Charlotte stared at the picture they’d taken yesterday at the Christmas parade. Greg had suggested she get it printed. They could frame it, stick it on the mantel. Make it look like they were a real couple.
The only thing was, in this photo, they did look like a real couple. They didn’t look like two actors playing a part, or two strangers posing for the lens. They looked…happy, she supposed. They looked…right.
“Here you go, a vanilla latte with extra foam.”
Charlotte hurried to turn off her phone as her sister approached the table. They were sitting at a window table of Jojo’s Café, after just returning from a spectacularly disastrous meeting with the bridezilla of the bridesmaid’s back tattoo.
“Should we wait for Bree?” Charlotte asked as she emptied two packets of sweetener into her drink.
“She said to start without her.” Kate looked over Charlotte’s shoulder and grinned. “Never mind. There she is.”
Charlotte did a double take as her cousin approached. Her usually rosy skin was pale and sallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears.
“Is everything all right?” she asked worriedly. She exchanged a glance with Kate, who seemed to share her concern.
Bree waved a hand through the air. “Just tired is all. Busy time of year and all that. Let me get a drink, and I’ll be right back.”
Charlotte waited until Bree was out of earshot before saying, “Something is up.”
Kate nodded once. “Absolutely. And I have a bad feeling it has something to do with Simon.”
“Did she mention to you that she ran into him the other day?”
Kate frowned. “No. But I saw him at the tree lighting ceremony with another girl last night. I just assumed that Bree saw and this is what upset her.”
“Hmm.” Charlotte blew on her coffee. “Did they look like more than friends?”
“More than friends?” Bree interrupted as she slid into her seat. She lifted an eyebrow at Charlotte, her mouth curving mischievously. “Are we talking about you and Greg?”
Kate grinned. “I met the mystery man yesterday. He was quite handsome.”
Yeah. He was handsome. And kind. And funny. Every time she thought of the way he bought those photos of Audrey and Santa, her heart warmed. She’d decided to use the photos to make gifts for her family. It wasn’t much, she knew, but it meant something.
“He’s just a friend,” Charlotte stressed. Friend. Client. She hoped that Bree wouldn’t correct her. Quickly, she said, “I didn’t see you yesterday, Bree. Where were you standing?”
“I came home later,” Bree said. “Just for the tree lighting.”
“Did you go alone? You should have called me,” Kate said.
Bree unwrapped her scarf. She looked positively miserable. “It’s fine. I didn’t stay long. I don’t feel very well, actually.”
Charlotte scooted her chair away. The last thing she needed was to get sick right before the Frost party. “Hopefully the tea helps,” she said.
Bree just nodded. “A bit.”
Hmm. It seemed to Charlotte that Bree wasn’t so much as physically sick as she was heartsick. She knew all the signs by now. Lack of sleep. Lack of appetite. Crestfallen expression. Broken spirit.
She smiled to herself. Somewhere along the way she’d stopped feeling that way. Even now, when she should be panicking, she was feeling perky and excited about life again. Even the knowledge of Jake getting married didn’t bother her so much anymore.
Bree dragged out a long sigh and frowned into her mug.
Okay, she had it bad. Charlotte could only assume that her sister was right. It was clear that Bree wasn’t over Simon, and seeing him with another girl would be devastating. Why couldn’t Bree just find a nice, solid, responsible guy? Someone who treated her like she deserved to be treated. Like how Greg treated her.
Charlotte stopped herself right there. Greg might be nice now, but she knew all too well how these things ended up. Besides, how did she know he wasn’t just being sweet to keep her on his good side? God knew he needed her right now.
About as much as she needed him, she thought, frowning.
“Well, right now I need to recover from my meeting with Crazy Bride.” Kate took a sip of her drink. There was Crazy Bride and Neurotic Bride and Mean Mother-in-Law and Green Bridesmaid. Oh, there were nice clients, too. Sweet, friendly women who they were sad to see go off onto their happily-ever-afters. But weddings brought out big emotions, and Kate and now Charlotte often had a front row seat to every meltdown along the way.
“She actually asked her maid of honor to have her tattoo removed before the wedding. She offered to pay and everything.”
At this, Bree managed a laugh. “I’m sorry, but that’s just so…”
“Selfish?” Charlotte shook her head.
“I’m glad we’re having this conversation,” Kate said. “If either of you dare to accuse me of being unreasonable over an ugly bridesmaid dress, I will remind you that I am not asking you to undergo a medical procedure for my personal happiness.”
Bridesmaid dress? So she was on the list then? Charlotte’s chest began to pound and she felt her cheeks go hot. So there it was then. A bridesmaid. Not a maid of honor. Just a bridesmaid. One of the crowd.
Why had she ever dared to hope for anything more given the circumstances?
“Hey, I liked those bridesmaid dresses,” Bree said.
Charlotte blinked. “You’ve already picked them out then?” Her voice was tight, and she hated the note of disappointment that crept in.
“She showed them to me the other day,” Bree said, nodding. “You should see what she has in mind for Audrey, too.”
Of course. Audrey. The flower girl. She knew she had needed to work that day, stay back at the office and help of course, but it stung that so much had been discussed in her absence. When Kate was planning her first wedding, she’d included Charlotte in all her plans. But then, that was before…
Tears stung the back of her eyes and she knew it was time to leave. She had no one to be upset with but herself, but that didn’t make the pain any less. She glanced at her watch. It was half past four, and there was little reason to drive back to the office now. She’d pick up Audrey a few minutes early, even if she did have to pay the sitter for the full day.
She gave a shaky smile. “Better get home.” Home. If they had any idea what home was to her these days…Well, she’d be in very big trouble. Again.
* * *
Greg was in his home office, catching up on emails, when he heard the crash.
He jumped from his chair and hurried out of the room, his mind beginning to run through every worst-case scenario that might have happened, all of them involving Audrey.
This house wasn’t baby-proofed. Wasn’t protected from small, curious hands. Christ, one of his grandmother’s antique Chinese vases alone could probably do lethal damage.
Charlotte looked up at him with wide eyes as he darted into the living room, the Christmas tree at her feet.
“Oh my God, is—” The child. He couldn’t even think about it.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to get this ornament on a high branch and my sleeve caught something, and, well…” She cringed.
“So no one was hurt?” he clarified. “You’re not hurt.”
She shook her head, but a pleased smile seemed to pull at her mouth. “I’m afraid the only thing that suffered the fall were a few of the ornaments. She bent down and picked up the pieces of Star in the Sky, 2005’s ornament of the year. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m just happy no one was hurt. When I heard the crash, I thought maybe something had happened to Audrey.” He ground his teeth, hating just how easy that scenario could play out. Tomorrow he’d ask Marlene to look for anything that might be a danger and place it elsewhere.
“Audrey has been asleep for an hour,” Charlotte said. “I thought I’d use the time to make more headway on the party decorations, but given the noise…I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s awake up there, bawling her head off. “
“Why don’t you go check on her while I get a broom?” Greg suggested. Shards of porcelain were far too close to Charlotte’s toes for his comfort. He reached out a hand to help guide her over the rubble, surprised at how small and light it felt in his own.
“Thanks,” she said, her mouth quirking.
Before he could reply, she’d released his hold on her and dashed out of the room. He watched her go, trailing the sound of her feet on the steps, and then went to fetch a broom from the closet in the kitchen.
By the time Charlotte returned fifteen minutes later, he’d cleared up every last piece of broken ornament and righted the tree.
“Oh no.” He could hear the dread in her voice before she’d even come into the room. “It’s worse than I thought!”
Greg slid his gaze back to the tree, taking in the picture with amusement. At least half the ornaments had suffered from the fall, if not more.
“I think I have some other ornaments somewhere,” he offered, recalling the boxes his grandparents had kept in the attic. “Some might even be original Frost ornaments.”
Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “Really? Wow, that would be perfect. It would really underscore the tradition of the family company, which is exactly what you wanted, right?”
Greg didn't like the sudden shift in topics. It was easy to get caught up in the fantasy, to forget that at the end of the day, this was all about the company. The family company.
So why then, only now, did he suddenly feel like he was a part of a family for the first time?
He left the room, went to the attic, and found a few boxes he recalled seeing up there. The room was full and dusty, and he made a promise to himself to revisit it again after the party, see what he might uncover under all the tarps and blankets that covered his grandparents’ belongings.
When he returned to the living room, Charlotte was standing at the base of the tree, rubbing her hands together.
“It’s chilly in here.”
“This house always gets drafty,” he agreed. “It’s one of the reasons my mother hates coming here.”
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow. “Then why have the party here?”
“For show,” Greg told her. The entire party hinged on reputation, after all. “Why else?”
“Maybe there’s more to it,” Charlotte volunteered.
Greg thought about the photos in the album, the memory of his mother sipping lemonade, laughing as he came up the lawn, his pant legs wet and sandy. “Maybe.” He paused, not wanting to think about his mother any more tonight. Already thoughts of the Burke’s campaign were swimming to the surface of his mind, settling in heavy, like a weight he couldn’t shrug. He shouldn’t have brought up his mother. “I can light a fire if you’d like.”
She nodded and walked over to the tree as he crossed the room and set about tenting the logs. At his place in Boston he had a gas fireplace. A mere flick of the switch created an instant glow, but this old house had been modernized in pieces, and he liked that some of its charm remained untouched.
“There,” he said after a few minutes. He rolled back on his heels and stood, admiring his handiwork.
Charlotte stood beside him, a tired smile on her face as she stared into the hearth. He watched as the curling flames reflected in her eyes. She looked so pretty. Soft and sweet. He had a sudden urge to stand and kiss her.
Instead he cleared his throat and looked sharply at the tree behind her. “You’ve done a nice job with this,” he said.
“All these Frost ornaments are so beautiful,” she said, reaching into the box and holding up a small porcelain snowman he vaguely remembered from his childhood.
She went on to talk about another, but Greg’s mind was already wandering, his attention on anything but the tree. His gaze followed the length of her hair, which hung loosely over her shoulders, cascading down her back. Her voice was soothing, a sound that he’d come to enjoy filling these rooms almost as much as the sound of that crackling baby monitor that was propped on an end table.
He suddenly realized she was staring at him expectantly.
“What was that?” he asked, realizing she’d said something to him.
“I was just asking if you had a favorite ornament,” she said.
Greg couldn’t care less about these ornaments, at least not the newer ones. Oh, he knew some people collected them, slapped down twenty bucks or more for each perfectly packaged parcel. It had been his grandfather who started the idea of creating a limited keepsake ornament each year, and Rita had kept up with the tradition. It was the best way to home in on the collectors, while the rest of the market just bought on whim or for gifts. The annual keepsake ornament was produced in limited quantities and usually sold out within a weekend before hitting the online auction boards for sometimes fifty times the price. Without fail, some poor fools who thought a trinket that cost fifty cents to produce was worth a few hundred bucks snatched them up. “It makes their Christmas feel complete,” Rita had told him briskly when he mentioned it. Greg had suspected that once or twice Rita herself had listed a keepsake ornament at online auction under an alias, just to see how much it would go for. It was all about the bottom line with her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, exhaling deeply as he scanned his eyes over the heavily decorated tree. Charlotte had added ribbon and lights and tiny little bells that made the entire thing jingle if touched. But he had to admit it was beautiful, and the guests for the party would be impressed.
“I just love those little baby’s first Christmas ornaments,” Charlotte went on.
It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned it. Greg considered this and shrugged, slightly perplexed that something like a baby’s first Christmas ornament actually meant something to people. But it did. To millions of people each year. Not that he would know. Their tree growing up only had the keepsake ornaments. The expensive stuff. Rita wouldn’t think of adding any personal touches to a tree that was in her home. It wouldn’t fit the Frost image.
“This one is interesting,” he said, reaching out to touch a crystal icicle that reflected the light, but at the same moment, her hands shot up, touching his. He felt the spark, the intensity of her touch, however soft it might be. She gave an embarrassed laugh, but he didn’t find any of it funny. He found it…surprising, he supposed. Her lips were pulled into a pretty smile and the lights were twinkling behind her and he inched toward her, leaned in. Her lashes fluttered for one brief, startled second, and her lips parted and he could have kissed her. Then and there.
Instead he pulled back, cleared his throat. She was a single mother. And he was…well, a Frost. And all he should be thinking about right now was this party that could transition him to his birthright as head of the company. He reached over to adjust an ornament that didn’t even need adjusting, but the ringing of his phone in his pocket interrupted his task. It was probably something to do with work. Some last-minute crisis with the Burke’s pitch. Some latest hiccup with the party.
He gave Charlotte an apologetic smile and slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve the device, his brow immediately furrowing when he looked down at the screen.
It was Rebecca.