charlotte said, all sweetness, to the girl. “Fresh and hot.”
“It better be,” the girl said, frowning.
Charlotte’s chest burned. Bite your tongue. Not every person in the world is an asshole…just this one. And going off on a customer was probably frowned upon.
Forcing herself to stay calm, Charlotte turned, planning to pick up her newest breakfast order, when she ran smack-dab into a guy. Like, literally bumped her nose against his chest. A very solid, hard, “I work out more than you do” chest.
The guy caught her shoulders. “Sorry. You okay?”
She stared up into a pair of gorgeous brown-green hazel eyes, set in a face that screamed I’m so pretty, models cry when they see me. Charlotte’s jaw started to drop, but she caught herself and ground her teeth again, pissed at herself. She knew this kind of guy—had dated one even. Player. Capital P. Right down to the movie-star-sexy smile that offered her a good time. “Fine, thanks. Do you need a table?”
The guy pointed at the bar up front. “I’m on my own, so I’ll sit there.”
He glanced at her chest.
Irritated, Charlotte crossed her arms. So she wore a double-D bra—he didn’t have to look.
He chuckled lightly. “I was checking out your name tag, Charlotte. That’s all.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Ah.” She lowered her arms. “Well, make yourself at home. I’ll be by with coffee shortly.”
“Make sure it’s hot, because it’s not sometimes,” the snotty girl behind her said. Then there was a gasp. “Are you Luke Madison?”
The guy made a slightly embarrassed face and stepped around Charlotte, effectively blocking her path between chairs to the kitchen. “Yes.”
“Ooh, I watched you compete at Angel Fire last spring.” The girl batted her eyelashes at him. “Hot stuff.”
Oh, good Lord. Charlotte was done. She didn’t need to observe the mating patterns of the young and hot. There were two orders up, and Mr. Beefcake was blocking her path. “Excuse me.”
“Sorry.” He gave Charlotte a quick apologetic grin, before nodding to the girl. “Have fun out there.”
He made his way to the bar, and Charlotte caught the crestfallen expression on the girl’s face. That nod had been so “you have fun now, kids,” Cold Coffee Girl couldn’t have been clearer on his lack of interest. Charlotte swallowed a laugh. There was a God after all, and She loved waitresses.
“How’s the coffee, sweetie?” she asked.
“Fine,” the girl snapped, turning back to her friends.
Vindicated, Charlotte checked on her tables, then went to the bar. She’d stalled, hoping Evangeline would take care of Luke, but she was busy with a twelve-top of middle-aged skiers. Good tips—she wouldn’t leave them hanging for anyone, not even Mr. December on the Ski Hotties calendar.
Sighing, Charlotte plucked a pen from behind her ear and went to Luke. “What’ll you have?”
“What’s good?” He gave her a slightly wicked smile.
Charlotte groaned. “Look, I’m not on the menu. Eggs Benedict is what you want.”
Luke’s smile froze, then fell. “Uh, I’ll just have some coffee. And maybe a scone.”
She nodded and hurried off, wishing busy season would end soon.
At two, when they finally flipped the open sign to closed, Charlotte slumped and took a minute to massage her lower back. “It’s going to be busy like this until New Year’s, isn’t it?”
“Busy? You haven’t seen anything yet,” Evangeline said, tossing Charlotte a rag to help with cleaning the tabletops. She paused in her work to grin. “Just wait until the rich and famous jaunt over between Christmas and New Year’s. That’s a whole other level of crazy, right down to the Viagra millionaires trying to buy their way into your bed.”
Charlotte sprayed down a tabletop with surface cleaner and wiped it dry. Just what I need, a bunch of horny fifty-somethings who think they’re improving my life by showing up. “No thanks.”
“So what was with the cute guy at the bar?” Evangeline asked. “He sure gave you a thorough looking over.”
Charlotte had really hoped to avoid this part of the conversation. “The usual. Hot snowboarder looking to flirt with anything remotely interesting.” She picked up dirty glasses from the tables in the back. “It must be a dominant personality trait or something. Like they can’t help themselves.”
“He seemed a little more than interested,” Evangeline said. “He watched you the entire time he was here.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed, and she bent over her work at the table so her friend couldn’t see her face. What’s wrong with you, girl? He’s. Not. Your. Type. Charlotte glanced up to catch Evangeline’s sly smile. “Meh.”
“Oh, come on. It’s been four months since Braden. It’s time to get back out there.”
Charlotte’s spine stiffened. “I’m in the middle of studying for the MCAT and hopefully getting into medical school. I don’t have time for guys.” She wiped down another table like it had done her a personal wrong. “Especially not for guys who scream ‘I’ll cheat on you with a sorority girl the second your back is turned.’ That guy has player written all over him. Even if I was looking for some fun, and I’m not, he’s not the one. Been there, done that, not doing it again.”
“Whatever you say.” Evangeline drifted into the kitchen to help wash dishes, leaving Charlotte to finish cleaning up front. She was busy fighting the drawer on the espresso machine when her phone rang.
Charlotte pulled her phone out of her apron pocket, frowning at the caller ID before accepting the call. Her sister. A bolt of panic ran through Charlotte’s middle. “Emily? What’s going on?”
“I’m with Mom. They admitted her again.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped, and she clutched the phone tighter. “When?”
Her younger sister’s voice pitched so low, Charlotte had to strain to hear. “Early this morning. I…uh…I heard her fall, and I found her on the living room floor. I couldn’t wake her up. She’s going to be okay, but…”
Charlotte let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter. Having a mom with MS was a scary, scary thing. Especially when attacks came on without warning. A seventeen-year-old shouldn’t have to deal with this. “Is Dad there?”
“Yeah, I called him at work after I called 911. He met me at the ER.” Emily sniffled a little. “He looks really worried.”
Charlotte stood a little taller, concern tightening her already-sore back. “Is he there? Can you put him on?”
There was a shuffle as her dad took the phone. “Hi, Char. How’s Aspen?”
Leave it to her dad to try to keep things normal. He sounded so tired, though. “It’s good. I’m making money, but I feel like I should be there.”
“Your mother was very clear that she’s going to be fine and that you don’t need to come home,” Dad said. “They’re just keeping her for observation.”
“But what if she’s having a relapse?” Charlotte fisted her hands in her apron. “Do you know why she fell?”
“Her…uh, her legs went numb. She didn’t want to bother anyone when she first felt the pins and needles, then it worsened and she fell.” Dad sighed. “I know this is scary, but she’s not showing any signs of deteriorating disease.”
Charlotte’s head started to ache. It was a relapse—that’s what her father wasn’t saying. As a premed major, she’d gained some cursory knowledge about major illnesses, including MS. Her mom’s relapses might be intermittent now, but someday they’d come and stay. “Are you sure you don’t need me at home? Emily has prom and graduation coming up—”
“Those are months away, Roo. We’ll be fine.”
Warmth stole through Charlotte’s chest. Roo. She had a degree and held down a full-time job, yet she was still “Roo” as far as her dad was concerned. “Okay, but if anything changes, I can be home in twelve hours.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but I promise to call if we need you. We’ll see you for a few days at Christmas, though, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Love you, Roo.”
“Love you, too.”
Charlotte set her phone on the counter, tears pricking in her eyes. She was so far from home, with no way to help.
Evangeline bustled in from the back, stopping short. “Girl, you okay?”
“My mom’s back in the hospital.”
“Oh my God. Do you need to go?” She turned toward the kitchen. “Papa! Call Uber!”
Mr. Bzdyl came out, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Why? You leaving me?”
His Polish accent and funny pout was usually enough to make them laugh, but the pout dissolved as soon as he saw their faces. “Has something happened?”
“No, Mr. Bzdyl. Evangeline thought I might need to take a trip, but I’m fine.” She met her friend’s eyes. “Fine.”
After her dad went back to washing his favorite knives, Evangeline took Charlotte’s arm. “Seriously, though. If you need to go home, we can make it work.”
“My mom insisted I stay. She’s pretty tough and doesn’t like a fuss. I’ll go home on Christmas Eve for a few days.” She forced a smile. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be back on the twenty-sixth to deal with the rich and famous crowd. Promise.”
Evangeline frowned. “Okay, but you better let us know if you need anything, Miss Independent. The last time you held out on me, you were trying to pass midterms while fighting walking pneumonia. You can’t control the world. Sometimes you need to be taken care of.”
Charlotte squirmed internally at the maternal note in Evangeline’s voice. “Understood.”
“You also need to let off some steam.” Her friend clapped her hands, smiling. “I know! Let’s make spiked hot chocolate and watch Benedict Cumberbatch movies.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
Evangeline skipped off to stack chairs onto the tabletops so they could sweep, giving Charlotte a minute to slump against the counter and breathe. Just because she couldn’t control the situation at home didn’t mean she didn’t want to try. She was especially worried about her little sister. Her mother had a progressive illness, and while Dad was a take-charge kind of man, he didn’t know the first thing about periods, prom dresses, or the virtues of liquid eyeliner.
Rolling her shoulders against the weight settling on them, Charlotte grabbed the broom and went back to work.