Kate was in her office when Charlotte walked in twenty minutes later, still reeling from the audacity of that man. The nerve! The arrogance! The…the gall! She dropped onto the pale-blue tufted satin visitor chair across from her sister’s desk and dropped her bag to the floor.
“How was the meeting?” Kate asked hopefully, closing her laptop to give Charlotte her full attention.
“Oh!” Charlotte crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her eyes blaring a hole in the floral pattern of the soft gray area rug beneath her feet as she recalled her meeting with Gregory Frost. What a cocky bastard. She’d gone there to work, to put forth a respectable effort, and all he’d wanted to do was play, have a little fun with her. Well, she was damn sick of being a passing amusement to the likes of him. Just because she was a townie didn’t make her a port of call.
“Charlotte?” Her sister’s tone had turned worried. “Is this about Mom and Dad? I know. I keep telling myself that this is just temporary, but, well, it’s weird to think of someone else living in our house. Still, I guess we’re adults now. And it is only temporary.”
Charlotte eyed her sister. She could speak for herself. Kate had her life together, a fiancé, a dog, a house of her own. But then, Charlotte had a child. A child who depended on her for so much more than she could have prepared herself for.
“It’s not about Mom and Dad,” Charlotte said. Well, maybe it was, a little bit. After all, if she could have moved back home for a while, she wouldn’t have to worry about stretching her next paycheck or getting her landlord off her back. She wouldn’t be thinking of Jake again, which she had, the entire drive here, and how much easier her life would be if he would just own up, take responsibility, share the duties of parenthood. She opened her mouth to explain what had happened, how she had let an event for Frost Greeting Cards slip away, but the worried look on Kate’s face stopped her.
Kate had given her this meeting so Charlotte could help, not to add to her sister’s stress level. What good would complaining do? Now, when it was supposed to be such a special time for her sister? A time she deserved, after Charlotte had ruined her first go-round.
“You seem distressed,” Kate observed, and Charlotte nodded gratefully, sitting straighter in her chair as she steeled herself for the moment. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kate pulled a sympathetic face. “I suppose you’ve seen the paper, then.”
Charlotte frowned. “The paper?”
Kate raised her eyebrows and pulled the Misty Point Gazette from the top of a stack of papers. Charlotte knew her sister made it a point to read the society column each Sunday, scouring for business opportunities in the forms of engagement parties or weddings, or even silver anniversary celebrations. Now she flipped through the pages, stopping halfway through. After a slight hesitation, she turned the paper and set it on the desk. “Well, you were bound to find out anyway.” She sighed.
Curious, Charlotte leaned forward, her eyes barely scanning the newsprint before her heart dropped into her stomach. She stared at the center image, too stunned to speak. There he was. The man who had ruined her life, or come damn close to it, smiling back at her—smirking, really—just as handsome as ever. Beside him was a blonde Charlotte had never seen before, her grin syrupy, boasting a dimple on each cheek, her arm possessively wrapped around Jake’s waist, calculated, no doubt, to show off the ridiculous rock on her ring finger.
Jake Lambert—Audrey’s father—was getting married.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew,” Kate hedged.
“No,” Charlotte murmured. But then, she would be the last to know, wouldn’t she? And it certainly wouldn’t be directly from the source. She hadn’t seen Jake since before Audrey was born, and any attempts to get through to him had resulted in voice mails left unreturned. He couldn’t even be bothered with his own child; he hardly felt he owed her any explanation when it came to the rest of his personal life.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said quietly.
“Are you all right?” Charlotte asked her sister, nervous to tread on such a touchy topic, but Kate just smiled sadly in return.
“I’ve moved on, and for the better. Though I have to admit I was surprised…” The space between Kate’s eyebrows pinched with concern. “Are you okay?”
“What? Of course!” Charlotte’s voice was alarmingly shrill. She balled a fist, wishing her heart wasn’t aching, that she didn’t feel like she might burst into tears. Quickly she pulled up every horrible, terrible memory of Jake (which wasn’t hard to do), settling miserably on the last time she’d seen him, when he wouldn’t even meet her eye as he wrote her a check for ten grand, as if by not looking at her made her—and the baby growing inside her—somehow less real. “The guy’s a snake, Kate. We both know that.”
She pulled back from the desk, forcing a bright smile that felt frozen on her face, hating the awkward tension laced with pity she saw pass over her sister’s expression. She had no right to show emotion about Jake in front of Kate, even if he was Audrey’s father—if you could even call him that.
“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you himself,” Kate said, and Charlotte had to bite her lip to keep from blurting out that she didn’t see Jake, didn’t speak to him, didn’t hear from him at all. That there was no arrangement, no child support. No acknowledgment.
“Well, we both know how forthcoming with the truth he is,” Charlotte replied. Even though Jake had lied to her, told her Kate had broken his heart, that it was over between them, finished, that had never been true. And if Charlotte had known that, she never would have accepted a second round of drinks, or a third, not listened to him tell her how much better she was making him feel, how pretty she was…
But then, there never would have been Audrey, she reminded herself firmly. It always came back to that one wonderful grounding thought.
“We’re both better off without him,” Kate said firmly, but even though Charlotte nodded, she couldn’t wholeheartedly agree.
Charlotte looked away, toward the wall of framed photos Kate had hung on the far edge of the addition that now housed her event planning company. A radiant bride was cutting her cake, and the groom looking on with an adoring grin, his hand placed carefully over hers.
To think she’d once dreamed of a day like that for herself. The white wedding, the honeymoon to an exotic destination…Instead she was hunkered down with a baby who didn’t sleep through the night, overwhelmed by the reality of practicality, not romantic frivolity. Forget fantasizing about a wedding dress. Now she was dreaming of the day she might fit into her wardrobe again, since God knew she couldn’t exactly swing a new one right now.
She eyed her sister carefully. At least one of them had come out of this mess in a good place. Kate had found a better man, that much was certain, and she’d settled into her cozy life with her new business and sweet little dog named Henry. Charlotte couldn’t have wished for a better outcome for her sister. But she secretly wished for an equally tidy outcome for herself.
Kate folded the paper and set it to the side, a subtle indication that the topic of Jake and his bright future was over. “So the meeting went well?”
Charlotte nodded and gave a grim smile. She felt weary, and her head had started to ache. Jake was getting married. He didn’t have a care in the world. No responsibilities. No mouths to feed. Her landlord had called twice more since she’d left the meeting with Greg—make that Gregory—Frost and she couldn’t dodge the calls much longer. November’s rent was now thirty days late, and December’s payment was technically due today. And she couldn’t cover any of it.
“Do you think Mr. Frost wants our services?” Kate continued.
Charlotte snorted. He wanted it, all right. In the form of some arm candy for the night. “Oh, I think so,” Charlotte said bitterly.
“That’s wonderful, Charlotte! I knew you could do it!”
Charlotte blinked. Rattled.
“Well, he hasn’t made a decision just yet,” Charlotte said quickly, thinking of the business card tucked safely inside her coat pocket. She had planned to rip it up and chuck it in the nearest bin, but now she wasn’t so sure that was the best idea.
The sisters lapsed into silence, and Charlotte picked at the remnants of her purple nail polish, grimacing at how unprofessional it must have looked. Before Audrey, she never would imagined leaving the house like this—she’d had a standing weekly appointment with Maria at the nail salon. But then, before Audrey, a lot of things were different. Before Audrey, she didn’t go to the grocery store with wet hair and sweatpants that were a little snug in the hips, either.
Before Audrey, she cared about her appearance. Now all she cared about was her little girl.
“What else is planned?” she ventured. “Any other promising leads?” Maybe she could trade the Frost party for something else. Usually her responsibilities around here consisted of coordinating with vendors or checking on the status of various orders, a little paperwork, some light scheduling, but a client all of her own was a big step up.
“Not really. Everything for Christmas and New Year’s is already well in the works, and it usually slows down after the holidays for a while. But things should pick up again in the spring and summer, of course.” Kate offered her a small smile. “At least you’re getting child support to keep you going. And it must be a hefty sum, considering what Jake’s worth.”
“Hmm.” Charlotte looked away, but her fingers had started to shake. Not a penny. Not for food. Not for clothes. He’d written her one check in all the months since she’d first told him she was pregnant. Hush money after she’d gone to his office and all but demanded he step up. And because it was all that he’d ever offered and probably ever would, she’d taken it.
“Although, why he lets you live in that apartment—”
“Oh, it’s just temporary!” Charlotte said. How temporary, she didn’t want to know. While clean, it was small, with only one bedroom, and the few furnishings that hadn’t come with the property had come from their parents’ basement. The first time Kate had come over, Charlotte had explained she was saving for a house, and having trouble finding exactly what she wanted, and of course Kate knew that in a resort town like Misty Point rents were naturally inflated. Besides, it was cozy, she’d pointed out, and already partially furnished. It was a stepping stone, she’d said with false cheer, but Kate hadn’t looked convinced—Charlotte had always liked the finer things in life, and they both knew it: the fashionable clothes, the expensive beauty treatments, the dashing yet completely unavailable men who drove flashy cars and knew how to show a girl a really good time and make her feel special for about five minutes before they were on to the next. A place like hers was a reality check. A harsh reminder of the consequences of her choices. Since then Charlotte exclusively met Kate at her perfectly pretty little house or somewhere in town. And Kate always brought a gift for her niece.
Her parents understood. Said she was being responsible with her money, rather than wasteful, the way she might have been just a short year or two ago. But they, too, were quick to shower Audrey with everything they could. Not a week went by that a bag of items her mother “simply couldn’t resist” was waiting for her at their house when she stopped by for dinner.
“Well, hopefully you’ll hear back from Mr. Frost soon! Since you’d be doing the bulk of the work, it seems only fitting to give you the full commission.”
“Full commission?” Charlotte sat up a little straighter, thinking of how hastily she’d exited the meeting.
Kate nodded. “It’s only fair. That would be a nice little Christmas bonus!” Kate smiled and opened her laptop as Charlotte gingerly lifted a bridal magazine. She flicked through the pages without absorbing any of the images.
Christmas bonus. Kate didn’t have a clue. Not about the state of Charlotte’s affairs, not about the commission she had walked away from. Not even about the size of the Frost account.
Full commission.
She slid her hand into her pocket until her fingers found the crisp cardstock. Then she pulled her hand free and tapped her pocket flat, just in case.
* * *
Even though it was half past two, Bree had yet to take a lunch break. One of the nice things about running your own business was the flexibility of turning the sign whenever you wanted to. The downside, however, was never having the time to do that.
Back when Gran was still alive, Bree would help out in the shop every Sunday. It had been a highlight of her week, getting alone time with her grandmother, working side by side in a room filled with so many pretty things, away from her brother, who had a habit of leaving dirty socks on the floor of his room, or belching when he walked past her in the hallway, just to get a rise out of her. He loved nothing more than sinking his teeth into a juicy burger, calling it a delicious “cow” and making her weep for the innocent animal’s life that was suddenly and selfishly cut short.
Men. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She’d been surrounded by them for all of her life. So how was it that she was so clueless about them as a whole?
She’d been the favorite grandchild. She’d always known it. And wasn’t that her destiny, perhaps? She was the first female Callahan to grace this earth in five generations. Her mother had resigned herself to having only boys, as all the women who married Callahan men did, including poor Gran, who longed for a little girl she could dress up and take shopping with her. Bree’s mother had every intention of calling her second son Brian, and when Bree was born and it was determined that she was most definitely not a boy, her mother had been too shocked to even think about a proper girl’s name, never having dared to tempt fate by entertaining the possibility.
Bree was the family princess. And as much as her mother adored her, no one loved her more than Gran. It was Gran who tucked saltwater taffies into her apron pocket and discreetly slipped them into Bree’s hands. It was Gran who taught her the way of the world, told her stories about her days dating Bree’s grandfather, about the many men who asked her out after his early death. And it was Gran who Bree turned to when she was a teenager and lovesick, and it was Gran who would talk her down from the clouds and tell her which boy was worth her time and which one wasn’t.
Gran would have said that Simon was not worth her time. She would have said this the very first time that a weekend went by that Simon didn’t make plans to go to dinner or a movie or even out for coffee. And even after Bree broke down and called (something she never could have admitted to Gran), and Simon all too happily answered and was forthcoming with details of his time at Nolan’s Pub with the guys, Gran still would have given Bree that long, knowing look. Maybe even a little tsk.
It was too bad that Gran had passed away before Simon had come along, Bree thought with a sigh. She could have spared her a lot of heartache.
She rang up the last order of the postlunch afternoon rush and carefully wrapped the embellished pine wreath in brown paper. It smelled sweet and woodsy, but oh, if her nose didn’t twitch from all the fragrances in the room.
As soon as the customer disappeared out onto the snow-covered sidewalk, Bree counted to five and then power-walked to the glass-paned front door, her pulse quickening in satisfaction as she turned the sign to CLOSED.
She spun around, her mind spinning with possibilities. She’d had a busy morning. She could afford to take a full hour. Besides, she wouldn’t see another rush until four o’clock, when school let out and mothers took their youngsters into town for Christmas shopping.
She took her coat from the back room and shrugged into it. A full hour. She could go to Murphy’s, have a sandwich and coffee and read a book. Except she didn’t really like the one she was reading these days. She could go to the hardware store, pick up some paint swatches for the kitchen. She still hadn’t found the exact shade of taupe she had in mind. Or she could walk by Simon’s office, just in case he happened to be heading out on his way to meet a client, as he sometimes did.
Her heart quickened at the thought of a chance encounter.
But no, if and when she ran into Simon again, she wanted to be looking her best. And today, her fingers smelled like a forest, her hair probably did the same, and her skin was dry from this cold streak. And she’d forgotten her lip gloss at home. And she wasn’t even going to think about the completely practical wool turtleneck sweater she was wearing, which hardly screamed sex appeal.
No, best to save that run-in for a better day.
She locked the front door behind her and hurried down Harbor Street toward Murphy’s, the best lunch spot in town, dodging shoppers and puddles of icy water, even though she was sporting her red knee-high rubber boots. She grabbed a spot at the counter that gave her a view of the window and placed an order for clam chowder. An indulgence, perhaps, but what did it matter these days. No one had seen her bare thighs since August.
The carols were playing, but she decided not to let them remind her of her lonely little Christmas. Instead, she focused on the cheerful decorations—Patrick Murphy, the owner, had a thing for toy trains, and Christmas was his chance to go all out—and the wintry view out the window. There was a light dusting of snow on the branches and store awnings, and shoppers were huddled in scarves, clutching red paper shopping bags.
Misty Point might be known as a seaside summer destination, but Bree much preferred it in the off season, especially winter, when mostly just the residents were in town, free to enjoy the snow-flocked trees and quaint town square, and the candles that seemed to light every window, starting at four on the dot.
The waitress slid her clam chowder over the counter, along with a few packets of crackers. Bree took her first bite, savoring it. Another reason she loved this town. Fresh seafood.
Really, there might be a bigger pool of men in nearby Providence or certainly Boston, but this was where she’d set her roots. This was where she wanted to stay.
And besides, could she really leave behind Gran’s shop, or her house, now when it was finally starting to feel like her own?
Grinning, Bree thought of how proud her grandmother would be that her only granddaughter was holding it all together so well. That everything she had worked so hard for could carry on. It had been an adjustment, but now Bree had purpose. An entire life of her own.
And that wasn’t such a bad thing, was it?
She took another bite of her chowder and mentally worked out her Christmas shopping list as she ate. A scarf for her mother. A tie (she hated herself for her lack of originality sometimes) for her father. God knows what she’d get Matt. A cloth doll for Audrey—she loved spoiling that child.
Something other than a tie this year for Dad, she thought. She could do better. And thanks to the recent uptick in sales from the store, she had the funds, too.
Her stomach full and spirits slightly lifted, she paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, and buttoned up her coat. She was just reaching for the door handle when she saw him.
Simon. She had somehow managed to avoid never crossing his path or running into him in the three months since they’d broken up. And now, here he was. With his nut-brown hair and wire-framed glasses, loping down Harbor Street with that long, lanky stride. His coat wasn’t buttoned, but then, it never was. Something about this bothered her. Caused a little pang in her chest. Made her realize that in so many ways he was still exactly the same person. The only difference was that his life was going on without her in it.
She wondered where he was going. It was a strange hour to be walking through town. Maybe he was seeking her out. Heading toward the flower shop. But no. She watched as he passed it, feeling that bitter sting of regret that she knew had no place there anymore.
She could follow him. Keep a safe distance. But then she risked the chance of him suddenly turning around, noticing her. And then what? She was wearing a chunky sweater that added a solid ten pounds to the ten she’d already put on since they parted ways. And she’d just eaten clam chowder. So instead of smelling like a forest, she risked smelling like a fish tank.
No. She’d just stand here and wonder and watch, until he was once again out of sight.
He ducked into Mulligan’s Pub at the corner of Oak Street. Probably meeting a client for a late lunch, then. She pressed a hand to her stomach, realizing how easily he could have chosen Murphy’s instead.
Right. It was time to get back to the shop. Sell some damn poinsettias. And go home to her lonely, empty, dark house. But a house that was still hers. And couldn’t be taken away.
Maybe she’d knock out a wall tonight. She grinned at the thought.