Bistro Rouge was decked out for the holidays, just like every other establishment on Harbor Street. The entire town was transformed since he’d been here in the late summer. Garlands and lights wrapped every lamppost. Wreaths adorned every window. Snow covered the sidewalks in a serene blanket. It was like something out of a postcard. Or something off the cover of a Frost greeting card.
Greg curled his lip at the tree in the corner of the restaurant, the fake presents tucked underneath wrapped, he noticed, in a print Frost had discontinued four years ago.
“Something wrong?” Charlotte asked.
Greg reached for his glass of wine, indulged in a long sip, and slid his eyes over the rim to his dinner date. Dinner companion, he reminded himself. Fake date, nothing more.
“Christmas at the office. Christmas at home.” He gestured to the garland hanging from the mahogany bar at the corner of the room. “Christmas everywhere.”
“I think it looks pretty,” Charlotte replied, giving him a sweet smile.
Greg cleared his throat and picked up the menu, scanning it quickly before deciding on the heaviest meal on the list. He was ravenous—that was it. He never could think clearly on an empty stomach.
“Yes, well. When Christmas is your business more than nine months of the year, you look forward to escaping it every now and then.”
“Well, I’m looking especially forward to Christmas this year.” Charlotte set her menu to the side of the table and reached for her wineglass. “It’s Audrey’s first Christmas. I want it to be special.”
Ah yes, Audrey. Greg closed his menu with a heavy slap and slid his wineglass along the thick white tablecloth. “I apologize for my reaction this morning. I was…surprised.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I probably should have told you I had a daughter before I came to the house this morning,” she said, and then, after opening her mouth to say something, she closed it firmly.
“When you said you were single, I hadn’t realized you had been married.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, I’ve never been married.”
Greg frowned at his rudeness and then perked up as the waiter approached, happy for the brief distraction. When their orders were given, he said, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
Charlotte deftly sidestepped the apology. “Speaking of marriage, you still haven’t told me why you need a fiancée so badly.”
Greg supposed she had a right to know, even if he didn’t feel like talking about his current predicament. Or why he was in it. “My mother has it in her head that we’ll stand a better chance of landing an account with Burke’s department stores if we give the impression that we’re a family-focused company. Which we are,” he added. “And they will be in attendance at the party.”
“So she knows this isn’t real then?”
Greg hesitated. “Not exactly.”
Charlotte looked at him quizzically. “What would give her the impression you were really engaged?”
“Because I used to be engaged. And my mother doesn’t know that it ended.”
If this was startling news to her, she didn’t show it. “What happened?”
Greg took a long swig of his drink. “We didn’t want the same things.” Wasn’t that how it usually went?
Charlotte rearranged her silverware with the tips of her fingers, the fading, chipped paint on her nails clear for all to see. Greg smiled. Rebecca wouldn’t be caught dead showing her nails like that. She would have dealt with it at the first ding.
“My mother never met her,” Greg continued. “So it shouldn’t be very difficult to convince her you’re my fiancée.”
“Never met her?” Charlotte stared at him.
“My mother doesn’t have much time for things like family dinners.” His smile felt strained when he said, “I suppose I should be grateful. I have friends whose mothers never get off their backs about finding a nice girl to settle down with. My mother is more interested in asking for the latest sales projections than the status of my personal life.”
Charlotte frowned, and Greg reached for his glass, refusing to feed into that pity in her eyes, into the uneasy stir of his gut.
“Couldn’t you have just asked a date?”
“Could have.” But a date implied a promise of something with more potential, not a clear-cut arrangement. “I didn’t want to make things messy, you could say. I’ve had my share.”
Charlotte gave a small smile. One that told him she could relate.
She reached for her wineglass and then set it back down again. “Shouldn’t I know some things about you? Where you were born, that type of thing? I mean, I am marrying you, after all.” She grinned, and Greg leaned back in his chair, feeling more relaxed.
“I was born and raised in Boston. My birthday is April fifth. The Misty Point home belonged to my maternal grandparents and later my mother. We would summer here on and off, before my grandparents passed away. Then after they died, my mother bought a place on the West Coast, where she now resides, and so we spent the season there.” Greg drew a breath, thinking of anything else that might come up in conversation. “I went to Phillips Exeter for high school, graduated from Tufts after that, followed by Harvard for business school, and then immediately went to work for the family company. My mother’s name is Rita, and she’s the CEO of Frost Greeting Cards, scheduled to retire at the end of the year. I have no siblings. No pets, either,” he added as an afterthought. He took a sip of his drink. His whole life could be summed up in a matter of sentences. It didn’t sit well.
Charlotte nodded slowly. “And who will take over then? As CEO? Should I know this?”
“You should absolutely know this.” Greg grinned, feeling his spirits rise. “Because that person would be me.” And it would be. So help him, it most certainly would be.
That position was rightfully his. He had worked for it. Earned it. Fought for it. Even when he wasn’t old enough to work, he had supported the company from afar, sitting at home, night after lonely night, while his mother expanded the empire. And now it was coming down to something outside of his control. It was coming down to Charlotte. The lovely, quirky woman sitting across from him held his future in her hands.
He made a mental note to make an appointment for her to have a proper manicure before his mother stormed into town.
* * *
By the time their entrees had arrived, Charlotte had learned that Greg had broken his arm in the third grade, then again in the fifth, and that he had broken his nose skiing at the age of seventeen on a ski weekend in Vermont. She knew he played soccer in grade school and lacrosse in high school and that he hated mushrooms. She knew the names of his extended family members and his favorite teachers, and she knew that he always asked for pepperoni pizza and chocolate cake on his birthday, which infuriated his mother, who tried for years to insist on keeping reservations at a Zagat-rated French restaurant in Cambridge, and who always had to cancel them at the last minute.
“Enough about me,” Greg finally said. “What do I need to know about you?”
“Will it really matter?” she asked. “I can be anyone, so long as I’m there, right? No one will know me. They’ll take your word. You can make up any story you’d like about me.”
“I’m more interested in fact than fiction,” Greg said. “You have me at a disadvantage. At the very least, you could tell me your most embarrassing childhood memory.”
Charlotte laughed. “There are probably too many to remember. My sister was the perfect daughter. I was always trying to live up to her, always falling short.”
“Ah, so you have a sister.” He gave her a slow grin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted. Still, she didn’t want to reveal too much. It was better that way. Made her feel less vulnerable.
“So what else?” He seemed so earnest, so…nice, that she didn’t really know how to react. When she’d agreed to this arrangement, she hadn’t expected there would be dinners or outings or conversation. She hadn’t expected to let someone in.
Charlotte reached up to fiddle with her earring—an old nervous habit—and then realized she wasn’t wearing any. It had been so long since she had a reason to wear them, and there had been that terrible time when Audrey had yanked one of her chandelier earrings a bit too hard, that she had given up and eventually stopped to think about it altogether.
“My life’s not very exciting,” she said. “I plan parties by day and take care of my daughter by night. Riveting.” She plastered a brave smile on her face, but Greg’s hooded stare unnerved her. He wasn’t buying it any more than she was, and he didn’t seem like the type to let things drop when he wanted his way. Or an answer.
She twisted the napkin in her lap and looked around the room, her eyes immediately landing on the table near the window. It was empty, save a flickering votive candle and a small bouquet of flowers, but Charlotte could almost see herself sitting there, waiting for him to meet her, wondering how she would frame it, what he would say. I’m pregnant, Jake. Or perhaps, more optimistically, Jake, I have good news. When he’d finally arrived, twenty minutes late, looking bored and impatient, she’d lost her nerve. She’d barely waited for the waitress to bring him his drink before blurting it out, and the shell-shocked look on his face that never did transform into a smile confirmed her worst fears.
She pulled her gaze away. Her hands were shaking and Greg was watching her carefully.
“So you grew up in Misty Point?” He tore off a piece of baguette and offered her the rest, but she shook her head. She’d be lucky to squeeze into that black sheath she hoped to wear for the party as it was.
“A townie.” She gave a thin smile, knowing how that went over with men like Greg.
“And you met Audrey’s father in town?” He set his wrists on the table and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, but if we’re going to pull this off, I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”
Charlotte met his eye. “Audrey’s father and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. I imagine he’ll be back in town for the holidays, but I wouldn’t know for certain.” She pressed her lips together and refolded the napkin on her lap. Her explanation was an understatement, but it was better than the truth. If she told him any more, there would be questions, and she didn’t feel like defending her decision to let things be the way they were. She knew she could have gone to a lawyer and demanded child support, but lawyers cost money. She could have gone to Kate but…that was yet another subject matter better left alone.
“He mostly lives in Boston, but he has family here.” She paused, careful with her words. “I just moved back from Boston over the summer, actually.”
She decided to omit the part about how she’d chased Jake to Boston to begin with, in the hopes that he would change his mind, grow a heart, want to be a family. Instead he’d paid her ten grand to go away. Money that she’d accepted, because it was all he was offering her. Money that was all too quickly gone.
“Boston’s a good city,” Greg said amicably. “But I like the change of pace in Misty Point.”
Charlotte nodded eagerly, grateful for the shift in conversation. If she never went back to Boston, that was fine with her. Once she’d dreamed of getting out of her small hometown, of living a life more glamorous and exciting. But she’d tried that road. And it was hard and lonely.
Greg lifted the bottle of wine from its bucket and refilled their glasses. “Do you get back to Boston often?” When Charlotte gave what she hoped was a vague shrug, Greg frowned at her. “So Audrey’s father visits her here?”
“No,” she said simply, and the look on Greg’s face indicated that he was far from surprised.
His jaw was tight as he cut into his steak. “Anyone can father a child, but it takes a real man to be a dad.”
Charlotte frowned at the hurt in his voice. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I never knew my father.” Greg took a large bite of his food.
Charlotte shifted in her chair. “I’m sorry. I…hope I didn’t hit a nerve.”
Greg shrugged. “I guess you could say I have little tolerance when it comes to men skirting the responsibilities of fatherhood.”
“Of course.” Charlotte paused. “Have you ever thought of looking for him?” she asked, selfish curiosity causing her to sit straighter in her chair as she waited for his response. It had been something she’d wondered about for months, but especially now with Jake’s recent wedding announcement. When would Audrey begin to ask questions about her father? What would she tell her? How could she protect her daughter from the pain of finding out her father might love his other future children, but not her? It pained her, caused a physical ache in her chest every time she thought of it. How could anyone not love such a beautiful little girl like Audrey? So sweet and happy, with those big bright eyes and that smile!
She pressed her lips together. Look at her! Her one night out in months and here she was missing her daughter. She should be enjoying the chance to be her own person again, even if she had become a shadow of her former self.
Greg set his fork and knife on the edge of the plate. “I’ve never thought to look for my father, actually. I guess I just figured there was no reason. He chose not to be a part of my life, so what point would there be in chasing him down? I can’t force the man to want to know me. You can’t force a parent to genuinely care,” he added.
“No,” Charlotte said softly, knowing exactly what he meant. You couldn’t force anyone to care. “No, you can’t.”
“It’s his loss, I suppose,” he replied. “Whoever he is.” Greg shrugged and resumed his dinner, and after one last wrenching glance in the direction of that fateful reminder, Charlotte did, too.
* * *
The bell above the door of Tony’s Pizzeria chimed as Bree pushed inside, happy to be in the overly heated room. She brushed the snow from her shoulders and scooted to the right side of the reception vestibule, cursing to herself when she saw Sonny poke his head around the kitchen door.
“Ah, Miss Callahan! Here for your usual pickup!”
Bree winced. It wasn’t that usual. It was just something she did on the nights she watched Dancing with the Stars. And Bachelor in Paradise. And fine, The Real Housewives. “That’s right.”
Sonny studied the line of brown paper bags, neatly stacked and waiting, and pulled the receipt from one.
“Garden salad for one, extra chickpeas, no chicken.” Sonny started to laugh, as if this was a new joke, even though he said it every time she came in to get her dinner. Every. Single. Time.
“Ha-ha.” She smiled through gritted teeth. As she did. Every. Single. Time. “The life of a vegetarian.”
“I can’t tempt you with a delicious pepperoni calzone this evening?”
Bree wrinkled her nose. Last time it had been a sausage and peppers grinder. “Just the salad.”
Sonny gave her a rueful smile as he rang up her order, even though she knew what it cost, down to the penny. “Ah, Miss Callahan, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
A man to share dinner with, perhaps? The hope of a family of her own, dwindling by the day? The promise of something other than reality television at the end of a long day?
With her takeout bag in hand, Bree pushed through the door, vowing, as she did every time she had the same exchange with Sonny, that she would stop ordering from Tony’s. She just needed to get her kitchen back to functioning order and then she’d make her own damn salad.
Right. Tonight. She would get to work on that kitchen. She’d already given up on the bathroom tile…
She rounded the corner back toward flower the shop, where her car was parked in the alley, groaning when she considered the snow that had no doubt accumulated on its roof, when she saw a flash of green material just ahead. Charlotte’s scarf.
Brightening at the sight of her cousin, she raised an arm, grinning as she opened her mouth to call out, and then clamped it shut again when she saw the tall, masculine figure appear at her side.
She blinked, wondering for a moment if she should turn and walk back, feeling for some reason like she was stumbling upon something she wasn’t supposed to know. Something that Charlotte had clearly chosen to keep quiet about.
Charlotte was talking, her hands tucked into her pockets, no body contact being made. It could just be a friend…But she wouldn’t hide a friend. And since when did Charlotte hide anything?
They were coming closer now, and there was no avoiding it. “Charlotte?” Bree’s voice seemed to get lost in the icy wind, but Charlotte looked up, her expression turning from one of surprise to one that could only be labeled as guilt.
“Bree.” She flitted her eyes to the man beside her, who had stopped walking as they approached. “This is…This…”
The man thrust his palm out. Bree looked up, got a good long look at him. Definitely not a friend.
“I’m Greg.”
“I’m Bree,” she said.
“My cousin,” Charlotte offered.
My, she wasn’t being very forthcoming with words tonight, was she? Normally, Charlotte was chatty and impulsive, not one for measured or controlled conversation.
Interesting. Very interesting.
“Greg is a client,” Charlotte said quickly, lest there be any misunderstanding, no doubt.
Still, Bree wasn’t entirely convinced. A client. The client Charlotte had dressed up to meet, perhaps?
“I see the family resemblance,” Greg said, grinning. “It’s the eyes.”
Yes, the eyes. Charlotte and Bree had both inherited green eyes from their mothers. When they were younger, people had assumed they were sisters, and Bree had willingly gone along with that. Being stuck with a brother and a slew of male Callahan cousins was a burden on a deep level for a girl who loved making daisy chains and rearranging her dollhouse furniture. She loved nothing more than the holidays and outings she shared with the Daniels girls. Well, that and her time with Gran, of course.
“Where are you two off to at this hour?” Not exactly subtle, but Bree was feeling bold. She liked Greg. He was tall and handsome and had a smile that put her at ease. There wasn’t a suspicious glint in his eye. Unlike Charlotte…Her cousin was practically twitching.
“We just came from dinner,” Greg said affably.
We? “Anywhere good?” Bree directed her question at Greg. It was obvious that Charlotte wasn’t going to be handing over any information.
“Bistro Rouge,” Greg offered, and Bree met Charlotte’s eye. Even in the dim lighting, she could see the flush spread across her cheeks.
“Fancy,” Bree said, shivering against the icy wind that cut through her coat. She held up her takeout bag. “Well, I suppose I should get this home before it gets cold.” They didn’t need to know that it was a salad. With extra chickpeas, no chicken.
“Well, have a good night,” Charlotte said, already inching away.
“Nice meeting you,” Greg added. His smile was warm and easy and just like that, an evening with a glass of wine in front the season finale of Dancing with the Stars felt lonelier than ever. And she’d been looking so forward to it…