Her face turned bright red, and she let out a choked laugh. “I guess I didn’t need to mention that.”
“You do know I’ve used an oven before?”
She crossed her arms, and he tried not to notice the way a hint of cleavage appeared above the top button of her red and green plaid shirt. This was getting more and more inconvenient. “Of course. It’s just a habit.”
“Sure. Or you could just stay and make sure I’m not that incompetent. I have wine. I mean, if you want to stay,” he said, wondering at what point in his life he’d become such a wuss and backtracked on asking a woman to have a glass of wine. It wasn’t his fault. It was the whole single-dad thing and the fact that Charlotte didn’t really give off any vibes … he usually knew when a woman was into him. Sometimes he thought Charlotte was, but then she closed up and it was strictly platonic and he wondered if he’d imagined all of it.
“Oh … um.” Her gaze darted around the room and he had no idea what she was looking for. “Uh, yeah, why don’t I clean up first, then I’ll leave?”
“What? No. I’m not asking you to stay so you can clean up my kitchen.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly and he regretted his harsh tone. He didn’t want to screw this up. Whatever it was. “Oh. Right. No, I just … I’m the one who thought we should bake. It’s not fair that you have to clean up after a long day at work.”
“We can actually have a conversation without a twelve-year-old listening in on us,” he said with a smile.
Sam appeared in the doorway. “What am I not allowed to listen in on?”
Wyatt shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened them just in time for Sam to reach up and give him a kiss on the cheek. As if that wasn’t shocking enough, she gave Charlotte a hug and then a wave. “Scott’s here. See you later! Bye, Char! I’ll text you tonight, Dad.”
“Sounds good,” he said. He gave himself a mental shake. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Charlotte before leaving the room and following Sam to the door. He opened the door and waved to his friend as they pulled out of the driveway.
When he walked back into the kitchen, Charlotte was already wiping down the counters. “So what if I upped my invitation and we order pizza and have a glass of wine?”
She stopped wiping the counters and looked up at him, wincing. “I … I don’t know. I should probably get back. My sister is in town and …”
She was letting him down. Easy. Awkwardly. “Sure, no, that’s fine. I get it.”
She bit her lower lip. “I just … I’m only in Silver Springs for a little while …”
“It’s just pizza and wine,” he said, softly.
She swallowed audibly. “Pizza and wine.”
He tilted his head toward the oven. “And cookies.”
Her gorgeous mouth curved into a smile that slammed him in the gut. “Right. Sure.”
The tension left his shoulders, and anticipation coursed through him. He wanted this time with her. “Okay, I’m going to go change and order the pizza. I’ll be right back. Don’t clean up any more of this, I’ll help when I come back. Oh, what do you like on your pizza?”
“Vegetarian.”
Dear God, no. “Sure. Sounds great,” he said politely and turned to leave.
She burst out laughing and he turned around. “I’m just joking. I don’t really care. You could even get a meat lover’s if you want. I’m not picky when it comes to pizza.”
Her eyes were sparkling and he resisted the overwhelming urge to walk over there and capture a bit of that laugh, a taste of that mouth, of the woman that was making him want to rethink his opinion on doing life alone. He cleared his throat. “Thank God. I was thinking the whole vegetarian thing might end this relationship before it starts.”
He left the room kicking himself for tossing the word relationship out there. They weren’t in a relationship.
“Wait. Wyatt?” she called out as he walked out of the room.
“Yes?” he said, the tension in the room palpable, whatever it was glittering in her gorgeous blue eyes making him so glad he hadn’t ignored his instincts about her.
She looked down at the counter for a moment before meeting his gaze, and he caught a flash of fear or trepidation across those deep, sapphire-colored eyes. “I’m just … Ugh … I don’t know what to say. I don’t do … relationships. I’m probably not the person you think I am, and I don’t want anything to come between this friendship I have going on with Sam. I feel like she really needs a friend, and if things got weird between us, I’d hate to disappoint her,” she said, her words gutting him. How could a woman who had been a stranger to his daughter a week ago now care enough about Sam to put her needs first? The worst part was, that made him want her even more.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe we’re just two old friends catching up and nothing more. There’s nothing wrong with just being friends. The last thing I want is Sam getting hurt. I’ve been very careful about not introducing her to any women of my acquaintance. You sort of entered the picture thanks to Aunt Mary, but you’re Sam’s friend first. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. So what’s a glass of wine between two friends?”
She let out an audible sigh of relief, and he pushed aside his disappointment. Maybe it was for the best. Like him, Charlotte also hadn’t had a great childhood. And if they got more involved it would mean sharing their pasts. He had never forgiven his father, he’d never forgotten. There was no way she would understand that. He had cut his father off, had shut the door in his face. That wasn’t something he’d ever be able to share with Charlotte. Because as much as she understood family problems, he knew she still spoke to her mother. Charlotte would never have cut her family off the way he had. Her grandmother would never understand either.
Ruby Harris never shut the door on anyone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DECEMBER 24, 1974
SILVER SPRINGS
Ruby pressed Wendy’s little thumb into the dough of a thumbprint cookie and was rewarded with her five-year-old’s little peal of laughter. Mrs. Pemberton smiled weakly, but her eyes were still sparkling as she sat at the head of the table and watched them as they baked three dozen of her traditional Christmas cookies.
Ruby frowned as the elderly woman coughed, the sound deep and filled with congestion. “Did you finish the tea with honey and lemon?” Ruby asked, leaving Wendy to continue pressing her thumb into the neat rows of cookies, as Ruby rubbed Mrs. Pemberton’s back and made sure her shawl was snug.
“Yes, dear, it was wonderful. I’m sure this annual bout of bronchitis is turning the corner and I will be well enough to have Christmas dinner in the dining room,” she said, her voice wobbly and weak.
Ruby made a mental note to call Doctor Hiller in the morning and have him check in again. She didn’t like the sound of that cough, and it didn’t look like the bronchitis was close to clearing at all. Ruby had also noticed that the elderly woman’s usually robust appetite hadn’t returned either, and she was worried about her. The last five years together had made her like a mother figure, and Ruby had come to rely on their friendship. She had become family to Ruby and Wendy.
The doorbell rang and Ruby patted Mrs. Pemberton’s hand gently. “I’ll go answer that. Wendy, you be good,” she said, pausing to give her daughter a kiss on the head before leaving the room. She walked quickly to the front door, almost positive that it might be the doctor stopping in after work.
Her stomach dropped and heat burned through her body when she saw her parents standing on the other side of the door. She drank in the sight of them, some kind of childlike happiness at seeing them overcoming her at first, until it was quickly replaced by the bitterness of adulthood, the image in her mind the one from Christmas Eve five years ago.
“Ruby, you’re looking well,” her father said. He still stood as proudly as he had her entire life, and she was somewhat disappointed to see that he hadn’t lost that pride, that he still looked healthy, that he could still hold h
is head so high. His deep voice wasn’t tinged with any regret or humility. Instead, it was stiff and formal.
Straightening her shoulders, she clutched the cold doorknob tightly, refusing to crumple in front of them like a rag doll, like she had done that awful night. She had been a child then. No longer. She now understood the way the world worked, how conditional love could be, how appearances were more important than blood. She knew how to stand on her own two feet.
“Hello.”
“Ruby, we came to visit with you … and your child,” her mother said, the tone in her voice making it sound as though they were doing Ruby a favor.
Ruby’s heart raced uncomfortably inside her chest, too fast, too hard, too much. “How did you find me?”
“That doesn’t matter. But we don’t like how we left things,” her father said.
Ruby’s back stiffened at his dismissal of her question. After all these years and after the way they had treated her, this wasn’t enough. She wasn’t the same girl who had wept on their doorstep, alone and afraid. Where was the apology she had imagined late at night while lying in bed? It didn’t sound like there was one coming at all.
“How we left things? You threw me out. In the winter. On Christmas. Pregnant. Without a dime to my name. I could have died. Your grandchild could have died. You’re here, six years later. It took you six years to decide that you were ready to see me and what, you were just going to waltz in here and become a grandparent to a child you never met?”
Her father’s jaw clenched. “That is not the way to speak to your parents, Ruby.”
“I’m a parent too now. And I know that I would never leave my daughter to rot away at Christmas because she disappointed me. I would die for her. As a parent, I can now see how cruel you’ve been to me. Did you even miss me? Did you worry about me? Is there any part of you that regrets kicking me out like that?”
“Ruby, it was very hard for us to deal with all the rumors in our circle. We lost so many friends,” her mother said, wringing her hands.
“Friends? You lost a daughter.”
“Your fault. I’m not going to stand here and be blamed for your foolishness,” her father said.
Ruby took a step forward, refusing to be intimidated. “I couldn’t have been the first foolish teenager, surely. And what about Richard? He was to blame as well. Did his family hang their heads in shame or did they glorify him after his death?”
“This is not the way we wanted this conversation to go, Ruby. I would have hoped you matured,” her mother said, her lips pinched.
Ruby’s heart pounded painfully. “I have matured. But that small part of me who will always be your daughter had hoped you were here to tell me you loved me and that you were sorry for kicking me out, for letting so many years go by. I’ve built a life for myself now.”
“As a maid? That’s not a life, certainly nothing for you to boast about. Nor is being an unwed mother. If anything, you should be thanking us for wanting anything to do with you,” her father said.
She recoiled. “I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I did it on my own and while pregnant. Everyone turned on me. Richard’s family. You. I would think after everything you’ve done that you would at least have been contrite.”
“Mama, who’s at the door?”
Ruby inhaled sharply at the sound of Wendy’s bubbly voice and quick little footsteps. She stared at her parents, watching as their eyes widened as Wendy appeared in the vestibule, the picture of health, her rosy cheeks matching her red velvet dress, her blue eyes large as she stared up at them. Ruby prayed for the strength to continue, to end this before they confused Wendy.
“These are just some people asking for directions. You can go back inside, sweetheart.”
Her mother’s face crumpled and her father’s turned stony. Ruby glanced away, unwilling to let them break her resolve. Wendy scampered away, and Ruby took a step back from the doorway.
“This is my life now. I have changed. I hoped this could be more, that you could be more. I groveled at your feet. I apologized. I lived with shame for so long. Why did you even come here?”
For a moment, Ruby waited, foolishly waited for more from them. She wanted one of them to say they were sorry, that they hadn’t slept in years wondering if she was alive, hating what they had done. She wanted them to beg for her and Wendy to be in their lives. But instead, this wall of pride stood between them, neither of them willing to climb over it. She’d swallowed her pride one too many times. She would never do it again. They had shut her out when she needed them the most.
“If you could just understand how hard this has been on us. Your foolish decisions have made us the object of so many rumors. We have lost friends.”
Ruby choked on her anger. “You lost more than friends. You lost a daughter. A granddaughter. You haven’t changed at all. I groveled. I apologized, and you turned me away. I don’t know why you came here at all.”
Her father straightened his shoulders, his jaw firm. “We wanted a relationship with our grandchild.”
Ruby clutched the doorframe as hurt pummeled through her body. “But not me.”
Her father lifted his chin. “You were always too proud, Ruby.”
“Goodbye,” she said, and slowly shut the door, reminding her of the door shut on her six years ago. But her parents weren’t desperate. They had each other. They had a roof over their heads. She had been desperate. But no longer. She fought for control. She grasped onto it. She wanted to control the tears, the hurt, the disappointment. In her dreams it had never gone like this. In her dreams they had reconciled. They had been the people she’d always wanted them to be.
She shut her eyes and leaned her forehead on the cool door. She couldn’t go back in the kitchen yet. After a few seconds she heard their footsteps slowly retreating on the porch and then from the corner of her eye, the headlights from the car. It was over. They were gone.
She had survived again. They had come here to discard her once again and use little Wendy to make themselves feel better. Until Wendy would make a mistake or talk back to them, and then they’d discard her as well, because they didn’t have unconditional love. They didn’t know the meaning of love.
She had vowed to never cry in front of them again, so she cried now, placing her hand on the door, as though she could still feel them on the other side, her last contact with them.
* * *
Charlotte decided she’d tell Wyatt about her Grandma Ruby theory once they’d eaten the pizza. Why was she hesitant to tell him? It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Or it was all her issues with trusting people. Grandma Ruby was so important to her, and talking about something that might be heartbreaking to … someone else was disconcerting.
“Okay, pizza is ordered. I have to thank you again. I know you think it was just part of the job, but what you did here in a few days was beyond what I expected. I’m sure it was beyond what my aunt bought as well,” he said.
Charlotte wasn’t exactly concerned about an hourly rate for organizational services. She didn’t want this to be her last night here. “I feel bad because I’m not sure Sam knows this was my last night here.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her. I’m sure it won’t be the last time we’ll see you.”
She nodded a little too quickly to look casual. She was busy concentrating on the man standing in the doorway. Charlotte stared at him, knowing she needed to come up with something to say, but he took her breath away. He’d showered, and his dark hair was still damp, mussed up like he’d just run his hand through it instead of combing it. He was wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans that looked as though they’d been custom made for his athletic build. He was more mouthwatering than the entire batch of sugar cookies she’d made. He raked a hand through his hair, and the gesture sent the edge of his shirt slightly above the waist of his jeans, revealing taut abs. Heat flooded her body. She needed a life. This kind of thing wouldn’t be a big deal if she had a life.
There was
something very intimate in the air now that Sam was gone and she could smell whatever soap he’d used in the shower. She needed water. Then wine. Her mouth was parched.
She waved a hand. “It was my pleasure.”
“Then there’s Sam. I haven’t seen her this happy since the tween years started,” he said.
She smiled and shrugged. “We just hit it off.”
“No, seriously. She doesn’t open up to people easily.”
“She seems so sweet and well-adjusted. She’s way more put together than I was at twelve. That transition into full teen is awkward and painful,” she said, scrunching up her nose.
“For me too. Nothing to make you question everything, until you raise a teenager,” he said with a laugh.
“I can imagine,” she said, feeling unqualified. He was a dad. He’d raised a child on his own. She had no experience with big kids, little kids, or anyone’s kids. Her sister would know how to handle this conversation.
“Anyway, enough about parenting. Can I decorate some cookies?” he asked, approaching the island.
“You want to decorate cookies?”
“Is that a yes? Or a please get the hell away from my cookies?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
She met his gaze and decided that it was a yes to everything. “Yes, sure. I’m just going to grab some water,” she said, her voice sounding throaty to her ears. It was high time Charlotte Harris got a life. Clearly, everyone else in her family had their own life, so what was she doing? And besides, she was just having wine and pizza with a great guy. A handsome guy. A funny guy. A great dad. A hot man. The boy from her past.
“You okay?”
She was talking to herself. She flashed a smile that she hoped was normal and took a long drink of water before returning to the island. “Fine. Sorry. A little dehydrated. It’s all coffee and no water over at Grandma Ruby’s,” she said, pulling out the icing.
He laughed. “She does make the best coffee. Okay, show me what to do.”
“True. Okay, so I’ve been warned about your decorating slash baking skills,” she said, not handing over the icing dispenser.
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